I work in a restaurant. We have a table with eight people, and they ask to split the bill four ways — amongst couples. I give them the whole “inform me of any discrepancies” speech and bill them out. The tips are 20% all around except for one couple. The guy leaves me less than 10%, but no sweat. I’m not bothered.

Twenty minutes later, I see the cheap tipper’s wife on her way back into the restaurant, all geared up for a fight. It is getting quiet — just a couple tables. It’s a great audience for what was about to occur.

She storms in, pulls out the bill, and indignantly points out one of the appetizers.

Woman: “This appetizer was shared and, as such, my husband should not have been charged for it! It is ridiculous that we should pay for this!”

I immediately feel a huge wave of pity for the husband who was clearly drilled in the parking lot for fifteen minutes.

I compose myself carefully, go ALL SMILES, and ask:

Me: “So, you want me to reopen the table, refund the card, then charge the card again for a different amount, process the table again, and have us eat the cost of the app?”

Woman: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, honestly… that’s ridiculous. It’s a lot of work. But I think I can make this right.”

I pull out my wallet and try to hand it to her.

Me: “Seems to me like we owe you some money, so how much do you want?”

Woman: “What are you doing? Can’t the restaurant cover it?”

Me: “Sure, but I’m not going to ask my boss to cover this one. The food was good, right?”

She nods.

Me: “And until I messed up with the bill, service was good?”

She nods again.

Me: “Okay, so it’s my mistake. This is between me and you, so let me make it right. How much do you want? Twenty dollars? Forty dollars?”

She starts looking really uncomfortable about mugging me all of a sudden. I fan out my float; it’s not a lot. I am twenty-three, and I look it, too.

Me: “Go ahead! What was the app, thirteen dollars, plus tax and tip? Here, take twenty for now and you’ve actually made a few dollars tonight, right? Is that enough? Do you want more? You can have my whole wallet.”

I politely tried to give her more.

Shellshocked, she slowly took the twenty out of my hand and walked out of the restaurant, head hanging way down.

Sometimes it’s very clear what people want, and sometimes giving it to them makes them see what is really happening; a grown woman is leveraging her bad attitude and emotions to “win one over” on some kid, some business, anything at all.

I would’ve paid $500 easily to never see her again; I got a good deal. I still am awestruck that she had the gall to take it.

I happened to witness this exchange from a seat fairly close to the entrance of a restaurant. Several of the employees are wearing rainbow pins somewhere on their person, including an employee having a conversation at the front counter with a man in a suit.

A man and a woman step into the restaurant. The man sees the gay employee’s pin, looks around the restaurant, and then turns to the suited man, who speaks up before the newcomer can say a word.

Worker: “If you say a single word against my employees, I will bodily throw you from the restaurant.”

The newcomer stutters for a moment, turns around in a huff, and marches out of the restaurant. The woman looks between him and the man in a suit for a moment before approaching the counter.

Woman: “Well, that was the shortest first date I’ve ever been on. Table for one, please.”

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I work in a casual restaurant, and we have seasonal outdoor seating available. It’s a little windy but otherwise temperate, and this group of ladies would rather sit outside and eat than wait for an inside table to open up. They all order drinks and they seem pretty chill. One of the women orders a golden beet goat cheese walnut salad, one of my favorites.

When I later go to check on their meal, there’s a whiff of apprehension in the air.

Me: “How is everything?”

The woman with the salad hands me her plate.

Woman: “I’m sorry, but there’s a bug in my salad.”

This has happened often enough — sometimes a ladybug, worm, or small spider — and without thinking, I grab the plate and reassure her.

Me: “That’s not a problem. We’ll fix you up a new one.”

I’m walking back to the kitchen and looking through the plate, but I don’t see anything. We’re pretty slammed in the kitchen, but I let the expediter know:

Me: “Hey, a guest says she found a bug in her salad. Can you fire me up a new one?”

It’s just an appetizer, so shouldn’t take more than thirty seconds.

The kitchen manager is right there, and he ignores the piling stack of tickets to argue and make a scene.

Kitchen Manager: “I just made that salad. There’s no f****** way!”

He digs in with two gloved hands and starts rifling through the salad, contents spilling out all over the counter and floor.

Okay, now we DEFINITELY need to make her a new one.

Kitchen Manager: “Where? I don’t see bugs anywhere! What kind of bug was it?”

Me: “I… I don’t know, I just kind of took her word for it.”

He throws the plate back at me.

Kitchen Manager: “There’s nothing wrong with her salad. Take it back out.”

I nod solemnly, walk it out halfway, and then turn around and dump it in the dish pit. I’ll just ring in a new one and have a manager void it.

I feel like an idiot, so I head back out to inquire.

Me: “Hey ma’am, we’re fixing you up a new salad, but we looked through the plate and didn’t find anything. What kind of bug was it?”

Woman: “A fly. It landed in my salad.”

And now I feel like a total moron.

Me: “Umm, you’re sitting outside. We can’t control whatever pests or elements of nature are flying around.”

Woman: “Yes, well, can’t you install lights or nets to keep bugs out?”

