Quesa-Dilla With It
I had fairly recently started working as a server and wasn’t fully familiar with our menu. I was working the 11-5 shift. The 10-3 server had just left, and the 3-late server hadn’t arrived yet. So, it was just me in the front and the two cooks (one of whom was the general manager) in the back. The restaurant was empty after the lunch rush when the phone rang.
I answered with the canned:
Me: “Thanks for calling [Restaurant], what can I do for you?”
The lady immediately cut me off with her order. I needed to know if it was a to-go order before I could enter the food items in our system. As I started to ask if it would be for dine in or take out, she cut me off again and said:
Customer: “We’ll be there in five minutes, just have it ready.”
And promptly hung up.
Great. Whatever she ordered wasn’t going to be ready in five minutes. Let me put it in anyways. Oh, great, nothing she ordered was on the menu. Oh well, she’ll be here in five minutes, we can sort it out, I’m sure.
Sure enough, five minutes later, in she struts with sheepish boyfriend in tow. She plops down in a booth and kicks off her shoes and kicks her bare feet up.
I walk over with a smile and two menus, and she yells:
Customer: “I don’t need a menu! I just ordered on the phone!”
Me: “Yes, you ordered burritos, which we don’t offer as we’re a burger place.”
Customer: “Well, what the f*** do y’all offer?!”
I try to hand her a menu, which she again rejects.
Customer: “Do y’all have tacos?”
Me: “No, but we do have a BBQ chicken quesadilla.”
Customer: “Fine.”
I also reminded her that we require guests to wear shoes… she did put them back on.
The sheepish boyfriend had taken a menu and ordered a Caesar chicken salad.
I go to the back and start making the salad, and I can hear her on her phone loudly complaining about me and calling me vile things.
Their food comes out, she takes one bite, spits it out, and screams:
Customer: “Why is there f****** BBQ on this?!”
By now, the general manager was aware of what was going on, so he went out to handle it. He comes back into the kitchen with the quesadilla to make a new one without BBQ. Seconds later, the lady burst into the kitchen and said:
Customer: “Actually, I don’t even want it anymore!”
She then turns to me and goes on a rant about how she was a server once and gave me some “advice” about how to do my job. I just looked at her with a sweet smile and thanked her for the advice.
She stormed out of the restaurant. The sheepish boyfriend stayed to finish his salad, came up to the register to pay, said “I’m very sorry”, and left a great tip.
It seemed unreal to me, but work as a server for a week, you’ll realize some people just act like that.
