We have a new hostess who likes to ask stupid questions as a way of trying to sound smart. She questions the chef and kitchen staff about the menu and ingredients to try to catch them out. One time she argued that our Pinot Noir bottles were mislabeled because they were white wines, even though this was explained when they were delivered that though uncommon, this is possible, and we ordered some!

One of our chefs got tired of her, so when she was challenging some menu changes, he decided he had had enough.

Hostess: “I see you added clam chowder to the menu. What kind of clams were used?”

Chef: “Bearded clams from the island of Lesbos.”

Hostess: *Nodding along* “Ah, yes, very good.”

She then proceeded to tell tables that for the first forty minutes we were open until another server overheard her and corrected her. Luckily, our customers thought it was hilarious, although the chef was told not to do that again!

I am a delivery driver for a restaurant. Last Sunday was a very busy night, and this was the last delivery before closing. I arrived at the destination — a three-level apartment building, most likely without a lift — called the customer, and waited at the main door.

Normally, when someone pays by transfer, my coworker either marks it in my order sheet or tells me vocally, or, if she is busy, I check personally at the computer if the payment was made. If none of that happens, I tell the customer the price of their order, and if they say that they have paid by transfer, I ask them to show me proof of the payment. The owner of the restaurant has been adamant about this, even if it’s someone she or I know well. That is because a “friend” of hers (who is also an acquaintance of mine through a cousin) orders delivery quite often and has this bad habit of “forgetting” to transfer the money until closure, and I trusted him because “you wouldn’t be stingy with your own friend, would you?” My boss warned me that the next time it happened, with him or anyone else, it would be on my salary, so I’ve been very meticulous with that ever since.

As I didn’t have any idea whether this customer had paid by transfer, and it being a busy night, I didn’t have time to check the messages on the computer to confirm that she had sent any proof of transfer, I assumed that she was going to pay by cash. So, when she came to answer the door, I greeted her and told her the price. She said that she had paid by transfer, and naturally, I asked her to see the proof.

Customer: *Whining* “Now I have to go all the way back up to my place to my phone. Don’t they inform you when someone pays by transfer?”

Me: “They do, but sometimes they forget or I’m too busy to check it myself. Should that happen, my boss insists that I ask to see the proof of transfer.”

Then, I told her that it was okay and to enjoy her food, and I left.

When I got back to the restaurant, my coworker told me that the customer had sent a message complaining that I was trying to scam her by charging twice for her meal (implying that I would keep that money for myself) and that I should be told off and be closely watched from now on. I don’t like to be labeled as a thief for trying to do my job as best as I can, and I was about to call her from my phone, but my coworker stopped me.

Luckily, I’ve been working there for more than two years, and the owner knows my way of doing things, so she didn’t say anything. But if it had been when I’d just started working, something like that would have risked my job.

We have just got a new server, a young woman who is very excited to be here.

New Starter: “This is so cool! This is my very first job!”

Me: “I’m glad you’re excited! Just remember your training and you’ll be fine. I’ve just assigned you your first table! You never forget your first one!”

Off she goes to take their order.

New Starter: “Can I get you guys any drinks?”

Customer: “What’s on tap?”

New Starter: “Um… water? You guys are pulling my leg, huh?”

The customers are almost falling out of their chairs laughing while I jump in to help. Once the order is taken, the new starter asks what happened.

Me: “Let’s just say that I won’t ever forget your first table, either!”

I work at an Italian restaurant, and I am explaining the menu to a couple who just sat down. I am mere seconds in when the woman starts scolding me.

Customer: “No! You’re not pronouncing ‘Bruschetta’ with the right roll on the R! When my husband and I spend money on a nice Italian dinner, then we also expect it to be the same experience as when we visit Italy ourselves!”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but I can’t roll my Rs like that.”

Customer: “Then why are you working in an Italian restaurant?”

Me: “Because this is Saskatchewan, and we’re between a McDonald’s and a Korean BBQ place… and this is an Olive Garden.”

My wife and I traveled to Montreal, arriving on a Sunday evening. The city shuts down fairly early on Sundays (most places anyway), and that included the dining room in our hotel. Fortunately, the hotel knew of a small cafe a short walk away that they thought would still be open, but, “Don’t delay… Go now!”

We got there, and the cafe was open, but the manager advised us that they would close in an hour.

Manager: “In Canada, that means lights off, doors locked, kitchen and dining room closed, and employees on their way home. Given that, we can’t make all the items on our menu, but if you allow it, I can recommend some great options.”

Me: “Of course!”

We then observed a couple with a young child at one table, and at a second table, another couple about our age. We sat down after accepting the manager’s suggestion for dinner.

The young child was a bit antsy — not surprising for it being a bit late for his age, which I guessed to be around three or four. He wasn’t particularly loud, but he was a bit whiny, and he did get up and wander a bit.

That is when the woman of the younger couple said loudly:

Young Woman: “You’d think they could control that child.”

The comments escalated from there. The young man at one point said:

Young Man: “I’d have had him outside and over my knee long before this.”

A little while later, their server went over and whispered something to them. We couldn’t hear that, but we heard the young man boom out:

Young Man: “We are not the problem. They and that out-of-control child are! Either they — or you — get a handle on that child or throw them out!”

There was a little back-and-forth, and then the young woman loudly demanded:

Young Woman: “Give us the phone number to CPS! I’m going to call them right now!”

All this time, the manager and the server kept casting nervous glances at my wife and me. Then, the chef appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was a little short guy. None of them would be a match for the loudmouth guy judging by size alone.

I was small but fit; my wife was also small but fit, a one-time fitness instructor who also had training in martial arts. I think the manager sensed that if we sided with them, we’d quickly gain the upper hand. Still, as a person with manners, he had not yet called the police — amazing restraint on his part.

Finally, he worked up the courage, walked up to their table, and demanded:

Manager: “Leave now or I’ll call the police.”

He looked at us. We both gave him a thumbs-up and, with that, he said once more, with full resolve:

Manager: “OUT… NOW!”

The couple got up and headed toward the door. Then, the manager pointed out that there was still the small matter of the tab to settle or they’d face jail for sure.

They paid, fuming all the way, and left.

He then approached us with a quiet thanks and glasses of wine on the house.