I work at a restaurant. One day, I get a family of four. Right from the get-go, they are pretty unfriendly. Whatever. It just means I’ll keep our conversation to just asking what they need.

One of the adults orders a lemonade; we hand squeeze the lemon juice each morning and make it fresh, so it’s $3.99 for an order, but refills are free. She guzzles down four glasses of it while she’s there. Since the bartender has to pour the drinks, it’s pretty frustrating.

She also orders a kids’ meal, which is absolutely okay because if you don’t feel like eating much, it’s a perfect size. I’m thankful corporate doesn’t come down hard on kids’ meals, because honestly, what difference does it make?

Anyway, they’re rude when they speak, and they give me the cold shoulder the rest of the time. I drop off their check and go make sure the rest of my tables are okay. The lady stops me from going to the back to get something.

Lady: “I thought drinks with the kids’ meal were free?”

Me: “Yes, they’re free if you’re a kid under the age of ten.”

Because a kid under the age of ten isn’t going to drink four f****** glasses.

Lady: “But I always get them for free with my kids take out order!”

Me: “Yes, because we are unable to verify that it’s not going to kids.”

Luckily, my manager stepped up and confirmed what I had just said. They paid and left. They left less than 10% tip, but that’s okay because I no longer had to deal with them. Also, when I thanked them for coming in and told them to have a nice day, they couldn’t even bother to respond.

It must suck to be that hateful.

I work at a popular steakhouse.

Customer: “Can you tell me what’s on the steak filet salad?”

I list all of the toppings.

Customer: “No, but what’s on it?”

I am slightly confused but repeat the toppings.

Customer: “You know what? Never mind. What’s on the grilled chicken salad?”

Me: “The same toppings, minus the bleu cheese crumbles.”

Customer: “No! I wanna know what’s on the salad!”

I can only stare, very confused.

Customer: *Exasperated* “What kind of meat is on them?!”

Me: “What kind of meat… is on the grilled chicken salad?”

Customer: “YES!”

Me: *Incredulous pause* “Grilled chicken.”

She ended up getting a burger.

I work at a bistro. Today, I am working alone. I have to prepare salad and rice for lunch, make sandwiches and cereal bowls, clean the tables, and serve customers simultaneously. There are a lot of customers, so I struggle to juggle everything at once.

A regular wants something from the antipasti bar. I fill her plate, but she wants more and more, even though the plate is full. I probably look a bit annoyed, so she asks me:

Customer: “Are you in a bad mood?”

Me: “No, I’m just stressed.”

Customer: “And you’re serving me this stressed?!”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “What am I supposed to do with this? Eat it and become stressed?”

Me: “W—”

Customer: “What are you even stressed about? There are barely any people here!”

Me: “…?”

Customer: “I don’t even know if I want this now that I know that you’re serving me this stressed!”

A colleague from the adjacent grocery store came over and asked what was wrong. The customer ranted that I was stressed and I was serving her stressed and now she couldn’t eat what I served her. She demanded that my colleague prepare her the same plate but in a calm way.

The customer next in line didn’t say anything, but she gave me a huge tip out of pity.

A friend and I have a standing dinner out one night a week. Because I have some funny food habits, we usually go to the same few places, but this time we have branched out to a pizza joint neither of us really knows.

Unlike most pizza places in the city, they have slices under a heat lamp as well as offering full freshly-made ones. They also have a few sides. I order a few slices from the display and a side.

Employee: *Nervously* “I’m sorry, sir, the side will take around twenty minutes.”

Me: “It’s fine. It’s a side; it won’t kill me to wait.”

Once our orders are placed and our immediate food is handed over, we sit to wait. It’s a small place, so it’s hard not to notice when another table starts grumbling about the wait.

We keep waiting, eating what we have. I finish up my slices, and maybe ten minutes later, my piping-hot side gets rushed out to me, as does the large order for this other table. It looks like a minimum order of three large pizzas and half a dozen sides. I would have no reason to notice this if the man had not gotten in the waiter’s face — while he is trying to set this feast down! — to start on a big rant that starts at, “We’ve been waiting half an hour!” and ends at, “We’ve waited forty-five minutes and no one told me it would take so long!”

I get angry. The waiter clearly has no power. He wants to put the food down and probably go back and get a manager to help. I sincerely doubt he was not told about the wait. So, I stand up, and get his attention.

Me: “Hey, you’re complaining about the wait? Well, your food’s here, so sit down, shut up, and eat!”

He turns around, towering over me and angry. The waiter runs off.

Customer: “F*** off! I’ve been waiting an hour for this and they didn’t tell me it would take so long!”

Me: “I agree, they should have told you. But your food is here now, so why don’t you eat?!”

There was an awkward silence. The man still looked pretty angry but did seem to be going to sit down and eat. I left with my friend trailing after. Goal achieved: the waiter had gotten away.

What got to me, though, is that I found a Google review a few days later saying how sad it was that this poor man had been made to wait so long and then have this “large, interfering woman” make a scene with comments that “her boyfriend couldn’t cash.” I was smaller than both the women the man was with… and I’d stand up for my own comments! I know I wasn’t polite, but yelling at the waiter over something he can’t change does not make things better.

My husband and I have lunch with his parents every Sunday at the same restaurant. A lot of the staff knows us a little, particularly because, as creatures of habit, our drinks are always the same. Usually, one of us will just rattle off the drinks for the entire table. One Sunday, we get a new hire as our server.

Server: “What can I get you to drink?”

I point to the person associated with each drink.

Me: “[Cola], diet [Cola], cherry [Cola], sweet tea.”

Server: “Sorry, we don’t have cherry [Cola].”

Husband: “They just make it at the bar.”

Server: “No, they can’t. We don’t have cherry [Cola].”

Husband: *Slowly* “Yes, I know it’s not in your soda machine, but the bartender just makes it with [Cola] and grenadine at the bar.”

Server: *Annoyed* “Sorry, we can’t do that. We don’t have cherry [Cola].”

Husband: *Trying a new tactic* “Okay. Can you just order me a Roy Rogers from the bar?”

Server: *Suddenly perky* “Of course! I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

We are served our drinks; my husband even gets his “Roy Rogers.” Later, a manager we know comes by as the server is checking on us. Seeing my husband’s glass a little low, he asks:

Manager: “Did you have a cherry [Cola]?

Server: “No! We don’t have cherry [Cola]! He ordered a Roy Rogers from the bar.”

The manager looks temporarily stunned.

Manager: *Slowly* “A Roy Rogers is a [Cola] with grenadine. It’s just a cherry [Cola].”

The server looks shocked and angry and splutters at us.

Server: “Well, you could have just said that!”