(It’s a really busy day at the restaurant where I work. There’s a line out the door, and the moment a table gets cleared off it gets filled again. I’m serving a section that’s kind of separated from the rest of the restaurant. There’s one table that’s in a little nook at the back. There are tables straight across from it and it’s long enough that if you need to sweep or vacuum under it you need to move the tables across from it in order to pull that table out. One of my tables earlier in the day has somehow managed to smash about three glasses on the table in the nook. Because the table across is full, I can’t pull the table out to get all the glass from underneath — they got glass EVERYWHERE — so I warn my manager and the rest of the staff not to seat anyone there. Then, I clean the glass shards from the table, booth seats, and the floor in front of the table as much as I can, just as I was told to do. It is later in the day. A new family is seated at the table across from the nook table. For most of their meal, everything is fine and pleasant. I notice at one point they have let their young daughter — about five — start to run around, climbing on other tables and crawling on the floor. I warn her once not allow her kid to run around and climb on tables because it is dangerous and she could get hurt. Near the end of the meal, as I’m clearing away dishes, the mother stops me by grabbing my arm.)

Mother: “Excuse me. That’s really dangerous, you know. There are glass slivers on that table. My daughter could get hurt.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, some customers broke some glasses earlier. I thought I had it cleaned as best I could at the time, but that’s one of the reasons we don’t want children crawling and climbing on tables where they aren’t seated. I’ll clean the table further.”

Mother: “Well, do it fast; it’s really not responsible to leave it like that!”

(I look at the table. There are no slivers that I can see on the table, but I do spot some I’ve missed on the booth seats. I grab a cloth, anyway, and come back to wipe down the seats when I see her daughter is now crawling around UNDERNEATH the table with the broken glass. When the daughter sees me she climbs out from underneath and I begin wiping the seats.)

Mother: “I knew it! Excuse me!”

(I turn back to her.)

Me: “Yes.”

Mother: “My daughter got hurt because of your incompetence!”

(The mother then holds her daughter’s hand out; she has a tiny cut on her hand about the length and width of a small papercut.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I—“

Mother: “I don’t want to hear it. If you’d cleaned properly in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. Get me a bandaid now, and I want to speak to your manager.”

(The daughter is looking really uncomfortable and trying to pull away, telling her mother she wants to go play. I apologize again and go to get a bandaid and tell my manager what happened. He tells me he’ll be with them in a minute and I give the bandaid to the mother. Everything seems fine until I notice that the daughter is back playing at the nook table.)

Me: “Ma’am, as you already pointed out, and as I’ve already told you, it’s not safe for your daughter to be climbing and playing at that table.”

Mother: “She can do what she wants!”

(My manager arrives and sends me off to do other tasks while he speaks with the customer. A few minutes later, my manager is telling me that he’s going to have other servers cover my tables so I can go scrub down the tables to make sure all the glass is gone. I assume everything has been worked out with the mother… until I hear her shouting again.)

Mother: “D*** it, your stocking is ripped, too! You!” *points at me* “You are in sooo much trouble. If you had just done as you’re supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened. My baby wouldn’t have been hurt. I’m calling the cops on you! I’m going to have you arrested for assault, you b****! You left glass there on purpose!”

(I just decide to ignore her and go tell my manager what’s happened now. The daughter isn’t bleeding from the leg, and I am just about at the point of yelling back at her about watching her child instead of letting her run around, so I figure it is best to just not engage her. My manager agrees and sends me back out to keep scrubbing the table. He comes out to talk to them and offers them 20% off their bill. They seem content and he walks away.)

Mother: *turning back towards me as I clean* “D*** useless b****, trying to hurt my daughter. You’re going to be arrested, you know. I’m going to charge you with assault. Aggravated assault even. What, are you deaf? Are you even listening to me?”

(I continue to ignore her and just keep cleaning.)

Grandmother: “What are you doing with that jam, [Mother]?”

Mother: “This lazy b**** doesn’t want to clean, so I’m going to give her something to clean. I’m going to open every one of these and smear them on the tables!”

Grandmother: “Stop it; you’re making a scene.”

Mother: “No!”

