I help to organize a book club. During one of our bigger meetings, we decide to get catering and make it a luncheon, and everyone chips in to pay for it. We end up calling and emailing several local restaurants to figure out what they offer and what it would cost, and we end up going with a build-your-own-burrito bar option from a local Mexican restaurant.

A few days after the meeting, I get an email from one of the other restaurants that we didn’t end up selecting, with an attached invoice listing every possible combination that we’d discussed with them in the original correspondence, totaling up to a few hundred dollars worth of food. I reply to the email, pointing out that there must be a mistake, as we never ordered or received any food from them.

There is no response to my reply, but a few days later, I get an exact copy of the original email, complete with invoice. Again, I respond and tell them that they have the wrong email or there is some other mistake, as we haven’t actually done business with them.

Again, no response, and a duplicate of the original email shows up the following Monday. At that point, I call the “help number” listed in the invoice.

Employee: “Hello, this is [Restaurant].”

Me: “Hi. I’m calling about an invoice we’ve been getting sent by mistake. We never ordered any food, so you might be sending us someone else’s invoice.”

Employee: “May I have your name?”

Me: “It’s [My Name], but I don’t—”

Employee: “Your email address is [address]?”

Me: “Yes, but we—”

Employee: “You requested a quote.”

Me: “Yes, but we didn’t actually end up choosing your restaurant. We went with someone else.”

Employee: “But you requested a quote. You have to pay for it.”

Me: “That’s not how quotes work. We asked how much your food would cost, but we never actually placed an order, and we never received any food from you.”

Employee: *Pause* “I see here that you requested a quote.”

That ended up going around and around in circles for another minute, as I tried to get them to hand me to someone else. They eventually put me on hold, and then the call disconnected. Rather than call back and try hammering the point home again, I just ended up flagging the emails as spam. They continued to send exact duplicates of that email for a few weeks before they finally stopped, and I never ended up hearing anything more about it.

I work in a Mexican restaurant.

Customer: “I can’t eat onions, garlic, or any kind of peppers. Spicy food is right out. And I hate salads.”

I have been in the service industry for about four years now. I’ve had my share of rude customers, complaints, and the occasional — but mostly rare — dine-and-dashers. It’s part of the job, nothing I take personally.

One night, I have a two-top arrive about thirty minutes to close. These two seem like they are on their first date; I can tell off the bat that they haven’t known each other for very long. They are extremely polite and don’t need much attention, so I figure it’ll be an easy table. These two get full-course meals. I’m talking multiple alcoholic beverages, appetizers, baskets and baskets of fresh bread, combo entrees with add-ons and extras, salads, dessert, everything you can think of.

About halfway into their meal, they call me over and the man starts to complain about his half-eaten well-done sirloin steak.

Man: “My steak is overdone and tough to chew!”

No kidding. It’s well-done.

Man: “I will not be paying for these entrees!”

I happily offer to grab my manager to work something out, and I promise him that he will not be forced to pay for his half-eaten steak. My manager comes to a compromise with the couple and gives them a generous discount from their $160 tab. It brings their total down to $38. My manager runs their check out for them and they seem very pleased with the outcome.

By the time I arrive back to the table, the two are gone. I don’t panic too much, considering the lady has left her purse. I immediately go to the host stand.

Me: “Hey, the two from my table have both gone to the restroom, so don’t bus it off yet.”

I figure they will be back shortly and be ready to pay. Five minutes passed, then ten minutes passed, and then I pay a visit to the women’s restroom… which is empty. I grab my manager to let her know that they belong on the show “World’s Dumbest Criminals” and pass off the lady’s purse for safe keeping in the office.

I walk up to the host stand a short while later to discover my manager is on the phone with the MOTHER of the lady who left her purse. She had called to inform my manager that her daughter had forgotten her bag, to which my manager replied that she had “forgotten” to pay the bill, too. This lady’s sweet mother offer to pay their bill, as well as to pick up the purse soon after. My manager politely declined and told her that if her daughter wanted her bag back, she would have to show her face and come pay her bill.

I was getting ready to leave for the night when my manager handed me a credit card and told me that the lady from my walk out was here to pay her tab. My manager told me to run the charge and then hand her back the card myself. At this point, I was thrilled to see that she was willing to come back in and face anybody.

I swiped her card and handed her the receipt with THE BIGGEST smile on my face. I told her I hoped she’d have a really great night and to be safe on her way home. She wouldn’t even look me in the eyes. I stood and waited while she signed to ramp up her nerves. Zero tip, but so satisfying.

If you’re going to commit a crime and walk out on your bill, make sure all your ducks are in a row.

As a child, I hated pickles but loved cheeseburgers. My parents would make sure to order my meals without pickles, but four times out of ten it would still come with pickles. It always seemed to happen just as I got comfortable and stopped checking the burger, too.

The worst time, though, was when my grandmother took me to a particular restaurant. She let me order and I told the cashier I wanted a kid’s meal with a cheeseburger and no pickles. The cashier put this in, we paid, and the food came out soon.

We went to sit down and I realized something was wrong as soon as I unwrapped the burger; there was no excess cheese on the side of the burger. Lifting the bun, I found that not only was there no cheese, but the ketchup and mustard were missing, as well. What wasn’t missing was a pile of about ten pickle slices, where two would be standard.

I honestly have no idea what the person making that burger was thinking.

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I am a cook in a display kitchen in a restaurant. In other words, my part of the kitchen is in the dining room, separated from the dining room only by a counter, so I am visible to anyone in the dining room. However, it is still a sit-down restaurant where guests order from servers who come to their table and bring their orders to them; they do not order directly from me or take food from the counter.

Our restaurant offers plates of cheeses and charcuteries — cured meats — that are very popular. I have just completed some orders of them and placed them on the counter for the servers to pick up when some guests are seated in the restaurant. One of the guests comes from the table to talk to me.

Guest: “Hey, these look great! What are they?”

Me: “These are some of our cheese and charcuterie platters. They are on your menu.”

I explain the items we have and how to order them.

Guest: “Oh, wow! Can I just take one of these?”

Me: “No, sir, these are orders for another guest, but you are free to order the same thing if you like and I can make it for you, too. Just give your order to your server.”

Guest: “But I really want one of these.”

Me: “These are already for someone else, but if you’d like the same one, I can start making it now and your server can bring it over to your table.”

I gesture back toward his table, hoping that will encourage him to return to it. No such luck.

Guest: “Come on! I’ll pay you double!”

Me: “Sir, please. You don’t need to do that! Please return to your table and order from your server for the regular price. It’s right on your menu.”

The guest begins laying out cash on the counter in front of me.

Me: “Sir… you can’t…”

A cocktail server has come over from the bar while we were having this exchange and she intervenes.

Server: *Raising her voice* “She can’t take your money! You don’t order from her! Just go back to your table and tell your waiter like she’s been trying to tell you!”

Guest: “Oh! Oh, okay, sorry.”

He picked up his cash and went back to his table. She was a little unpolished, and that’s not how we should be talking to our guests, but at least she got him to listen!