We have about eight tables waiting, and I am bringing in a three-top to sit at one of our high-top tables, just as a lady and her friend are sitting down. This lady comes in frequently, usually by herself, and she’s just annoying.

Me: “I’m sorry, we are on a wait. I’m seating these folks, but I can put you on the list.”

I walk away for no more than a minute and come back.

Regular: “We know them! Can you add a couple of chairs for us?”

Me: *Looking around* “There are no open chairs or bar stools; every single one is taken right now.”

Regular: “What about next door? Can you take a couple from there? And why are they so busy?”

We have a separate bar next door that handles the people waiting and has TVs for games, etc.

Me: “No, we are at capacity due to [health crisis] restrictions, and they are so busy because there are eight parties waiting for tables!”

I admit I’m bulls***ting about the restrictions a little.

Next, the regular starts putting her coat and bag on a bar chair that just opened up, and my bartender tells her she needs to move it because we are going to seat some people there who have been WAITING.

Regular: *To me* “Gosh, I come here all the time. I just didn’t know what was going on. Wow, I just thought we could find a place to sit.”

I finally get her and her friend next door, and then I go back and take the order for the three-top that she had originally tried to join.

Customer: “Thank you so much for taking care of that! We barely know her. I worked with her like ten years ago, and it was really weird that she tried to join us.”

This happens on Mother’s Day years and years ago. I have two large tables; one holds fifteen and the other holds twelve.

The twelve-top is seated. I take their drink order and go in the back to get it. They decide they like the fifteen-top table in my section better, get up, and move there. A hostess comes up with the fifteen-top that was meant to sit at that table. She’s confused and comes to find me. I approach the table.

Me: “I’m sorry but we’re going to need your party to move back to your original table. This is set for fifteen people and you have twelve.”

Customer #1: “Yeah, we were way too squished there. We like this better.”

I point to the party of fifteen waiting.

Me: “This table is set for them. They have fifteen. You will need to move back.”

A woman from the fifteen-top approaches.

Customer #2: “This is our table. We have fifteen! You heard her; move back to your table.”

Customer #1: “No. It’s Mother’s Day and I want my mother to have the best table.”

Customer #2: “Oh, and my mother doesn’t deserve to have a nice table?”

They start to argue loudly. The manager shows up and tells the twelve-top they need to move. They refuse and start to call him names, like children.

Customer #1: “You need to shut the f*** up and do as you’re told!”

The manager gives her a look like, “Oh, really?”

Manager: “That’s it. You need to leave.”

The table erupts as they start yelling, but nobody gets up. The manager takes me aside.

Manager: “Do not serve them. Let them sit. If they don’t leave, we’ll call the police.”

The fifteen-top finds another home. The hostess sits the empty twelve-top with another group, so I put my energy into them. [Customer #1] waves at me as I pass by but I don’t stop.

Customer #1: “God d*** it, she’s ignoring us!”

The manager goes by again.

Manager: “You have five minutes to leave or I’m calling the police.”

The fight between them was ugly and everyone was watching. [Customer #1] and another man with her got in the manager’s face, but he kept his cool. Finally, they gave up and exited the restaurant.

As they left, I couldn’t help but notice the little old woman with them, probably [Customer #1]’s mother. She was all dressed up with her hair done up, and she was probably starving. She hadn’t spoken a word during the chaos, and her entire day was ruined because of her daughter’s selfish actions. I just don’t understand people sometimes.

I’m working an early dinner shift at a fancy, fine dining setting. A four-top reservation comes in — two older married couples in their fifties. They get a table by a window, watching the beautiful sunset. The place is still empty, the piano is just starting up, and it’s a calm, lovely scene.

While they’re being seated, [Husband #1] is intent on the wine list and wants to order before I’ve left the table after my first greeting. He picks out a decent $80 cabernet for the table and I signal to my back waiter to switch out glassware while I head down into the cellar for the bottle. I come up and go through the pouring and tasting and then serve each guest.

As soon as I put the bottle down, the man takes it and empties it among the four glasses, so each of them has a red wine glass that is super full, and everyone at the table is clearly not amused. I watch as [Husband #1] chugs his glass in a desperate series of gulps. His wife is saying his name quietly while the other couple just sits awkwardly with their fifty-gallon wine glasses, trying to sip them without spilling.

I come back to see if they are ready to order. Everyone is, but [Husband #1] wants to start with another bottle. I sort of agree, noting everyone’s glass is full but his. Everyone orders food and he mentions the second bottle.

