(I’m a male shift manager at a popular drive-thru fast food chain. I’m 19 and the only manager on duty. I am doing my rounds when I overhear an argument.)

Customer: “You f***ing b****! You obviously don’t know what the f*** you’re doing! Ten f***ing breast pieces!”

(At this point the 15-year-old server runs out of the serving window area in tears and begs me for help. I send her on a break and approach the customer warily.)

Me: “Sir, what seems to be the issue?”

Customer: “Who the f*** are you?”

Me: “I’m the manager on duty, sir. Is there-”

Customer: “You? The f***ing manager? You’re f***ing 12!”

Me: “Sir, I’m 19 and I’m—”

Customer: “That b**** wouldn’t give me ten breast pieces of chicken in my ten piece box!”

Me: “Unfortunately, she was correct and we are unable to do that. Only one in every nine pieces of chicken is a breast piece, and in order to fill your request we would have to cook an extra 81 pieces, which would severely affect our profit margin. Could I suggest the fillet—”

Customer: “You’re a f***ing f** aren’t you? You’re one of those queers!”

Me: “Sir, I’m going to have to ask that—”

Customer: “F***ing f** boy!”

(The customer then descends into a tirade of graphic descriptions of the sexual acts he would expect me to perform as a homosexual. I’m finding it difficult to maintain composure at this point.)

Me: “Sir, if you do not stop immediately I’m going to have to call the police.”

Customer: “You wanna fight me, f** boy? I’ll f***ing kill you.”

(The customer gets out of his car and lunges at the window. I slam it shut and lock it.)

Customer: “Come out here and fight me, you queer!”

Me: “Sir, I cannot help you any more. Please leave my drive-thru immediately or I will call the police.”

Customer: “You can’t make me! Give me my f***ing chicken!”

(I pull out my phone and dial the police. As I’m explaining the situation, the customer has reverted to his tirade of sexual comments aimed at me.)

Me: “The police are on their way. You can either leave the store now or be removed.”

Customer: “You little f**! I’ll be back f** boy, just you f***ing wait!”

(The customer roars off. I’m shaking and my voicing is cracking at this point, having maintained composure for so long, but I stay at the serving window so I can explain the delay to the next few customers, and apologise to the next car, who witnessed the entire episode.)

Me: “Hi, welcome to [fast food restaurant], I’m so sorry about the delay there, I was un—”

Customer #2: “He’s right! You are a f***** aren’t you!”

(Worst shift I ever had.)

(The fast food restaurant I work in has two areas. One is a large area where you order food at the counter and that contains several tables. The second is only a few feet below the first and is accessed by walking down two stairs. At the time of day, we have a section roped off since the restaurant is nearly empty. Two women walk up to the counter: a middle-aged woman and an elderly woman who appears to be her mother.)

Middle-aged Customer: “Hi, we’d like to order two breakfast meals, please.”

(As I take her order I notice the elderly customer glance behind her at the roped-off stairwell. She then starts to take two steps backward towards the stairs.)

Me: “Ma’am, please watch your step. There is a small set of stairs behind you.”

(The elderly customer glances behind her again, and then takes another few steps backward.)

Me: *repeating* “Ma’am, there is a set of stairs behind you. It is roped off, but please be careful because I don’t want you to fall or get hurt.”

(The elderly customer continues to step backwards, but before I can stop her, she dramatically falls backwards over the steps.)

Elderly Customer: “I just fell over your stairs! They weren’t properly secured! I think I hurt myself. I’m going to sue you personally, and this restaurant!”

Middle-aged Customer: *rolling eyes and not even turning around* “Mother, get up off the floor and come over here and get your breakfast. You aren’t hurt and you’re not suing anyone.” *to me* “Just ignore her. She tries these stunts everywhere she goes. Thankfully I drove here and not her. This is how she lost her driver’s license as well!”

Regular: *pulls out two dollars and looks around* “You know, I’ve never seen a tip jar. Where is it?”

Me: “We aren’t supposed to have one. It would be taxed out of our paychecks.”

Regular: “But [coffee shop next door] has one! And what if you guys do a good job and I want to tip you?”

Me: “Then we still aren’t supposed to accept it.”

Regular: “Well, that sucks!” *drops the dollars on the counter* “Oh no! I accidentally dropped my money and now I’m leaving because I totally forgot it bye!” *runs out the door*

(On my way home from work, a buddy and I are stopping at a fast food joint just outside the military camp/training facility in my town. There is a long line of soldiers, privates, I assume, but also a young civilian lady almost at the front. As we have finally gotten to the front and are waiting for our food, a sergeant comes through the camp gates and walks directly to the front of the line.)

My Friend: “Excuse me, but I think this young man was first.”

(He points to the private who was about to place his order when the sergeant, rather rudely, walked in front of him.)

Sergeant: “No, I think that will be fine. Don’t you think so, [private's name]?”

Private: “Yes, of course, sir.”

My Friend: “I don’t. Why do you think you can just go ahead of everyone else?”

Sergeant: “Because I am their superior officer! Now quit wasting my time.”

Me: “Ahem. Are you her superior officer too?”

(I point at the young girl standing a couple places behind him in line.)

Sergeant: “Well, no…”

My Friend: “Then get to the back of the line then! Have some common courtesy!”

(The sergeant walked sheepishly to the back of the line. We went over to our car and made sure to stay and watch until everyone had gotten their food, so he wouldn’t just barge ahead again.)

(We are always packed out during lunch. The drive-thru is slammed. A woman in a black SUV pulls out of the parking lot—as opposed to the line that everyone else is using—around the cones intended to keep cutters out, and is a good 9 feet away from the order box, very crooked. She is cutting in line in front of at least 10 people.)

Me: “Excuse me, black SUV, is there something we can help you with?”

Lady: “Yeah! I wanna order!”

Me: “Out of courtesy for our other guests, would you mind pulling around the building and using the line?”

Lady: “It says lane 2 is open, but these cones are in the way!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, that’s because there’s one line that diverges right before the cones and then after the box, merges back tog—”

Lady: “Gimme a number 1 with lemonade and 8 nuggets.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, out of courtesy for the other guests in li—”

Lady: “GIMMEA NUMBER 1 WITH LEMONADE AND 8 NUGGETS!”

Me: “Ma’am, please pull—”

Lady: “NUMBER 1 WITH LEMONADE AND 8 NUGGETS!”

Driver behind Lady: “Lady! Get in line with the rest of us!”

Lady: “NUMBER 1 WITH LEMONADE AND 8 NUGGETS! YOU CAN HEAR ME, SO YOU HAVE TO TAKE MY ORDER!”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

Lady: “You know what? I’m coming to the window.”

(She pulls forward, and the driver behind her gets to the box.)

Driver behind Lady: “That lady was a total b****! I can’t believe you have to put up with that kinda stuff!”

Me: “Sometimes I just really don’t understand people. But what can I get for you, sir?”

Driver behind Lady: *laughs* “I just want a chicken sandwich with honey.”

Me: “No problem! Anything else for you today?”

Driver behind Lady: “That’s it! And good luck!”

Me: “Thanks! I’ll need it!”