I have just started working at a restaurant. An elderly man is seated at one of my tables, one of my very first customers.

Me: “Hi, my name is [My Name] and I’ll be your waitress. Do you know what you’d like to—”

Customer: “Spaghetti.”

Me: “Okay, the spaghetti and meatballs, and would you like soup or salad with that?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Oh, uh, it’s included with your meal—”

Customer: “NO!”

Me: “Okay, no soup or salad, just spaghetti and meatballs, is that right?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll go get that started for you.”

When his food is ready, I bring it out to him.

Customer: “What the h*** is this? Where’s my salad?”

Me: “Oh, uh, well, you said you didn’t want one—”

Customer: “You’re supposed to bring the salad first!”

Me: “Okay, uh, sorry, I’ll go get your salad. Did you want Caesar, or—”

Customer: “No! Regular salad!”

I go back into the kitchen and ask the person at the salad station to make me one. While I’m waiting, I mention to another waiter what happened.

Coworker: “Oh, yeah, he’s a regular. He always gets salad and spaghetti.”

Me: “He was pretty adamant about not wanting a soup or salad.”

Coworker: *Shrug* “Weird.” 

Once the salad’s ready, I bring it back out to him.

Customer: “You know, no one’s ever gotten this wrong before.”

He didn’t tip.

I manage a restaurant. I’m in the dining room when I see a guest berating a server. As I approach, I can see the guest holding a menu and yelling about how “this is overpriced” and “I could buy this at the supermarket for half the price,” etc. The kicker is when she says to the server:

Guest: “You should be ashamed for trying to gouge customers during [the health crisis]!”

I walk over, send the server away and, for the first, most exhilarating time in my life, order the guest to sit down and wait.

Me: “I’ll be right back.”

I went to the kitchen, grabbed my stack of invoices, and went back to the table. I’d love to say that I was able to go item for item with a dish and show how I arrived at the price but, sadly, the guest picked up her bag and left when I asked if she had a calculator. Her visibly embarrassed husband apologized, handed me ten bucks — they hadn’t even ordered yet — and followed her out the door.

Moral of the story: you servers might not be able to be a**holes, but there’s a room full of people in the back who would be happy to do it for you. Respect to you guys, who have the patience of mothers of twelve.

My husband has a hard time answering simple “yes or no” questions, often feeling the need to give a grand explanation to his answer, and I have pointed this out to him many times out of frustration. I’m pregnant and getting random aversions or sensitivities to different smells and foods. For the last couple days, I’ve been really sensitive to seafood smells.

We both order Caesar salads before our meals, and while I do order this salad often, I’ve never known what ingredients are actually used to make it other than dressing, cheese, croutons, and the actual salad itself. Today, I notice a particular smell in the sauce that I have never noticed before.

Me: “Oh, wow. Is Caesar salad made with some type of fish in the sauce? I never noticed before.”

Husband: “The traditional Caesar salad was actually made way back in [date I can’t remember] and a true Caesar salad has ingredients like [list of ingredients I can’t remember]. Nowadays, small restaurants only have the basic ingredients like garlic, citrus, anchovies—”

Me: “Anchovies?”

Husband: “Yes, and—”

Me: “So, yes, then.”

Husband: “What?”

Me: “Yes, there is fish in this.”

He pauses.

Husband: “Yes.”

Me: “That’s what I asked. Thank you.”

He silently pouted as he finished his salad.

I work in luxury optical retail, so I’m dressed in a black top and black skirt with dark pantyhose. I could definitely be mistaken for a hostess or a waiter, so you can guess where this is headed.

I go to get sushi from a Japanese restaurant near work that I visit all the time, and I wait for my order near the front till, right by the entrance. I’m not standing behind the till or in front of the computer, so I don’t think I look like I am working there. I’m on my phone while waiting. Two white women around my age walk in. I glance up, see them, and then look back at my phone. I mind my own business.

One of them walks toward me and waves her hand in front of me.

Woman: “Hellooooo?”

I look at her. She gives me this angry look and gestures to herself and her friend.

Woman: “Hello! Can we please get some help or what?”

Me: “Uh, try asking one of the wait—”

Woman: *Cutting me off and huffing* “Okay, you continue being useless.”

She walks past me, and then the waitress comes out of the kitchen with my order. She smiles and greets the women, says, “Just a moment,” and gives me my food.

The two women look so angry. I don’t even know why.

Woman: *Loudly* “Well, if you weren’t a waitress, you should have said something.”

But I did kind of try to tell her to get a waiter before she cut me off. It’s not my problem that she decided to assume I was a waitress.

I’d like to believe that this wasn’t a racial thing, but as an Asian woman at a sushi restaurant, it probably was.

