It’s the peak of one of our busiest mornings: Sunday at a breakfast restaurant. A table of six women asks me if I could split their check six ways.

Me: “I can do that, but it will take me a minute as I have multiple other tables right now.”

Woman: “Are we making your job too difficult, princess?”

I’m a proud (male) server of eight years and I know an entitled jerk when I see one.

Me: “I’ll do it, but it will just take me a little while. I can’t neglect everyone else because of the time commitment closing six checks takes. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

I go around, get my drink order for another table I’ve just had sat, and finally close out their six checks. I sign the Woman’s tip slip, “<3 Princess [My Name]”.

I proceed to the six top and overhear and see the woman stop my manager and complain that I have been holding on to their cards for longer than fifteen minutes. She is upset. My manager knows me to be a good server. They see me holding the women’s cards in my hand and ignores them.

Me: “It was hardly fifteen minutes. Obviously, you have no idea the process I just went through.”

The woman scribbles out my little note, and her friend, on her own tip slip, writes me a note of her own.

Woman #2: “Maybe you should try smiling more.”

I was wearing a mask due to the health crisis; they wouldn’t have even been able to see my smile if I had, in fact, been smiling. They all tipped me pennies on what accumulated to be about a $200 check. And they took my good pen.

My family and I are on a road trip and we pull into a large service station. It has several restaurants and shops; it’s actually normally quite a nice stop for a place that is in the middle of nowhere. I order us some food and the family uses the restroom. I get my order and find a nearby table.

I’m checking my order and notice something odd in one of the burgers. It’s not wrapped properly and inside it looks like it’s been punched or something.

As I turn around, the restaurant staff are arguing amongst themselves. One of them waves me over urgently.

Cashier: “Sir, I am so sorry, but there is a problem with your order. We will replace everything free of charge and upgrade your meals. You didn’t eat any, did you?”

Me: “No, I didn’t. The burger looks a mess. What happened?”

Cashier: “We have had an… employee issue. Is that the only item you ordered?”

The cashier points to the burger in my hand.

Me: “Oh, no. I have a whole bag of food over there…”

I turn around to see a man hovering around my table. As he sees me, he grabs the bags and runs from the store. I could easily catch him, but all things considered…

Me: “Err, I’m going to let him have it. I have my receipt, though.”

Cashier: “I’m so sorry about all of this. Your food will be remade and without issue.”

Me: “Is he going to be an issue?”

I gesture in the direction the thief ran.

Cashier: “Can’t sue us for something you’ve stolen from us. I’ll let the manager know and he might try to catch him.”

I got my meals and they were perfect. I don’t know what happened to the food thief, but if you’re going to steal food from children’s mouths, then you probably deserve a burger that’s been spat in.

I work in the kitchen of a fine-dining restaurant run by my university, which is unique in that all of the students are also employed by the school. One of my jobs in the early morning is to set out the fake display versions of our desserts so diners can see what they are ordering. Usually, this is a job that doesn’t involve any encounters with guests as the restaurant doesn’t open until just before lunch.

One morning, a bus of thirty or forty early tourists comes in, apparently unaware that the restaurant doesn’t open for several hours. For some reason, the person at the front desk tells them that they can “come in and look.”

Since I am the only student (aka “zoo exhibit”) in view at the time, I am promptly surrounded by geriatric tourists oohing over the school in general, the pressed-copper ceiling of the dining room, the views out the large windows, the flowers on the tables… even my fake desserts. 

I do the whole “smile politely and they’ll let you go” thing, trying to get around the milling group to set up my display, only to have one woman pluck at my sleeve and declare:

Guest: “Oh, honey! This place is so lovely. Do you really work here? And go to school here?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am! I work in the bakery here.”

Guest: “Oh, how nice! And this room, just look at that ceiling! It’s just beautiful.”

I respond while trying not to drop a tray of mini cast-iron skillets full of plaster cobblers.

Me: “It sure is.”

Guest: “And… this dining room. My lands! Do students eat here? Or is it for real people?”

My always loosely-installed filter slips but my tone is still 100% polite and cheerful.

Me: “It’s for folks like you, ma’am.”

I regretted it the minute it came out, but somehow she took it at face value of “folks like you = tourists” and happily went on her way. I nearly died laughing from the entire situation, the fact that I actually got away with that, and relief that no supervisor was around to hear me!

Three girls come into the restaurant where I work.

Girl #1: “Do you have a military discount?”

Me: “Absolutely! We do, and it’s 10%.”

Girl #1: “Okay, cool. Thank you!”

I take their order and bring out the food. Later:

Me: “Before I drop off the checks, can I see the military ID so I can apply the discount?”

Girl #1: “Yeah, hold on just a second. And also, it’s actually my dad’s. Is that okay?”

Ummmm, what? No?

I am working an Easter brunch. I am behind the bar, so I have a few regulars stop in throughout the shift.

Regular: “I’m sorry you all have to work today but thank you very much for the meal and company. I hope you’re making time-and-a-half for working on a holiday!”

I don’t even realize what I’m saying until the words have left my mouth.

Me: “We make $2.13 an hour, so even if we were getting holiday pay, it wouldn’t mean much.”

The other guest at the bar and my regular, looked totally shocked. I tried to laugh it off and change the topic, but… Oops. I told.