When I was in high school, I worked at a restaurant where the dining room stations were assigned by seniority. The most senior waitress got the counter, and the most junior waitress got the back station which had one booth and four four-seat tables.

Every Wednesday night, at 7:30 sharp, a group from the Nazarene Church would come in and push the tables in the back station together so they could all sit together. They would order, and when their food came up, they would get angry if the waitress served them before they said their prayer. They would make her and me stand there, holding the trays of food while they said their “Praise the Lords”. The prayers were always excessively long, five or six minutes minimum — more if someone had recently died, gotten married, or given birth.

At about 8:30 pm, a group from the nearby Church of Christ would come in, and they would wait, standing along the wall because they wanted those tables in the back.

The Nazarenes would purposely linger over their coffee for thirty minutes or more to make the other church people wait. They would finally leave, and the tip would be in nickels and dimes that never added up to more than seventy-five cents.

The Church of Christ people would come over to the tables before I could finish cleaning them. They would sit down and repeat the performance.

I or the waitress, who were both making two bucks an hour plus tips, had most of our station taken up for two and a half or three hours by two very demanding and annoying groups for a tip that might be $1.50.

I couldn’t wait to get out of there. 

Related:
What Would Jesus Tip?, Part 2
What Would Jesus Tip?

I think I met the person in this story in line at the grocery store a couple of decades ago. The first time she rammed into me, I assumed it was an accident and just moved my foot slightly so her cart would not be pushing on my ankle bone. But I also watched her in my peripheral vision.

The second time she rammed my ankle, I could see the smug look on her face and could tell it was deliberate. She actually pulled the cart back a couple of inches to get a running start. That time, instead of moving my foot, I turned it and kept watching her without any reaction.

The third time, she actually pulled the cart back at least six inches to get a hard hit. But instead of hitting my ankle bone, the cart bounced off the bottom of my very thick-soled athletic shoe, bouncing back into her at full speed, the handle hitting across her body at about shoulder height.

Her smug look was immediately replaced by shock and confusion. She actually tried looking over the cart to see what she had hit.

I just flashed her a quick grin and walked out.

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I’m a cashier for a grocery chain. It’s a Saturday, and it’s crazy busy as always. A family comes through my line with a big order. No problem; I see tons of those. Except, there is a problem. Midway through the order, their little boy, who can’t be more than two, starts whamp, whamp, whamping on the credit card keypad like it’s his own personal LeapFrog toy.

Normally, when a kiddo starts playing with the keys, their parents notice and try to discourage them by wheeling the cart forward out of reach or telling them not to touch it. This mom does nothing.

I try to dissuade the little guy (and Mom) by turning the machine around and saying calmly:

Me: “No, buddy. It’s not a toy.”

Because it’s not. Kiddo, naturally, gets annoyed and starts fussing. He then turns the machine back around and starts playing again. Now, you would think if Mom heard me say, “It’s not a toy,” she’d get the hint and maybe not let her boy continue to mash the buttons like a crazy man.

But Mom, again, does nothing.

This continues not one but TWO more times, with Kiddo getting more fussy each time. Mom finally reacts — not to her son, but instead to tell me: 

Mom: “Well, this is the first time anyone’s ever told us that.”

Really?!

My first thought: “Darn, that kid is probably spoiled rotten. He’s going to be really disappointed when he grows up and finds out he can’t get everything he wants.”

My second thought: “Sooo, you just let your kid play with electronics that don’t belong to him? Okay, then…”

I keep ringing them up. By this point, the kiddo is actually upset, which I do feel bad about. I don’t want to ruin his little morning, but I decide to stand by my decision. That decision is that the credit card machine — which is not a toy — is still not a toy, even if Mom, apparently, doesn’t give a flip what I think.

I do my best to be nice and use a calm, crooning voice to tell the kiddo, “I’m sorry, buddy,” and so on and so forth because, again, he’s just doing what toddlers do. But as I am finishing up, Mom chats with the kiddo and shoots me look as she says passive-aggressively: 

Mom: “It’s okay, sweetie. We just won’t come to this line anymore.”

I admit, part of me didn’t mind this.

Mom called and complained, and I got reprimanded. I do not know her version of the story, but my manager advised me to be careful not to “discipline” other people’s children.

Related:
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 11
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 10
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 9
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 8
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 7

CONTENT WARNING: Choking (Child chokes on food, but he is rescued.)

I work in a restaurant. One night, I had a table of four: two adults and two kids. The dad seemed to not even want to be there, but the mom was very polite, and it seemed she was delighted to finally eat out at a restaurant that wasn’t some greasy spoon diner. The two kids — a toddler and a boy maybe five years old — were polite as could be.

They ordered fried cheese sticks as an appetizer. I delivered them,and when I came out from the kitchen again a few minutes later, I spotted trouble. The five-year-old boy was struggling; his mouth was open, his eyes were bulging, and he was half-standing on the seat, leaning over the table.

I ran over to see what was wrong. He was literally turning purple and sort of thrashing about. That’s when I realized he was choking. I ran up and grabbed him, stuck my fingers in his mouth, and pulled a half-chewed cheese stick out of his throat. He immediately started breathing and coughing raggedly, but he was at least breathing.

His mom was frantic but thanked me profusely. The kid regained his composure, and the rest of the meal went fine. The dad never even put down his fork during the whole event and just pointed to the regurgitated cheese stick on the table.

Father: “Clean that up.”

He left me a $2 tip on a $70 tab.

I work in a hotel. A woman calls me on the phone asking about our rooms and the suites. She sounds interested in the suite and says she will be in shortly.

A couple of hours go by, and she comes in to get the room. Immediately, I smell a big whiff of marijuana on her, in our 100% non-smoking hotel. Red flag #1. She verifies the rates again and decides to just get the regular room instead.

Once I give her the rate, she begins pulling out cash. Red flag #2.

When I ask for her ID, it is a local from a few minutes away. Red flag #3.

Her ID is also just a state ID, not a driver’s license. Red flag #4.

She then pulls out a Cash App card for the deposit. Red flag #5.

The Cash App card declines, and she says it’s because it’s a child’s cash card, and all of her cards are locked. Red flag #6.

She then asks if she goes and buys a prepaid card, can it be used as a deposit? I haven’t been told any rules against this, but I’ve also never seen any guests do it. So, I’m gonna call this red flag #7.

She then doubles back and asks if I can type in her “sister’s” card manually. I say no, I need the physical card. Red flag #7.5. I only give this half of a red flag because I technically could go through the credit card authorization form process, but I am already tired of this person and don’t want to waste my time.

I’m now sitting waiting for her to come back with her prepaid card. It really feels against the rules. It’s essentially the same as paying a cash deposit — which is against the rules — but my managers never told me no. Maybe they will after this time.

I’m also putting her on the first floor to discourage any crazy activities.

While I was writing this story, the woman came back, got her cash, and said she couldn’t get a prepaid card or something, so they’ll probably just try a different hotel. Red flag #8!

That’s eight (and a half) red flags in one check-in! Thankfully, she just left. What a possible headache.