I work at a sit-down chain restaurant. A group of teenagers, fresh out of their last day of high school, comes in to celebrate. They even bring a cake with them; this isn’t a big deal, except we don’t allow that because we serve cake.

One of the more level-headed ones talks to a manager, and we decide to let it slide, even giving them extra plates.

Fast forward to about an hour later, when the cake is being cut up. These kids are borderline drunk now — we found out later they had spiked their drinks — and one of them gets the bright idea to smush his cake into his friend’s face. This starts an all-out riot at the table, with drunk eighteen-year-olds throwing cake, half-eaten burgers, cups of Dr. Pepper and mysterious alcohols, and even silverware at each other.

Our managers come out, but policy is to not touch patrons at all (lawsuits and stuff), so we have to wait for the cops to come. They do, eventually, and take the lot of them away.

Since it is my table and servers bus their own there, I am stuck with the job of cleaning up the remains. Cake was ground into the carpet, and the stains are still there. I spend maybe three hours making that section presentable again. The worst part is, since the kids were arrested, they didn’t pay. I got no tip and registered zero sales (manager comps don’t reflect in your total) for five hours of my shift, and I later found out that one of the children’s parents was suing the restaurant for not keeping a better eye on her adult son.

I work at a famous buffet as a line cook, where you can actually order meals there other than “buffet, please.” You get a choice of side: either French fries or baked potatoes. Today we are slammed with business and completely run out of baked potatoes.

A customer walks in, standing at 6’4”. He’s a large man, clad in denim with a mustache thicker than Sam Elliot’s. His lips part, and out come the words:

Customer: “Buffet and a ribeye.”

The host begins to speak but is shut down.

Customer: “With a baked potato.”

Host: “We currently are all out of potato. We can offer you—”

The man’s face turns a shade of fuchsia not even Crayola could name. His eyes bulge, his lips tighten. The air blowing in and out of his mouth creates a rippling tornado of absolute fury around him.

Customer: “NO POTATOES.”

Host: “We—”

Customer: “NO POTATOES?!”

He moves faster than expected and pokes his angry face back into the kitchen.

Customer: *Waving a finger* “NO POTATOES! WHAT’S GOING ON?! NO POTATOES! YOU SHOULD BE FIRED!”

His family had to pull him back to the front desk, still hollering. He accepted the sad terms we had to give him: French fries. The kitchen was on the other side of the wall from the buffet line, so I walked around to see him eating his steak.

He just ate it with pure spite. I’ve never seen anyone mow on a buttered well-cooked steak with just pure hatred. He didn’t even enjoy the buffet. He just sighed when he had to pick up the tongs/spoon/ladle like it wasn’t enough. There will always be a baked-potato-shaped hole in that man’s heart.

I work at a hotel. It’s high-end, so we often take the approach of just appeasing guests no matter what. I frequently have to bite my tongue. However, we have a very desirable parking lot, and when people poach it, we boot them. I love enforcing this because I don’t have to bite my tongue or apologize, as they aren’t guests.

A young woman parks and walks to the neighboring hotel. Our general manager happens to be in the lot.

General Manager: “Hey, just FYI, this is parking for [Our Hotel], not [Neighboring Hotel].”

She simply flips him off and walks into the neighboring hotel. The manager calls me and tells me what happened. I giggle, grab the boot, and slap it on her car. She comes back screaming and ranting.

Me: “The cost to remove it is $200.”

She calls the police. The police simply ask:

Police: “Is this a private lot?”

Woman: “Yes.”

Police: “Okay, then pay them.”

She refuses to pay and storms off. I get a call requesting the manager. I speak with the caller; it’s the woman’s mom.

Woman’s Mother: “Oh, my daughter didn’t know. She was there for a job interview!”

I let her go on, and when she finally stops making excuses, I tell her:

Me: “Your daughter flipped off the general manager. The boot is not coming off without payment.”

She hung up. The daughter came back and silently handed me the money, with a look of rage on her face. I’ve never been so internally giggly before.

It is mid-2021. I’m a manager of a cafe. My county has just passed another mandate requiring all customers entering restaurants to wear a mask, regardless of vaccination status. Previously, vaccinated customers could forego masks. Of course, on day one of the new mandate, in walks a maskless customer demanding to be served.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s a new mandate that’s just come into effect today. You can’t come in here without a mask.”

Customer: “Well, the sheriff’s not enforcing it.”

Me: “That’s fine, but it’s a health code violation, and if I don’t enforce it, we could get fined.”

Customer: “I’m fully vaccinated, and the sheriff’s not enforcing it, so you shouldn’t, either.”

Me: “Again, ma’am, it’s a health code violation. I don’t make the rules. If you won’t put on a mask, I’m going to need to ask you to leave.”

This goes back and forth for some time, before I completely lose my patience — and my filter.

Customer: “Well, the sheriff’s not enforcing it, so why should you care?”

Me: “Because I could get fined, you dumb b****.” 

She went red in the face before marching out of the cafe. I’m probably going to get in trouble with my boss for that comment, which I admit was crossing the line. In my defence, I’d been working in ninety-plus degree weather with a busted AC for two weeks, and she’d been the latest in a chain of customers putting up a fight over a rule I had no control over. I was just completely done at that point.

Related:
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 15
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 14
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 13
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 12
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 11

In between college semesters, I work at a photo center in a popular chain drug store. I generally work the evening shift, from late afternoon until about one in the morning. Keep in mind, we are not a one-hour photo development station. Usually, due to the sheer amount of orders we receive on a day-to-day basis, we never guarantee photos until the next day. We even have signs stating this policy behind and on the counter. As always, customers never read these.

A couple of young men — missionaries from a local church I attend — placed an order this afternoon. It is now 9:30 in the evening, and the two men come walking in. Having served a two-year religious mission myself, I am well aware of the strict set of rules that young missionaries are required to follow. One of those rules is that they must be back to their apartment by 9:30.

Customer: “I need my pictures. I placed my order earlier.”

His tone is rude and demanding, which is very unbecoming for a person in his position.

Me: *Trying to sound polite* “Yes. I remember you coming in earlier to place your order. Unfortunately, as the sign says, we don’t guarantee same-day printing.”

Customer: *Getting angry* “But I was here earlier. I placed my photo order first.”

I’m not sure what he means by “first.” I assume it’s his way of trying to force me into printing his order.

Me: “I’m sorry, but there were many other customer orders in front of yours and it will not be ready until tomorrow.”

Customer: *Even angrier* “No, no. I placed my order first! I was here earlier today.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do.”

Customer: “Go print my photos now! I was here earlier today! I put my order in first!”

Me: *Getting tired of his tone of voice* “Aren’t you guys supposed to be back at your apartment by now?”

Customer: “It’s our P-Day.”

This is another term for their “day off”.

Me: “I’m pretty sure, according to the rules handbook, that P-Day technically ends at six, after which, you’re supposed to be out teaching. Not to mention, you’re supposed to be in your apartment by 9:30 at the latest no matter what the day is.”

Customer: *Waving a dismissive hand at me* “What do you know? Get me my pictures.”

Me: “Actually, I just returned from my own mission service a year ago, so I know the rules very well. Also, if you would like, I could discuss this incident and your rude attitude with the bishop of our congregation, who also happens to be my father.”

The customer turned pale as a ghost and his companion pulled on his arm for them to leave. They never came back into my photo center again.