I’m working as a waitress on New Year’s Day. One of our tables at the very back of the restaurant is a long booth that’s tucked away in a bit of an alcove. Three sides have full walls around it and the only open side has a narrow walkway between it and a row of tables. Because of how long the table in the booth is and how narrow the space is between the tables, if we need to pull the table out for any reason, we need to move pretty much all of the tables in the entire section.

Our restaurant does not usually get too busy, but today, we have a line-up out the door, so all our tables are full. Earlier in the day, a family was seated in the back booth and made a mess, spilled pop, shattered three different glasses, and got syrup everywhere. Because we can’t move the table out to make sure we get all the glass, my manager tells us to clean up as much as we can and not to seat anyone there.

We get a particularly large group of about fifteen people — mostly adults but one child about four or five years old. They request that the child gets their meal first, so I bring it out and everything seems fine. By the time all the other food is prepped and I bring out the final tray of food, the child has finished (or given up) eating.

As I’m handing out the food, I notice that the child has started to crawl around and play underneath the closed table. I alert the mother.

Me: “Hey, could you please ask your child not to play under there? The table is closed because there may be broken glass under it that we can’t get to.”

Mother: “Oh, mind your own business. My daughter can play where she wants to.”

Despite saying this, she does call her daughter over, so I don’t say anything else and walk away. Later on, I come by to refill drinks and I see that the daughter is back under the table.

Me: “It’s really not safe for your child to be under there. Please tell her not to play there.”

Mother: “Well, what else is she supposed to do? The adults are talking here.”

Me: “I can bring some more coloring sheets and crayons for her if she’d like, but she can’t play under the tables.”

Mother: “She doesn’t want to color.”

Once again, the mother calls the daughter back to their table and I continue to serve other customers. Over the next two hours, I have to tell the mother multiple times not to let her child play under the table. Finally, right near the end of my shift, just as it’s starting to get less busy, I am walking by the table when the mother turns to me.

Mother: “YOU!”

I stop, fairly startled. I walk over to them and see the child crying.

Mother: “How dare you?! There’s glass under that table! My daughter was playing under there and now look!”

The mother shoves her daughter’s hand toward me, and on the pad of her thumb is a tiny cut maybe 0.5cm (less than 0.2 inches) long.

Me: “Ma’am, I told you not to let her play there as it’s dangerous. If you’d like, I can get her a band-aid.”

Mother: “Of course, she needs a band-aid! This is ridiculous! If you knew it was dangerous and you knew there was glass, then you need to clean it up! That’s your job!”

Me: “I understand that you’re upset; however, we cleaned up what we could get to and closed off the table. We advised you that there was a chance there was glass under the table and asked you not to let her play there. Give me a moment and I’ll grab her a band-aid.”

I go to our office to grab the band-aid, and by the time I get back to the table, the child is no longer with her mother; she is back to crawling under the closed table.

Me: “I have the band-aid. Please get your daughter to stop playing under there; she’s already been cut once and we don’t want her to get hurt again.”

Mother: “It’s your job to clean up the glass and make sure she doesn’t get hurt again. Just do your job!”

The mother then calls her daughter over and puts the band-aid on her. I tell my manager what is going on. They don’t seem concerned and just tell me I’ll have to fill out an incident report.

As I walk back out, I go by the table and the mother starts waving me over, looking furious.

Me: “Did she get cut again?”

Mother: “Yes, and look, you’ve destroyed her tights!”

The daughter is wearing white tights that are now dirty from crawling on the ground and have a small rip in them on the knee. I look but I don’t see any cuts on the girl.

Me: “I don’t see the cut. Does she need another band-aid?”

Mother: “She cut her tights. Clearly, there’s still glass under there! I want your manager, now!“

At this point, there has been no time between when I went to get the daughter a band-aid and when the daughter went under the table again, and there’s no way to get under the table to get all the glass slivers without moving the table, which is not possible because the family is still sitting at the tables across, blocking it in.

I go to get my manager and he tells me to grab a bucket and cloth and basically make a show of wiping down the table and seats while he speaks to the parent at the front of the restaurant. He also says I can pull out the table once the family has left.

At this point, most of the family leaves and it’s just an older lady and the child left at the table while the manager speaks to the mother. Eventually, the mother comes back, still grumbling about it. She sees me still wiping down the tables.

Mother: “See, this is what you should have been doing all along. You know what? I’m going to sue you! I’ll sue you for assaulting my child by leaving glass where she could get it!”

By this time, I’m done with this woman. I just decide it isn’t worth engaging and flat-out ignore her. She tries saying it a few more times, but when I keep ignoring her and cleaning, she eventually turns back to her daughter and the older woman and they start packing up to go.

Older Lady: “What are you doing?”

I turn around and see that the mother is opening several packets of jam and honey.

Mother: “Since this b**** doesn’t like cleaning, I figure I’ll give her some more to do!”

