I am taking the orders of a couple in our diner.

Customer: “I’d like the cheeseburger and sweet potato fries, please. Oh, and I don’t mean to cause a fuss, but I notice one of your cooks is a bit… well… flamboyant. Can we have someone else prepare our food, please?”

I look over to our kitchen, which can be seen through the large, wide serving hole in the wall.

Me: “Which of the cooks would you like to prepare your meal, ma’am?”

Customer: “The nice-looking guy to the left seems fine. He seems… normal.”

I bring the order over and call over the “normal”-looking cook to explain my interaction.

Cook: “On it…” *sly smile* “…girlfriend!“

What happens next at any other time would have been an offensive display of OTT stereotypes of an interpretation of a sassy gay man.

Cook: “Ooooh, these jala-PEN-yos be on fire today, just like me!”

He is “sashaying” around the kitchen, bending over dramatically to pick up ingredients and cookware, and whenever he passes by the cook who was described as “a bit flamboyant”, he gives him a peck on the cheek and calls him “darling” or “lover”.

All of this is performed in plain view of our homophobic customer.

When the food is finally ready and I go to collect:

Cook: “Food’s up, girlfriend! I made it with some extra love from a special place, ya feel me?”

I bring the food over, and the customer is as white as a sheet.

Customer: “Can… can we get this food to go?”

Me: “Absolutely! Let me just go get you a takeout box.”

My manager is the one to bring them the takeout box. He’s a big, burly, hairy, cage-fighter-looking kinda guy. When he walks up to the customers, he takes the performance art that was our cook and cranks it up a few notches in how he “sissies that walk” up to them.

Manager: “Hey there, queens! We heard you had to sashay away… so sad! Please come again soon and stay fabulous!”

To the bigot’s credit, they paid quickly (no tip) and got out of there as quickly as possible. Strangely enough, they haven’t been back. Also… not one employee of this diner is gay. Not one.

I am working at this insanely popular breakfast joint. My first table of the morning is a seemingly adorable old couple. After going through our specials, at their request, the woman orders the duck hash special, and the man orders two poached eggs on toast. All good.

I bring them their food, and the guy starts freaking out.

Old Guy: “No! This is all wrong! How could you?!” 

Me: “What’s wrong, sir?” 

Old Guy: “You didn’t bring me a tablespoon for my eggs!”

Me: “You didn’t ask for one.” 

Old Guy: “Everyone knows that poached eggs are supposed to be served with a tablespoon!”

I’ve been a waitress for nearly a decade, I’ve served a LOT of poached eggs, and I’ve never heard this rule. Nonetheless, I apologize profusely and tell him I’ll go grab him a spoon.

Old Guy: “No! My breakfast is ruined now!”

And then, this grown a** adult threw his plate of food at me and stormed out. His wife gave me a sympathetic smile as she slunk out behind him, and I worked the next eight hours with egg yolk stains all over me.

We have this one creepy customer who likes to come in and just watch all the waitresses work. We know what he’s doing because we always catch him watching and he never hangs around long when the guys are working.

One day, he’s feeling brave after thinking my being polite means he can open up to me.

Customer: “Ya know, I love my wife, but I also love staring at all you beautiful women. In the biblical sense, of course.”

He’s looking me up and down with his creepy grin as he says it.

Me: “Since we’re being biblical, the Bible also tells you to pluck out your own eye. Matthew 5:29-30.”

He didn’t talk to me much after that…

Related:
Don’t Quote Scripture Unless You Quote All Scripture

I had just returned from visiting my parents for Christmas, and I had no food in my apartment. It was around 8:00 pm, so I decided to order takeout for dinner and just get groceries the next day. I placed my order online, opted to save on delivery fees by picking up the food myself, and drove to the diner when the food was supposed to be ready.

The food was not ready, so I sat on a stool at the counter and waited for maybe five to ten minutes until one of the managers said my food was finally ready.

Manager: “You’re all set.”

Me: *Sleep-deprived and confused* “But I haven’t paid yet.”

Manager: “Yes, so you’re all set.”

Me: *Credit card in hand* “But I haven’t paid for the food yet.”

Manager: *Patiently* “Yes, you’re all set.”

After a few more go-arounds, it finally dawned on me that this WHOLE TIME, he had been trying to tell me that the card reader was ready for me to swipe my card. At least he was very nice about it!

One night, I stopped by a diner after work at about 10:00 pm. I was seated at the table and the waitress had taken my order. I heard a strange sound overhead, and the next thing I knew, I was covered in crumbled ceiling tile and pissed-off raccoons.

I screamed and started flailing. The raccoons screamed back. I got a lot of little claw marks and a few bites as they tried to get safely off of me without letting me pry them off.

I managed to get them off of me, and one of the chefs and the waitress chased them out the front door.

Nervously, the chef asked me if I still wanted my order and offered to comp it. I ate, and it was okay.

I got a rabies vaccine after, just in case.