I don’t know how to respond.

Me: “Would you like us to move you inside if a table opens up?”

Woman: “No, we’re fine. And I think I’ll have the Frisée, instead.”

Today, I’m working a double shift as a server in the morning and an expediter for the evening shift. The server that is taking over my section agrees to take a table of seventeen as I am finishing cleaning my section, and I begin helping him set up.

They’re all starting to walk over, and I head to the back, clock out and then back in, put on my apron, and get to work pulling food. The next thing I know, the server that took over for me is coming back.

Server: “How many people did the host say were in that party?”

Me: “Seventeen. Why?”

Server: “There are around twenty-eight people all seating themselves in closed and reserved tables, and they’re talking about more people on the way!”

My manager makes her way over to the party.

Manager: “Why did you lie about the number of people in your party?”

They make up some excuse.

Customer: “Well, there were seventeen people here, but it’s going to be around thirty-two total.”

Manager: “You won’t be able to order your food until the majority of our screen is cleared so the kitchen won’t be swamped. And the rest of your party will have to sit in different sections; one server can’t handle this many people.”

Customer: “This is for my daughter’s seventeenth birthday! You’re being racist. It’s not that big of a deal! Other people can wait because it is my daughter’s birthday!”

Manager: “You are being very loud and disturbing our other guests. You will need to leave if you keep it up.”

Suddenly, the whole party gets loud, and there is so much arguing and yelling that my manager tells them to leave.

At first, they stay, and they keep calling other servers to get them drinks and take their orders, but my manager tells them to leave or she’ll call the police. They then decide to cut the cake, and they yell the Happy Birthday song in multiple different versions for around ten minutes.

My manager walks over again.

Manager: “The police are on their way.”

They started threatening her and telling her and other staff members to meet them outside. Once they heard sirens — for an unrelated police call — they all took off.

When the police did arrive, they spoke to the manager, got the phone number one of the guests had given at the host stand, and watched the tapes.

Hopefully, there will be some legal consequences.

I am on vacation visiting my family and we decided to eat at a grill and bar. It’s an early Sunday morning so the bar is closed.

There is a couple sitting in a booth way back in the corner by the bar, where no one else is seated. I only notice them when I get lost trying to find the bathroom. I am confused by them because they have no menu, drink, food, or anything and are sitting in silence. Once my family gets our food, the wife walks up to our waitress.

Wife: “How are they getting their food when we haven’t even gotten our drinks yet?!”

Waitress: “Oh, sorry, ma’am, what did you order? I’ll go get them for you and find your server.”

Wife: “WE HAVEN’T EVEN GOT THE CHANCE TO ORDER OUR DRINKS! We haven’t seen our server in ages!”

Waitress: “Oh, no, I am so sorry! Who was your server?”

Wife: “Some short blonde with a ponytail.”

Waitress: “Ma’am, she clocked out ages ago. She told us there was no one left in her section. We had no idea you were here, I apologize.” *Pulls out an order pad* “I can take your order back right now and expedite it.”

Wife: *Still red in the face and mad* “I’m getting a [breakfast item #1] and my husband would like a [breakfast item #2]. And I’m not paying for either of those.”

Waitress: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but breakfast ended at 11:00. It’s past 12:00 now; all the breakfast ingredients have been put away. Would you like to look at the menu again and I’ll come back to you?”

Wife: “That doesn’t matter. We got here at 10:30; we were on time!”

I am beyond annoyed now, so I decide to be a little passive-aggressive.

Me: *In a loud “whisper” to my family* “Wow, you would think someone would have enough sense to go and find someone if they were sitting for an hour and a half!”

Wife: *Flustered* “Well, well… Go get us a lunch menu and we’ll let you take our order when we’re ready!” *Stomps off*

Waitress: *Turns to us* “I’m so sorry about that.”

Me: “It’s not your fault she’s a bat.”

Sister: “Yeah, she’s being ridiculous.”

Waitress: “Thank you.”

She seems genuinely shaken up by the whole thing. I think it’s all over with until I can hear the woman shouting from across the restaurant.

Wife: “…AND I HOPE YOU KNOW I’M CALLING THE OWNER ABOUT YOU! TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE SERVICE! YOU IGNORED US FOR HOURS! YOU WOULDN’T FILL OUR ORDER BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T FEEL LIKE MAKING IT! I SWEAR, IF YOUR MANAGER WAS HERE…”

On and on and on. I am not a confrontational person, but I still feel the need to do something. I get a piece of paper and a pen from my mom’s purse and write a full report on what happened.

Our server had no way of knowing they were there; it was the other server’s fault for not telling anyone she sat them, and they were probably just sniffing for a discount because they intentionally waited as long as possible to find a server. I talk about how well our waitress handled the situation and how she is much more patient than I. I sign it and add my email address. I see the waitress coming back, looking near tears.

Me: “Miss, here.” *Hands her the paper* “I’m your witness if they try and complain about you.”

My family claimed that was very “extra” and unnecessary, but as someone who’s worked in the service industry, I wish someone would’ve done this for me.