The mother then sticks her fingers in the jam and starts smearing it on the table and chairs.

Older Lady: “Stop that! You’re acting like a child! Let’s just go.”

Mother: “I don’t care! She assaulted my child and I’ll sue her!”

The older lady kept trying to calm her down and get her to stop and, shortly after, convinced her to grab her stuff and go. After, as I was cleaning everything, my manager came over and let me know he had given her 10% off her entire table’s bill, and after accepting it and paying for the meal, the mother had told him it still wasn’t enough and that since I had upset her daughter, we needed to “make it up to her.” The restaurant sells various stuffed animals at the front, so my manager also ended up giving her daughter a free stuffed animal.

I work in a restaurant. One day, I serve a group of teenagers who look around sixteen or seventeen. They order around $120 worth of food and eat pretty fast. Overall, they’re an “eh” table and I don’t expect to get a decent tip from them.

When it is around time to pay the bill, all of them get up at the same time and basically run out the door. The hostess and other servers try to stop them, but they claim:

Teenager: “Our mom is in the bathroom, and she will be paying.”

I didn’t even see them leave; they waited until I was busy before they dipped.

Here’s the funny part: at our restaurant, we have an online order system and customers (or whoever gives the name for the order) are able to pick up orders. We realize that one of the kids signed for and picked up an order before they got seated. We have the email and phone number of the person they picked up for, so we call up the number, and sure enough, a lady picks up. We tell her that her online order is ready to be picked up.

Lady: “Oh, my son should’ve already picked it up.”

Uh-huh.

Me: “Ma’am, your son and his group of friends dined and dashed. We’ll be calling the police if they don’t come back and pay their [$120-something] bill.”

Lady: *Sounding nervous* “Oh, they will come back to pay!”

Maybe a half-hour later, these annoying kids showed up again. They were loud and tried to make jokes about the situation, even joking about coming to drink next time. Not one of them apologized when they all took turns paying their part of the bill. No tip, either. Unbelievable.

I am a regular at a restaurant and coffee place. I usually show up before lunchtime, grab a bite and a coffee, do some work on my laptop for an hour or two, and head out just before the lunch rush.

This morning is a little busier than usual, but I settle in on the corner of the large communal table (designed for the laptop worker like me, as it has multiple table-level power outlets) and get into my work.

There are two empty seats next to me, and a couple of women approach.

Woman #1: “Do you mind if we take these seats?”

Me: “Not at all!”

Woman #2: “Thanks!”

They take the seats and start chatting away and all is good. Until…

Woman #2: “Our third friend has arrived. Can she have your seat?”

I look around at the place; it is absolutely full.

Me: “Sorry, but I am still eating here.”

Woman #2: “But our friend is here, and she has nowhere to sit.”

Me: “But if I gave up my seat, I would have nowhere to sit.”

Woman #2: “So?”

With that entitled “So?”, I ignore her and get back to my work.

Woman #1: “How selfish!”

Woman #2: “I know! Seriously, so rude!”

They continue to moan like this and glare at me, hoping to encourage me to leave. One of the staff comes over, who knows me as a regular, to collect my finished plate.

Me: “Oh, hey, [Staff Member], I’d like to order another coffee. I’m staying longer than I usually do today.”

Staff Member: “Of course!”

I give the women some stink-eye as I complete the order. When the staff member comes by with the coffee:

Me: “Oh, hey, [Staff Member], I think I’d like to treat myself today. Can I get a look at the dessert menu?”

Staff Member: “Absolutely! I’ll bring that right out!”

Me: “Oh, please, take your time. Take all… the time… in the world.”

The staff member smiles and, because she’s awesome, she brings it right away anyway. The other two women are making comments of “Ridiculous!” while they scan the place for other tables with people that might be about to leave. No such luck.

Me: “I think I’ll go with your chocolate bomb.”

Staff Member: “Just so you know, that takes about ten minutes to prepare.”

Me: “Oh, it does? I had no idea. That’s fine; tell the kitchen to take their time.”

With this, the women give up using words and just tut and moan, but their stubborn defiance means they aren’t leaving. Screw it; in for a penny…

The chocolate bomb comes out and it is absolutely delicious. The staff member comes by to take the plate.

Me: “You know… that was so nice, I’ll take another one to go.”

She nods and brings it out to me in a box another ten minutes later. The two ladies are STILL holding on for my seat.

Me: “I’ve changed my mind; I’ll eat it right here.”

Woman #2: “Oh, for f***’s sake! Are you ever going to leave?!”

Me: “Why should I?”

Woman #2: “We’re waiting for that seat!”

Me: “So?”

They blinked. They finally realised I could do this all day. They left in a huff. They waited for twenty-five minutes… I was seriously impressed!

I work in a chain pub/restaurant. We are fairly cheap, but we do pretty good roast dinners on Sundays, so we are normally full.