I am the assistant manager at an Indian cuisine restaurant, and due to staffing shenanigans unrelated to this story, I’m left with three newbies, two coworkers, and some kitchen staff.

One of the newbies I shall dub [Troublemaker]. [Troublemaker], [Newbie #1], [Coworker #1], and I are on the schedule one night.

[Newbie #1] has a look in her eye that I don’t like, and I ask her what’s wrong. She takes me aside for a few moments as we are setting up the bar and tells me some unsettling things about [Troublemaker].

[Newbie #2] is apparently a sweet girl, hadn’t worked much in a restaurant before, and is learning quickly. It was her second night and [Troublemaker]’s first. She was following [Newbie #1] around, helping her with tables, when [Troublemaker] manifested in front of her and screamed at her.

Troublemaker: “YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE TABLES! YOU’RE POSSIBLY THE STUPIDEST PERSON I’VE EVER ENCOUNTERED!”

[Newbie #1] and [Newbie #2] were stunned, and [Newbie 2] was quiet for the rest of the night. I had the day off, unfortunately; otherwise, I would have taken care of that pretty quickly. [Newbie #1] felt that if [Newbie #2] came back, it would be a freaking miracle.

Newbie #1: “[Troublemaker] has been rude to me personally and to our customers, and I know for a fact that he is going to be rude to you.”

Me: “Thanks for the heads-up. If he’s rude, I’ll handle it.”

Forewarned, I don my metaphorical brass knuckles and prepare for war. Dinner shift is when the brown stuff meets the fan.

It is slow at first, and we have a reservation for eight at 6:00 pm. I casually ask [Troublemaker] if he would like to take them, since [Newbie #1] and I already have a table.

Troublemaker: *Snapping* “I already have a section!”

He waves at his section, which is completely empty. He has been basically doing next to nothing around for about an hour, other than straightening things and giving people malevolent looks.

Me: “Well, then, since you clearly have nothing to do, kindly roll some silverware, as we’ve run out.”

Troublemaker: *Loud and angry* “YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

Me: *Calmly* “Oh, but I do. I’m the assistant manager, and you have been here for two days. I give the orders here. You don’t. Roll the silverware.”

I walk away. He is absolutely fuming, and of course, he doesn’t do as I asked. That is just the beginning.

As soon as we start getting busy, I send customers into [Troublemaker]’s section. Things eventually slow down again. I notice that [Troublemaker] hasn’t been bussing tables, so his section looks awful.

Me: “[Troublemaker], bus your tables.”

Troublemaker: *Screaming* “You don’t tell me what to do!”

That’s it. I’ve had it.

Me: “BUS YOUR TABLES, [TROUBLEMAKER]! WHAT MAKES YOU SO SPECIAL THAT YOU FEEL YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO BUS?!”

[Troublemaker] looks amazed but still wants to argue.

Troublemaker: “You don’t tell—”

Me: “BUS. YOUR. TABLES.”

Troublemaker: “You’re just a woman!”

I narrow my eyes dangerously at him.

Me: “BUS YOUR TABLES OR GO HOME!”

I then go for a cigarette. When I come back, he has pulled [Coworker #1] and one of the kitchen staff aside and is talking at them in Hindi while pointing at me.

I am not about to put up with him hiding behind his language. I approach them and stand squarely in front of them.

Me: “Hi.”

[Troublemaker] switches to English.

Troublemaker: “She needs to be fired!”

Unfortunately for [Troublemaker], he doesn’t know the history of our restaurant. I’ve stuck through thick and thin with the restaurant and was basically the reason why the restaurant lifted out of a slump that would have destroyed the business. If the General Manager fired me, the restaurant would crash and burn, and he knows it. Plus, he is the rare manager who really values employees for more than just the warm bodies filling a spot.

Coworker #1: “She’s not going to be fired. Do what she tells you, or you’ll be the one who gets fired.”

Me: “[Troublemaker], I don’t know what you’re used to, but here, you take orders from me.”

[Troublemaker] tries to interrupt a few times but I cut him off.

Me: “No. You take orders from me. NO, [Troublemaker]. Be quiet. I am talking. This is not negotiable. If you can’t handle taking orders from anyone, or worse, can’t take orders from a woman, we can let you go to find a new job. Your choice.”

Troublemaker: “You need to learn your place. You have no business giving orders to a man!”

I smiled at him like a shark, and at the end of the shift, I typed up a long, detailed email to the General Manager.

[Troublemaker] was gone before he had even worked a full week, and apparently, the loss of his job was also a loss of his ability to even stay in the country.

I made a phone call to [Newbie #2], letting her know [Troublemaker] was gone and she would never have to deal with him again. She thanked me, and after some gentle encouragement on my part, she agreed to continue working with us. 

Staffing this place is going to be a challenge.