My partner and I go out to a local restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. We are seated and our waiter takes our drink order. He looks young, possibly in his late teens. After around ten minutes, the drinks haven’t arrived, so when our waiter walks past, I ask him how the drinks are going. Instead of going to check on them, he takes out his notebook and takes our order again.

I get the impression he is new and very nervous. I don’t want to make him feel bad, so we just re-order the same drinks. Five minutes later, he returns with both orders of drinks. “Oh well,” I think. We were probably going to order more drinks later, anyway, so I don’t say anything.

He takes our food order without any issues and our meals arrive at a reasonable time. Well… my partner’s appetizer and main course both arrive together. That turns out to be a lucky accident, as the young waiter delivers my food to a table nearby. When they tell him that it isn’t what they ordered, he apologizes, takes the plates back to the kitchen, and returns with my meal in take-away containers.

I am a bit peeved, but as it is our anniversary, we both just want to relax and enjoy the night, and the food is actually really good. We decide to risk ordering dessert. My partner orders deep fried ice-cream, only for our young waiter to tell us that it’s not on the menu. I point it out to him on the menu, and point to other tables where we can see people eating it. He apologizes and said he honestly had no idea that it was on the menu.

After finishing our meal, we go to the front counter to pay the bill. It seems our waiter has never used or been trained in using a POS terminal or EFTPOS machine, and has to call other staff for help three times just to enter our items into the register.

My patience is just about expired, but I still feel sorry for the kid, as we’ve been able to hear his boss yelling at him every time he goes into the kitchen. I’ve been the new guy before and totally sympathize with him. I think to try and bolster his confidence and show him some support, so I say, “Don’t worry; it looks like you’re new here, and it seems tough now, but in a few weeks you’ll be a total professional.”

His reply left me feeling so awful. I’ve never forgotten what he said.

“I’m not new; I’ve worked here for six months.”

(It’s our wedding anniversary and my husband’s cousin is congratulating us.)

Cousin: *to me* “I don’t know how you’ve put up with him so long. What’s the trick?”

Me: “He keeps struggling out from under the pillow.”

Husband: *nods*

(I am shopping with my nana during summer when we decide to stop at her favourite cafe for a drink. It is warm outside, over 35° Celsius, or 95° Fahrenheit. I order a coffee for Nana and, because I don’t drink coffee, I order a hot chocolate for myself. I can almost hear the record scratch as the employee stops in his tracks at my request.)

Employee: “A hot chocolate? It’s summer! Who drinks a hot chocolate in the summer?”

Me: “What’s wrong with a hot chocolate?”

Employee: “It’s summertime. It’s just not right.”

Me: “Hold on. You’ve been making scorching hot coffees all day. Why is it okay to drink those, but not a practically identical hot chocolate?”

Employee:  “I’ll have to get someone else to make it for you; you’ve freaked me out.”

(I grew up in a fairly small town. I have an older half-brother through my father. He lives in the same town, but I have never met him. I have heard that he drinks at a local pub owned and managed by my friend and his dad. I have just turned 18, which is the legal drinking age here, when I walk past the pub and see [Brother]’s work van parked out the front. He is standing at the bar talking to the manager.)

Me: “Hi, how are you?”

Brother: *a little taken aback* “Umm, hi. Good, thanks. You?”

Me: “Not bad. Can I ask you something?”

Brother: “Ah, okay, I guess.”

Me: “Are you [Brother]?”

Brother: *looking down at his shirt with his first name on the front* “Umm, yep.”

(My friend, the manager, is off the phone now and, due to previous conversations, knows what I’m doing. He is trying not to laugh.)

Me: “Is your mother [Father’s Wife]?”

Brother: “Umm, yes.”

Me: “Your dad’s name is [Father], but you haven’t seen him since you were about three?”

Brother: “Umm, yes. How do you know this?”

Me: “Hi. I’m [My Name], your half-sister.”

([Brother] looked like he was going to fall over, while the manager was now laughing. The manager brought us both a beer on the house. We chatted for a few minutes before he had to go. I don’t push to keep in contact, but a few weeks later my manager friend passed on his number, and we are now in regular contact, and I have another part of my family, even if neither of us are in contact with our father.)

(A customer has placed an order online for several pizzas, one of which is a supreme, from which she has removed all but two of the toppings. Her husband comes in to pick up the order and we receive a phone call shortly after from the wife.)

Customer: “My husband just picked up our order and one of our pizzas is wrong.”

Me: “Sure, I’ll just look up your order in the computer.” *I do* “Yes, I can see your order. Which pizza was the one that has been made wrong?”

Customer: “I ordered a pepperoni pizza with pineapple, and all I got was eight small pieces of pepperoni with a few pieces of pineapple. It’s not enough toppings, and it’s not what I ordered.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’ve ordered the supreme pizza, and removed almost all of the toppings. The pizza looks that way as we have to weigh our toppings before putting them on the pizza, and different pizzas have different weights of toppings. The supreme only has eight slices of pepperoni and about thirty grams of pineapple as the other toppings will fill it out.”

Customer: “A supreme pizza definitely doesn’t only have eight pieces of pepperoni. Get me your manager.”

Me: “Ma’am, I am the store manager and I have been working here for over a year. I assure you the supreme pizza is only supposed to have eight pieces of pepperoni and thirty grams of pineapple.”

Customer: “Like h*** it does! Don’t f****** lie to me! Put your manager on the phone.”

Me: “As I said, I am the store manager; there is no one here higher than I am. We made your pizza how you ordered it and you received what you paid for. If you’d like to add extra toppings it will be $2 per topping for an extra 30 grams. If you were to add extra pepperoni and extra pineapple the total price for this would then be $16.95, an additional $4, or you can change your order to a pepperoni pizza and add pineapple which would cost you $13.95, only an extra $1.”

Customer: “I’m not paying any extra, you b****! You think I’m a f****** idiot! I know how much topping should be on this pizza; I order this pizza every time.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we made the pizza how you ordered. I’m sorry it was not up to your expectations, but we gave you what you paid for. If we added extra toppings without processing them through the computers and having them paid for, there would be discrepancies in our nightly stock take. As I said, if you would like to change your order and pay the difference, I’d be happy to remake the pizza and have it delivered to you free of charge.”

Customer: “I’m not f****** paying you anything! I want a full refund, and the whole order remade and delivered for wasting my f****** time.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t do that, as there were no problems with the rest of your order. If you don’t want us to remake the pizza and deliver it to you, then I will place one free traditional pizza under your account for next time. Thank you and have a good night.”

(I left after that as it became increasingly difficult to maintain composure. I didn’t hear from the customer again.)