Today, we have been stacked — as in no table left empty for more than about two minutes — all day. It’s about 8:20 pm, and we close at 9:00 on Sundays. A couple walks in, and the guy demands “the nicest table we have” with his first words to me, which I take as an odd start, but oh, well.

I seat them in a fairly private corner of the restaurant. We are only now starting to have a few empty tables, so they can have a table for four, which I consider “nice”.

I take their drink order and come back to take the food order. Like 95% of our customers on a Sunday, they order roast dinners; he gets the beef and she gets lamb. He then asks if we cook to order, obviously trying to sound like he knows what he’s talking about.

Me: “No, not the roasts. You can’t really roast meat to order.”

Man: “Well, it had all better be hot!”

Someone else takes their food out, but I go to do the check-back and ask if everything’s okay with their meal after a few minutes.

Man: “No, my meal didn’t come with any sauce.”

Me: “I’m sorry. What sauce would you like, sir?”

He has gravy, and I know the server would have asked if he wanted any sauce when they brought out his meal.

Man: “Mustard. Dijon mustard.”

Like he’s James Bond.

I go on the hunt for some. As I said, it has been a busy day, and we have run out. Our main food order with all the sauces, etc., came on Monday, and frankly, it’s not something many people order normally, so we do not have a massive stock. I go back and tell the man.

Me: “I am very sorry, sir, but it appears we’ve run out. It’s been a very busy day.”

Man: “What do you mean you’ve run out?! I want Dijon mustard!”

He literally sounds like a child.

Me: “As I said, sir, we’ve been very busy, and it’s late in the service, so, unfortunately, we’ve run out.”

Man: “Rubbish. Go and buy some, then.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, it’s a Sunday and the shops will be shut by now.”

And then he says the classic line.

Man: “I want to see the manager!”

I go and get the manager. She introduces herself and tries to calm him down. By this point, it’s 8:40. We are closing in twenty minutes and the place is emptying out. She tries offering him any other sauces, to which he says no. Then, he literally bellows:

Man: “If you don’t have Dijon, I am not paying!”

People all over the restaurant look round.

My manager, I think, decides, “What’s the point in arguing?”

Manager: “Fine.”

And then she walks away. The man looks crestfallen like he wanted the argument.

I carry on working as the man and his wife grumpily eat everything on their plates. By the time they are finished, it’s 8:50. I hurry over and ask if they would like dessert or any final drinks, and to my relief, they say no.

I fetch their bill, which has their drinks and the woman’s meal on it, but not the man’s. As I said, it’s a fairly cheap restaurant, so their bill is not too much. The man looks at me as I put it down.

Man: “What’s that?”

Me: “The bill, sir.”

Man: “I said I am not paying.”

Me: “Yes, sir, we’ve taken off your meal. This is just for your drinks and your wife’s meal.”

Man: “No, I’m not paying for any of it!”

Me: “Sir, we’ve given you your meal for free. You’ve not said there was any issue with anything else.”

Man: “The manager! Get her!

At this point, the place is basically empty, so the manager has been listening in and comes straight over.

Manager: “We can’t just give you a whole free meal. You both ate your meals, anyway.”

The man looked shocked by this and stood up. My manager and I looked at each other, and we both let him storm out. Frankly, it’s a chain restaurant, they were two of hundreds of customers we had that day, and neither of us thought trying to stop him was worth the effort.

The man’s wife hurried out after him. As she did, she clearly realised how ridiculous he was being as she took some cash out of her purse and left it behind. They both left, and my manager just looked shocked.

It turns out that the woman left more than enough to cover the bill, even with the man’s meal included, so I made a fairly good tip off of them.

Also, in his anger, the man left his scarf behind. It was left in lost property for long enough that he had the opportunity to come and collect it, and then I took home as a kind of trophy. It’s very nice! And it probably cost him more than the whole meal.

I’m working at a restaurant, serving a family. The husband orders for himself.

Husband: “I’ll have the lasagne, but can I have the lasagne swapped for the cod and then add a side of fries?”

Me: “Oh, we have cod and chips. I can swap the thick-cut chips for fries for you.”

Husband: “I can see that, but it has peas.”

Me: “We can hold the peas, and actually, the fish and chips are cheaper than the lasagne, so you’ll be saving yourse—”

Husband: “Just put it through as I ordered it.”

Me: “If you’re sure?”

Wife: “I think the young man is right abo—”

Husband: “I wouldn’t order it if I wasn’t sure. Just swap it. It’s not hard, is it?”

Me: “Not at all. I’ll put that through for you.”

That might be the oddest order I’ve ever taken, just for how silly it was. The chefs had a good laugh, as well. In the end, it didn’t matter on our end — it worked out to be more money for no extra work. But it was such a weird request.

Screw you, random rude guy from five years ago. I still laugh at the fact that you spent an extra £7 quid for being arrogant.