Meet My Mother, Karen

(My younger sister and I all work in the food industry. My sister is a manager at a pizza joint, and I’ve worked at a nicer fast food restaurant as a cashier for two years. We’re pretty low-key when it comes to eating out and customer service, because we’ve been in the business. Our mother, bless her, is not. The three of us are eating out and I notice that something is wrong with my order.)

Me: “Huh… Oh, well.”

Mom: “What? What’s wrong?”

Me: “Oh, nothing. I’m just missing [small item].”

Mom: “That’s unacceptable! Go tell them!”

Me: “Uh, no, Mom, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

Mom: “Yes, it is. You paid for [small item]; you should get [small item]!”

Me: “They’re really busy right now, I’m sure it was an honest mistake. I’m not fussed.”

Sister: “Yeah, they’ve got everything else with our orders right. It’s okay.”

Mom: “But they screwed up your order! They should fix it!”

Me: “Mom. I. Don’t. Care. It’s fine. I’m not bugged by it.”

Mom: “You both work in food service; how does this not upset you?”

Me: “Mom. I’m literally missing one thing. One small thing. I’m not allergic to anything on my order. They gave me everything else except that one small thing, which wasn’t a big deal to begin with. I can live without it.”

Sister: “They’re super busy, Mom! They’ve got a ton of crap to deal with; we’re not going to be that one more thing that makes their day worse.”

Mom: “But they need to know so they can do their jobs right.”

Sister: “Is anything wrong with your order?”

Mom: “No, but–”

Me: “Then they did their job right. Worry about your food. I’ll worry about mine. If your food is distressing you, then you go ask. But since this is my food, I’ll stay here. And deal with the inconvenience. Maturely.”

Mom: “Are you saying I’m immature, young lady?”