A Number 666 With A Side Of Brimstone

(After serving them their fast food, a woman with a family of six runs up to the counter, furious.)

Customer: “You! You stacked our food wrong! Now my kids are crying!”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “Come look!”

(She brings me down to their table, where their three pre-teens are crying their eyes out and her husband looks incredibly frustrated.)

Customer: “Look!”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t see anything wrong with your food–”

Customer: “[Child #1] is supposed to eat first, but his food is on the bottom! We won’t be able to get it without moving the other things!”

Me: “I don’t think I understand.”

Customer: “He’s the first person on the left! He has to eat first, or Satan will claim his soul!”

Me: “Uh…”

(I decide to ask counter-clockwise around the table what everyone ordered, and hand them their food out off the pile.)

Customer:, “Oh, thank you! You will serve as a warrior of God someday!”

Me: “…right.”

(That family still shows up once a month or so, and suffice to say, I always run out to see what order they’re sitting in before I serve their food.)