I am out for dinner with my then-fiancée (now wife) and her dad, my (now) father-in-law. He’s not the nicest to her (he got divorced and remarried, and he loves his new kids more than my wife) and gives her grief over everything she does.

We’re at the end of dinner, and my father-in-law offers to pay for the meal. Okay, that’s surprisingly nice.

Fiancée: “I’ll ask to get my leftovers boxed and I’ll take them home.”

Father-In-Law: “You’ll just leave them in the fridge, and then they’ll just get thrown out.”

I’ve been hearing stuff like this all night, so I snap.

Me: “Listen, it’s not your fridge. Leave her alone.”

Father-In-Law: *Getting mad* “Don’t tell me how to raise my daughter!”

Me: “Then don’t speak to my fiancée that way!”

He literally throws the bill and folder at me.

Father-In-Law: “Fine! You f****** pay, then!”

He storms out, so I pay the bill and I’m just waiting for the receipt. We’re still waiting ten minutes later, so we’re wondering what is going on. Tensions are rising, and [Fiancée]’s dad is waiting outside, just building up steam and ready to blow once we get out there. I ask the waiter:

Me: “Can I just get our bill and go?”

Waiter: “Oh, no, sir, you have to wait for the manager.”

It turned out that they had a contest running where “every bill is a winner.” Normally, you’d win a free drink or appetizer with your next meal. Well, we won the GRAND PRIZE: a trip for four to Florida! Whoever paid got the prize.

We did not bring [Father-In-Law] on our free trip!

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I work at a mom-and-pop counter-service restaurant that serves Sicilian street food. A woman comes into the restaurant right after our lunch rush. I decide to take her order since the person usually running the front is in the back doing dishes — my first mistake. She stands there just looking at the menu for upwards of fifteen minutes.

A different woman comes in, we cook her food, and she leaves before the first woman has said anything. She finally speaks!

Customer: “So, your Italian beef… What’s that like?”

I explain it to her as best I can, but she doesn’t know what Giardiniera is.

Me: “It’s pickled vegetables and peppers that brine in olive oil.”

Customer: “Oh, so it’s like a jam?”

Me: “No, they’re just chopped up.”

Customer: “Oh… So it’s like a spread?”

I grab a container of it to show her. She nods in understanding and continues looking at our very small menu.

Customer: “So, that sausage and peppers pasta… What’s that like?”

I explain it to her.

Customer: “Can I get cheese melted on that?”

Me: “No, ma’am. We don’t have a salamander [broiler] or any type of cheese that would go well melted on top of the pasta.”

Customer: “You can’t just put it in the microwave?”

Did this woman just tell me to microwave her food? What?

Me: “No, we don’t do that.”

Customer: “Okay. So… the sausage and peppers sandwich… What’s that like?”

This continues for SEVERAL of our menu items. “What’s that like?” followed by confusion.

Customer: “My friend got a sandwich that had ham and swiss cheese on it.”

We don’t serve that.

Me: “Oh, it may have been our sub sandwich; it has ham and provolone.”

Customer: “Is that on toast?”

Me: “No, it’s a sub sandwich.”

Customer: “Well, this one was on toast.”

Me: “That was probably our prosciutto and fig sandwich. It has prosciutto, mozzarella, fig jam, and fresh basil.”

Customer: “Oh… Prosciutto? What’s in that?”

Me: “It’s like a saltier ham.”

Customer: “Oh… Fig jam? Is that like a Fig Newton?”

Me: “Um, it’s kind of like what’s inside a Fig Newton?”

Customer: “Oh, okay… What’s that like?”

I give her some to taste.

Customer: “Okay… Um, your fresh basil… What’s in that?”

Me: *Pauses* “What do you mean?”

Customer: “Like, is there garlic?”

Me: *Pauses again* “No, it’s just… basil leaves. Like the plant.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. I’ll take that, then. Jam on the side. And I get a military discount.”

I start making her sandwich and she flags me over from the counter.

Customer: “I don’t want my bread burning! My sandwich is burning!”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s not burning. We have to press it on the griddle so that the cheese evenly cooks.”

She gets her food, but she has her mother on the phone to give an order on speakerphone. Her phone is busted all to crap and I can barely hear her.

Mother: “What bread is that sandwich on?”

Me: “It’s sourdough bread.”

Mother: “Oh… What’s that like?”

I am the night manager of a fairly busy restaurant. It’s a typical mid-January night and the temperature is around minus thirty. (It doesn’t matter if that’s Fahrenheit or Celsius; they’re both very cold.)

This couple comes in around 10:30 pm. Straight away, the guy starts acting like a d****ebag dudebro, and his date is just as bad. She complains about everything. She expects her ten-ounce wine glass to come full to the brim when the menu says it’s a six-ounce server. The guy snaps his fingers to get the waitress’s attention and says, “Chop chop!” to get served faster. They are rude to me and everyone else in the place, they write a nasty note on their CC receipt, “Sorry, no tip for bad service,” and, of course, they don’t tip.

They walk out the door at the same time that one of the other waiters is leaving, and because it’s thirty below, neither of their cars will start. I grab my keys and move my car next to the waiter’s car, pop the hoods, hook up the cables, and have him started quicker than you can imagine.

Then, the man from the couple walks over as I’m returning the cables to my trunk and asks for a boost.

Customer: *Demanding* “Me next!”

I laugh as I get in my car and repark it. At this point, it is closing time, so I walk back into the restaurant and start to lock the doors, the man trailing after me.

Me: “I’ll charge your car as much as you tipped.”

I pointed out an indoor ATM area in the bank across the street. They had to take a cab home.

My restaurant and bar used to have a cop hang out around closing time just to keep an eye on things.

A couple pulls a dine-and-dash. I go to pick up their check and notice they’ve left without paying. I’m just starting to grumble when I notice they left their car keys behind. I go and hand them directly to our cop friend, who is hanging by the front.

The couple comes back in a minute later.

Couple: *Sheepishly* “Have you… uh… Have you seen our keys?”

Cop: *Taking over* “Yes, they’re right here next to the check you didn’t pay.”

That was satisfying to see even though I didn’t get tipped!

Related:
Their Dine And Dash Hopes Were Dashed, Part 2
Their Dine And Dash Hopes Were Dashed

I was at a resort where dinner was served buffet-style. One lady slipped and ended up with crutches, so the waiters were fetching her food from the buffet.

Another lady, who was perfectly able-bodied, flagged down a waiter.

Lady: “You’re getting that lady’s food for her. I want you to do the same for me!”