(She then proceeded to open three or four packs of jam and smear them on the table and seats. Just as I was about to go tell my manager what was happening, she stood up and rushed to the front where customers are supposed to pay. She then continued to rant to the manager about my poor service, cleaning job, attitude, etc. She then demanded he make it up to her daughter for getting injured by giving her a free stuffed animal and giving them their meal free. In the end, the manager gave them the 20% off and a free toy. With them gone I was finally able to pull out the nook table and properly clean underneath.)

(I am a freshman at a university in Utah. My university’s library has three floors. Even though it is a college library, students who are parents still bring their kids along with them. A lot of the time, these parents can’t control their kids or just don’t care to. Normally, though, the top floor is supposed to be kid-free, so I go there. It’s midterms, and I am trying my best to finish a six-page paper, when suddenly a mother brings in three of her kids, sits down, and starts working. After around ten minutes her kids start running around, making fart noises, and screaming. I try my best to focus and ignore them; I even get up and move to the opposite side of the library. The kids continue to run around, wreaking complete havoc, for thirty minutes. When I’m finally done, I walk over to the mother at the table where she’s just typing away at her laptop with her headphones in. I tap on her shoulder.)

Me: “Miss, are these your kids?”

Woman: “Yes.”

Me: “You realize the third floor is supposed to be kid-free, right?”

Woman: “Yeah.”

Me: “And?”

Woman: “I don’t care. The only spot I could find downstairs didn’t have a place for me to charge my laptop.”

(I manage to glance at her battery, and she’s full.)

Me: “Well, I know you have headphones in so you can’t tell, but your kids have been running around creating a lot of noise and just being distracting.”

Woman: “Well, I didn’t manage to get a sitter.”

Me: “So, you just thought, ‘Let’s bring them to a university library and distract everyone else during one of the most stressful times of the semester.’?”

Woman: “I have to study.”

Me: “Yeah. And the twenty other people up here also have to. I get that being a parent and going to school is rough, but this floor is supposed to be child-free. I’m sorry you want to keep your laptop plugged in even when it’s fully charged, but please be courteous and think about those of us who came here to get away from children.”

Woman: *now looking pissed off* “You have no idea what I am going through!”

Me: “I have three nieces that live with me at home that produce a lot of noise. I come here to get away from that and focus. I would never be so selfish as to bring them here. Please, be courteous and go to one of the other two floors.”

Woman: *rolls her eyes* “Whatever. You’re not in charge.”

Me: “Fine. I’ll go talk to one of the librarians who will tell you to leave.”

Woman: “Fine.”

(She left, but before she did, she screamed out, “F*** you, bitch!” I just laughed and said, “What a great example you are for your kids.”)

(Some coworkers and I are having our break in a lunchroom. It’s quiet in the lunchroom with some music softly playing. We’ve had a stressful, hectic morning, so we’re fine just eating our food and relaxing. Two women and a six- or seven-year-old boy come in and sit down at a table on the other end of the lunchroom. Within a minute, the boy gets up and starts running up and down the lunchroom with his arms spread, making noises like he’s a jet fighter. With every turn he makes he increases his volume to the point where he is screaming. The two women don’t notice this because they are completely absorbed in their phones. My Indian coworker grabs the boy by the arm as he passes our table again screaming at the top of his voice. In a quiet voice, my coworker tells the boy to sit down and shut up or he’ll take him to the toilets and flush him. The boy starts crying and one of the women comes storming at our table. When she’s near enough to hear him, my Indian coworker says:)

Coworker: “And that, my boy, is the reason why it is not nice to call people like me a brown ape.”

(The woman’s face turns red, she pulls the boy away from my coworker, and she leaves the place with her friend in a hurry. My coworker smiles and just says:)

Coworker: “Ah, peace. The most precious thing in our society.”

(My store manager likes to have a finger in every pie — be involved everywhere — but really isn’t beneficial anywhere. When she first started, I thought she was just acquainting herself with all parts of the store. Now that she’s been here for over six months, it’s clear to the everyday staff that she is basically BS-ing her way through every day. I am covering a register shift one day when a regular customer approaches. The store manager stands behind the register, watching over my shoulder.)

Me: “Hi, Mr. [Regular]. How are you today?”

Regular: “Any day above ground is a good day.”

Me: “That it is. Did you—“

Manager: “Hello, sir! I’m [Manager], the new store manager here. Did you find everything you were looking for?”