Me: “Would you like to wait for it to be served with the food, or should I bring it straight away?”

Wife #1: *Suddenly blurting* “[Husband #1], you’re an alcoholic.”

The man immediately gets red in the face and doubles down on the order.

Husband #1: “We’ll take the second bottle now.”

Then, the other woman looks up at me.

Wife #2: “He drove us here. If you serve him, he will be putting our lives at risk.”

Husband #2: *Flatly* “Our lives are in your hands.”

[Husband #1] is about to blow a gasket, his face is purple, and he’s sputtering. I just pick up the wine list and channel my best blackjack dealer.

Me: “I apologize, but I am not serving any more alcohol at this table.”

[Husband #1] slammed his butter knife into the table, making a ruckus, but his wife kind of calmed him down.

They ate three courses, totally silent the entire time. They didn’t say a word to each other or anyone. The tension was unbelievable. In the end, they let [Husband #1] pay, and he tipped me zero on $400.

But hey, I saved their lives.

I work at a popular wing restaurant and people are constantly getting us confused with a more popular wing restaurant that is all over the US. At least once a day, we get someone that calls or comes in that doesn’t realize that we are separate companies. This day is no different. 

Coworker: “[Manager], there is a lady on the phone complaining that when she got her delivery order it was cold and gross.”

Manager: “Okay, well, just tell her that she’ll have to contact the delivery service to get a credit because there’s nothing we can do on our end to give her a credit.”

My coworker doesn’t want to go back on the phone call because she doesn’t want to get yelled at by the customer, so I offer to take the phone call. I was a manager at my last job so I have no problem dealing with rude customers. 

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I just got a delivery from you guys and the food was cold and gross and hard and I need a refund.”

Me: “Okay, which delivery service did you go through? [Service #1] or [Service #2]?”

Customer: “I don’t know. Whichever one you sent me when I ordered online.”

We offer delivery through [Service #1] and [Service #2] apps only. If you order online, you must come pick the food up yourself. 

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we actually do not offer delivery through our website.”

Customer: “Then you need to educate yourself on your website, because I’m looking at it right now and it says you offer delivery.”

Me: “Again, I’m very sorry, but we actually do not offer delivery through our website. If you order online, you must come pick your orders up yourself. The only way we have delivery is through the [Service #1] and [Service #2] apps.”

Customer: “Well, I’m looking at [Other Restaurant]’s website right now and it says you guys offer delivery through your website.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we are [My Restaurant], not [Other Restaurant].”

Customer: “Well, I ordered from [Other Restaurant].”

Me: “Well then, ma’am, you’re going to have to call them, because there’s nothing I can do for you. We are [My Restaurant] at [Location], not [Other Restaurant]. We are completely separate companies and there’s nothing I can do for you.”

I think it finally started to dawn on her that she had called the wrong store and she mumbled something, said okay, and then hung up.

I’m non-binary, which means that even though I physically present male, I don’t care what gender I’m associated with. I’ll usually dress neutrally, but sometimes I dress more feminine. When this story takes place, I am wearing a feminine top and a woman’s jacket with camouflage pants. I’m in the bathroom at a fast food restaurant when a man comes up behind me.

Man: “Hey, [transphobic slur]!”

Before I can even turn around and while I’m still using the urinal, the man grabs my shoulder and spins me around. He did this so suddenly, I didn’t have much time to react and I accidentally splashed his boots with… well, you know. 

Man: “UGH! WHAT THE F***, MAN?!”

He then sprints out of the bathroom. Shaken up but thinking this is the end of the encounter, I finish my business and walk out of the bathroom. A manager stops me before I reach the food counter to place my order. The man is with him and looks really angry.

Manager: “This man says you peed on him in the bathroom because he asked to use the urinal next. You need to leave or I’ll be calling the police.”

Man: “And you’d better apologize to me, you [transphobic slur]!”

Me: “Um… actually, you yanked me away from the urinal while I was using it.”

Man: “That’s a lie!” *To the manager* “This [transphobic slur] and people like him should be locked in jail! They’re mentally diseased!”

Me: *Stunned* “But… you’re the one yelling insults at strangers.”

Manager: “I don’t care who started this.” *Looks at me* “You need to leave now or the cops will be called.” *Looks at the man* “You need to leave, too.”

Man: “But why me? I’m the victim! This [transphobic slur] peed all over me!”

I’m not usually a confrontational person, so I complied with the manager and left the restaurant. I didn’t see how the rest of it went down, but I did pass by a cop with flashing lights on my way home.