I’m training as a cook in a fine-dining restaurant. The head chef tells me on my first day to take home any leftovers I want that would otherwise get thrown out anyway; everyone in the kitchen does it, and many servers also pack little lunch bags for themselves every day.

I’m surprised, because any other food service place I worked at before was very strict with leftovers and meals for workers, sometimes even making us pay full price if we ate stuff that was going to be thrown out or could not be sold for some reason.

One day, the chefs miscalculate the savoury tarts they need for a special dinner and we end up with two whole trays left over. After everyone has had their pick, I begin stacking the last tarts — at least fifteen or so — in a to-go container.

Head Chef: “Woah, you really like those, don’t you? Are you going to be eating them for the whole week?”

I’m nervous, because I’m still fairly new at this place and wondering if I misjudged the situation and shouldn’t take more than maybe one or two for myself.

Me: “Actually, I had an idea. I walk past [Train Station that is a well-known hangout/sleeping place for many homeless people] on my way home, and I was gonna hand them out to anyone who wants some. They’re good to eat cold, right?”

Head Chef: “Absolutely. That’s a wonderful idea. Here, let’s pack some sweet tarts, too.”

I’m relieved he’s not actually mad, and many of the homeless people are happy about the free food. A few weeks later, I come into work after a big Christmas party booking the day before, and the head chef waves me over.

Head Chef: “So, we have about twenty leftover Christmas dinners in the walk-in fridge upstairs. I told the night crew to keep them for you for the train station. Make sure to tell me before you leave, so we can heat them up and pack ’em to go, okay?”

I was a bit flabbergasted. True to his word, I found several trays of roast goose, sauce, dumplings, veggies, and red cabbage in the fridge, and he helped me with reheating and packaging them after the dinner rush.

Thanks to the attention of a very conscientious head chef, a whole group of homeless people were treated to a first-class Christmas meal. That was the point at which I realised I was quite lucky to get a trainee position at his restaurant and learn from him.

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I’m waiting on a couple and, as I give them their check, they also ask for the bill of a single army veteran I’ve also been waiting on. I happily give them the check and wait for them to leave before telling the man his bill was paid by a couple that wanted to thank him for his service.

Veteran: “Well, I really appreciate that. Honestly, I don’t need help with money, but here. Take this and if another veteran or just someone who seems to need the extra help comes in use it to pay for their bill and tell them ‘Merry Christmas.’”

He gives me $15, about the cost of his meal.

Me: “I would be happy to, sir, and thank you very much.”

All of this occurs as another table I have of two ladies that just ordered kids’ meals are getting up to leave. They are at the table right next to the veteran; they head out to the store area, I’m assuming to pay their bill and leave. I quickly clear the table and pick up the $4 left on it. About two minutes later, they return and stop me as I come out of the kitchen.

Lady #1: “How much money did we leave on the table?

Me: “There were $4 dollars left there.”

Lady #2: “Are you sure? Because she is missing a $5 bill?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I did not see it. There were only four ones on the table, but feel free to look around that area in case it fell on the floor.”

Lady #1: “Oh, no! What am I going to do?! I’m just not sure how I’m going to pay this check without it.”

As she is saying this, she keeps glancing at my server book where I have the money the veteran gave me separated from my own.

Me: “I’m sorry. I did not see it, again, but feel free to look around.”

I walked away thinking, “Your bill was only $5; it should not be that hard to come up with.” Later, I realized that the first lady had walked out without paying her bill after hearing the guy give me money to pay for someone’s meal. She decided to try and get the money from me, and after I ignored her fishing attempt, she just left figuring that I would have to do so anyway. Fortunately, my manager just wrote off the check and, by using my employee discount, the money the veteran gave me was enough to buy two meals for the many veterans that frequent my restaurant.

I am serving tables as a seventeen-year-old student in a quite nice restaurant in Belgium. I am a white male with blonde hair and blue eyes. On a rather calm evening, a man, wife, and son sit down at a table. Passing by, I notice that they are Latino because of the Spanish accent they speak with and the Chilean flag tattooed on the man’s arm.

Because my family is quite linguistic and kind of multicultural, I am near-fluent in Spanish, as well as a couple of other languages. While I’m serving the table in my native language, the man starts a video call with family in Chile. At one point, the d*****bag tells this family member, in Spanish:

Man: “I’ll get this idiotic-looking waiter. He’s sucked at everything he has been doing all night.”

I get that I sometimes make mistakes, but I’ve done nothing of the kind this evening.

The man evidently thought I wouldn’t understand him speaking in Spanish. So, when I bring him and his family dessert, I say:

Me: “Buen provecho, disfrúten su postre.” Bon appetit, enjoy your dessert.

Then, I smiled sarcastically and left. The s***bag didn’t know what came over him. He hung up pretty quickly after that. His wife didn’t seem to happy with the situation and made it pretty clear to her husband. The son just seemed confused. They didn’t leave a tip.

I work at a high-end restaurant as a hostess. I often have to help bussing tables and serving customers drinks when it is especially busy. This happens on one such day as I am serving some guests their coffee.

Customer: “Your dessert menu says, ‘a la carte.’ Does that mean they come on a cart?”

I just pause for a second, hoping to God he’s joking, before responding.

Me: “No, but that would be pretty cool!”

I work in a restaurant. We open for dine-in one Monday, and we have to close again nine days later — which is fine by me. I only work Sundays, and this Sunday is a confused mess. Only a cook and I are scheduled to deal with tables and take away service. The phone is ringing nonstop and my boss has to step in even though he is eating with family in our bar.

All my tables are lovely and happy to be out and relaxing for the first time in months. One table, a mother and daughter, are super friendly, kind, and easy-peasy. When they come to pay, everything is normal.

Mother: “This is our first time out since lockdown started in March. We’ve never been here before and we had a wonderful time!”

Then, she completes her payment on the machine. She enters $100 into the tip amount. I stop and double-check it.

Mother: “We decided that we wanted to do this, before the next lockdown. We had such a great time out, and we feel good about this amount. We know how important it is to support local businesses.”

I didn’t cry — because phones were ringing and my brain was scrambled — but I did thank them and thank them and thanked them some more.

I never thought such a gift would be given to me by a stranger. I only wish I could tell her how needed that extra money was — how I could pay for my expensive meds, buy my family essential items, and not worry about checking my bank every day for a while. The good in this world is sometimes too good. Keep it up, servers. Some out there do appreciate you more than you know.