(I have just gotten to work, and there is a slight rush going on. I get to work making orders in the back. After the rush has died down, there are still two orders left, and I make them, double checking them to make sure the orders are correct. I shout out the first order to Coworker #1, who needs to take the food out to the customers.)

Me: “Order up! Mushroom swiss and tots!”

Coworker #1 is standing near the front, looking towards the door, but doesn’t turn around.)

Me: *louder* “ORDER UP! Mushroom swiss with tater tots!”

Coworker #1: “Is this a cheeseburger with no lettuce and onion rings?”

Me: “Uh… no. It’s a mushroom swiss with tots.”

Coworker #1: “Oh.”

(Coworker #1 takes the order out. A few moments later, I have the cheeseburger with no lettuce and onion rings ready.)

Me: “Order up! Cheeseburger no lettuce with onion rings!”

Coworker #1: “So, this is a mushroom swiss with tots?”

Me: “No, that was the last order. This is the cheeseburger no lettuce with onion rings.”

Coworker #1: “Crap! I gave that last order to the wrong person!”

(Coworker #1 hurries off with the burger. I look at Coworker #2, who is working the grill.)

Me: “Really? Did that really just happen?”

Coworker #2: *shrugs* “Some peoples’ kids.”

This story is part of the Diners roundup!

Read the next Diners roundup story!

Read the Diners roundup!

(I work as a server in a cafe situated above a bigger superstore. I come over in a wave of hot nausea, and bolt for the bathrooms, which are downstairs in the main store. After I purge, I stagger out and go to the customer service desk to call the cafe upstairs. Due to health and safety when working with food, after nausea and vomiting, I’m not allowed back on the premises for at least 48 hours, as per the conditions of my contract.)

Manager: “Where the f*** are you?! You can’t run out on a customer like that! We’re in the middle of the lunch rush!”

Me: “I’m really sorry about that; I threw up really violently, and had to run to the toilet to keep myself from hurling on the customer.”

Manager: “Well, I hope you’re better now! [Other server] is working the counter alone, and needs you back up here ASAP!”

Me: “I was physically sick; I have emptied my system of every single food-like substance I’ve got, and can barely stand. I need to go home.”

Manager: “Suck it up! You’ve only got three hours left of your shift, and we need you up here!”

Me: “It’s not about me; I cannot handle the food because these ailments are highly contagious. My contract even says, very clearly, that I cannot come in to work until 48 hours have passed.”

Manager: “You’re not walking out in the middle of a shift! Get back up here RIGHT NOW!”

Me: “Did you hear what I just said? I’M NOT ALLOWED BACK UP THERE!”

Manager: “Get back up here RIGHT NOW, or you’re FIRED!”

Me: “F*** it. Fire me. I’d love to see that decision stand.”

(I hang up on my manager. Sure enough, the manager tries to have me fired for walking out on my shift. Once I point out why I have to leave, the area manager demotes her to a server, and promotes me to a team leader. I’m now her boss!)

(I am doing some shopping. I am in the soda aisle, when an older customer comes up to me. I am 18.)

Customer: “Excuse me; I was hoping you could do me a favor. I don’t have a calculator, and I only need one of these.”

(The customer points to sodas marked five for $11.)

Customer: “Could you figure out how much one is?”

Me: “Of course! One is $2.20.”

Customer: *suddenly angry* “If you didn’t want to do it, you could have just said so! There’s no way some stupid teenager like you could figure that out without a calculator! You teenagers can’t even add or subtract without one; how could you possibly work out decimals without one? You just made up a number to get me to go away! I’m on a budget, trying to make sure I have enough to pay for my groceries, and here you are telling me an incorrect number! You could have completely ruined my budget for the rest of the month by making me go over!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry that you think I was trying to do that to you.”

(I pull out my phone and do the math.)

Me: “The price is still $2.20. But just because you only know stupid teenagers, doesn’t mean you should assume everyone you meet is the same. Might I remind you that you had me do it for you, because you didn’t have a calculator?”

(A customer calls in to report problems with their cell phone. I’ve determined it is a network issue.)

Me: “So, I will just need to know the location where you are so that I can tell the technician.”

Customer: “What? I’m not giving you the address! That’s not my job! I just need you to come out and fix it. It’s in Chicago.”

Me: “Well, in order for our techs to know what tower to fix, they need to know where you are having the issues. Without an address, I can’t put in the ticket.”

Customer: “No! I am not giving you the address! I am so sick and tired of this stuff! I had the same problem with [other provider]! You don’t need an address to fix it; you just don’t want to help!”

Me: “I do want to help, which is why I need an address. Even if the system would let me put the ticket in without an address, you’d then be waiting for months for a resolution while we check every tower in Chicago. In order to help, I need to know where to send my techs.”

Customer: “This is outrageous! I have a business to run! I don’t have time for this s***!”

Me: “It looks like you have a water-sprinkler company. If one of your customers reported a problem with a pipe you laid, would you go around the entire city checking every pipe, or would you require that customer to give you an address to assist?”

Customer: *huffs* “That is not the same thing, and you know it! Now get someone out here immediately!”

Customer: “So, where are you located?”

Me: “In Orlando, Florida.”

Customer: “Ugh! I’m sick of all you foreigners taking jobs from us hard-working Americans!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am an American citizen. Florida is a state in America. Everyone who works in this call center is American.”

Customer: “I’m not stupid! I know Florida is in Mexico! I want to talk to an AMERICAN!”