Couldn’t He Have Counted To Five And End It Sooner?

I am a waiter in a country cooking restaurant that serves no alcohol. Most of the servers there are female, many of them teenagers. A customer is seated in a coworker’s section. She’s in high school. I’m ten years older than her, and while she’s generally better at the job, I’m known for my long temper and excellent manners.

Coworker: “Oh, God. [My Name], can you take this one? I don’t want to deal with him.”

I’m thinking I might get a tip.

Me: “Okay!”

Coworker: *Clearly relieved* “Thank you.”

I arrive at the table.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Restaurant]. My name is [My Name] and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you something to drink to start?”

Customer: *Loudly* “I want a woman to take care of me!”

Me: “Sir, I assure you, I can provide you with excellent service.”

Customer: *Yelling* “I don’t care!” *Louder* “I want to be taken care of by somebody with tits!”

I stare in stunned silence. There is no way any woman, anywhere, of any age, deserves to be subjected to this, not even those working in the numerous strip joints less than ten minutes away.

Customer: *Still screaming* “If I don’t get a woman to take care of me by the time I count to ten, I’m leaving! One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! That’s it! I’m not eating here!”

We watch him go.

Hostess: “God willing, he won’t come back.”