Regular: *looks at me* “Uh… I did.”

Manager: “Wonderful! Here at [Store], we strive for 100% customer satisfaction!”

Regular: “Okay.” *to me* “Uh, could you…? I’m kind of in a hurry.”

Me: “Of course, Mr. [Regular].”

(As I’m ringing up his purchases, the store manager is laying on the charm, repeatedly patting herself on the back by telling him about how things have “improved” since she took over. She even implies that she’s weeded out the bad staff members, leaving only the best of the best.)

Regular: *makes eye contact with me and grins* “Oh, yeah. [Former Coworker] is working for [Competitor] now.”

Manager: “Yes, unfortunately, some people do not fit in as well as they thought they would.”

Regular: “Shame. She loved it here.”

Manager: “It is unfortunate, but we have high standards for our employees. If you don’t make the cut, maybe someone else will take you!”

Me: *trying not to smile* “Here’s your receipt, Mr. [Regular]. See you again soon.”

Manager: “Don’t forget to take the customer satisfaction survey at the bottom of your receipt to be entered to win a $100 gift card! And from all of us at [Store], thank you for shopping with us today!”

Regular: *laughing* “Oh, I won’t forget. Have a good day!”

(The regular customer leaves and the manager’s demeanor changes immediately. She huffs and rolls her eyes.)

Manager: “I hate when people do that.”

Me: “Do what?”

Manager: “Talk about old staff. If I fired someone, it was for a good reason!”

Me: “But [Former Coworker] quit.”

Manager: *glares at me* “It doesn’t matter. Terminated is terminated. Why does he care anyway?”

Me: “Well, that was [Former Coworker]’s father…”

(The manager turned a lovely shade of red and hid in the office for the next half hour. Later that evening, my former coworker texted me to tell me she’d heard what happened. Her father did fill out that customer satisfaction survey and included everything the store manager said. Unfortunately, she’s still my manager.)

(I am in a Texas-themed steakhouse restaurant. I am the sole customer who witnesses this transaction. At dinner one night with my mother, teenage daughter, and her friend, I observe a waitress bringing a tray of food to the table next to us. What catches my attention is that the customer seated diagonally across from me starts snatching the food off the tray as the waitress is trying to set it down. It unbalances the tray which nearly falls. The customer passes the food out to everyone at the table, a group of four middle-aged women, then looks down at her food and gets mad.)

Customer #1: “You got my order wrong. I asked for loaded mash potatoes, not a baked potato.”

Waitress: “I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s not your food; you ordered the eight-ounce sirloin, and that’s a six-ounce sirloin…”

Customer #2: “You messed up my order, too. I wanted a baked potato, not mashed potatoes.”

(I wait for someone, anyone, to speak up and point out the mistake. One of the ladies is on her phone, not paying attention. The other has started eating. Again, the waitress tries to explain.)

Waitress: “Ma’am, the plate you put in front of you is not yours. That’s not your steak…”

Customer #1: *condescending tone* “Listen, sweetie. The steak you got right. I like mashed potatoes. This is a baked potato. Can you see how you f***ed up?”

Customer #2: “I very clearly said I wanted a baked potato.”

Customer #1: “This is all wrong.”

(The waitress is very calmly trying to fix the situation through this. They keep cutting her off while insisting on sending all the food back.)

Waitress: “If you just let me explain—“

Customer #1: “What’s there to explain? You f***ed up our order. Take it back and get it right this time.”

(She then proceeds to put all of the food back, including the “correct” orders. Once the food is back on the tray, the waitress tries one more time.)

Waitress: “Let me just try it this way.” *passes the food out to the people that ordered it*

Customer #1: “Now you got it. This is what I ordered. You need to pay better attention to your customers.”

Customer #2: “Mine’s right, too.”

(I was in utter disbelief. I looked around to see if anyone else saw this interaction. No one did. Later, the manager was making the rounds, checking on each table. [Customer #1] complained about the service from the “stupid waitress.” The manager apologized and moved to our table. I told him the whole story. He told me they came in once or twice a week and always had a problem. Last time, they’d complained because they didn’t order peanuts and wanted them off their bill. Peanuts are complimentary and on every table. He agreed to not charge them for peanuts.)