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So Very Chipper!

, , | Right | October 26, 2021

Two men come in together, I’m assuming with their families, judging by the amount of food and kids’ meals they both order. Among other things, the first man orders fish and chips and calamari and chips. After I give him his food, he walks past his friend with his fish, calamari, and chips, and waits nearby. The second man comes up to the counter, seeming a little nervous. He also orders fish and chips and calamari and chips. I start assembling his food in front of him.

Customer: “Wait, do those come with chips?”

I respond slowly, still holding some chips with my tongs.

Me: “Yes, the fish and chips and the calamari and chips both come with chips.”

Customer: *Sounding relieved and grateful* “Oh, fantastic! Thank you!”

Caesar’s Death Was Less Painful Than This

, , , | Right | October 20, 2021

An older lady, about sixty, comes into the café by herself for lunch. She orders our chicken Caesar salad.

Our version of the salad isn’t traditional; it has lettuce mix, tomato, red onion, cucumber, croutons, parmesan cheese, diced bacon, grilled chicken breast pieces, and Caesar dressing. We know it’s different, which is why it says exactly what the salad involves right on our lunch menu. Even though it’s not the traditional recipe, we get a lot of comments on how much the customers enjoy it.

When this lady receives her meal, she immediately starts to complain to my coworker.

Customer: “This isn’t a chicken Caesar salad!”

Coworker: “Oh, I’m sorry. Did the kitchen make the wrong meal for you? Let me take that back and—”

Customer: “No, no, no. What I mean is, this isn’t how you make it. I’m a chef. This is my profession. You don’t put tomato and onion in a Caesar salad!”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, but the menu does list exactly what goes in the dish. If you didn’t want a particular thing, we could have made it without it for you.”

Customer: “Well, I didn’t read the menu! Why would I do that? I want my money back. This salad is ridiculous.”

Coworker: “If you like, we can make another for you.”

Customer: “No! I’m a chef! I don’t want your terrible salad.”

And so on…

My coworker told the boss, who wasn’t too happy, especially since the customer admitted that she didn’t read the menu. The boss basically told her in polite language that her being a chef didn’t mean a d*** thing to him and that if she wasn’t going to read the menu, then it wasn’t the restaurant’s fault that she got something she didn’t want. She got extremely rude and stormed off.

I had a chuckle and figured it was the last we would hear from her. Almost, but not quite.

I walked in a few days later with a coworker, and the boss thrust an envelope into my hands with a look that said, “Can you believe this?!” Confused, I opened it up, and what did I find? Page upon page of chicken Caesar salad recipes! 

She had the nerve to take the time to copy down at least a dozen different recipes, look up our address in the phone book, and put it all in the post. She included a letter demanding that we correct our menu using the “proper” recipe for a chicken Caesar salad.

Lucky for her, she didn’t leave a return address, because [Boss] was fuming! 

As far as we know, she never had the gall to show up to see whether our business had changed its menu to suit her demands.

You Met Him In The Flesh

, , , , , , | Right | October 13, 2021

I’m in a crowded café working on a project at my computer, sitting at a table alongside the main aisle that runs down the center of the restaurant from the front door, past the counter, and out to the back door.

I’m very intent on the project and have headphones on, mostly tuning out my surroundings. However, I register the shape of a person moving past me, and as they get right next to my shoulder, my brain suddenly wakes up enough to think, “That’s a lot of flesh color.”

I turn around just to see the nude buttocks of an older man vanish around the corner and out the back door. My eye meets those of a couple of college girls sitting at the booth behind me, who look like they can’t quite decide if they’re horrified or about to burst out laughing.

Right about then, a manager sprints past us, on the phone with (I assume) the cops, and I hear him say, “No, he just came through again! He’s heading out the back door now!”

The stunned silence of the cafe slowly reverts to normal — if probably a bit hysterical — chatter again, and I later overhear the manager talking to a couple of his employees. Apparently, the streaker was a local elderly man who had been passively terrorizing a bunch of businesses in that general area for about two weeks. He’d just walk in, completely nude, and walk out again, refusing to speak to anyone. Turns out he was a dementia patient who was regularly slipping away from his not-so-conscientious “caretaker.”

All I can say is, I am so grateful that my project had me focused enough that I didn’t look up in time to see the approach, only the retreat!

Don’t Give Him A Seat At Your Table

, , , | Right | October 5, 2021

It’s a rainy day, so the mother’s group I meet with weekly has decided to visit a relaxed beachside cafe. We choose one that has plenty of space and is child-appropriate. When we arrive, there is only one other table of two seated so there are dozens of empty tables and chairs to choose from. We choose a more casual setting of two couches near the fireplace and get the kids seated with colouring-in books.

Everyone has a place to sit except me, so I grab a chair from a nearby table and sit it next to the end of the couch where my daughter is sitting. We’ve spoken with a waitress who has taken our drinks order, and all appears to be well.

Suddenly, a man — who I previously had not noticed, I’m not even sure where he came from — approaches me and proceeds to very angrily tell me off about moving the chair I’m sitting on. I first wonder if he works there but quickly realise from his wording that he doesn’t — referring to the restaurant staff as “they” instead of “we,” for example.

Man: “You moved that chair away from its table! The chairs are for paying customers!

I’m trying to be polite even though he’s in my face, but I finally lose my patience.

Me: *Firmly* “I am a paying customer, so I also deserve to sit somewhere.”

All the while, I’m incredulously looking around me at the twenty or so empty tables. He eventually leaves and a waitress approaches to see what is happening.

Me: “Is it okay that I moved this chair?”

Waitress #1: *Looking rather confused* “Of course.”

I am still buzzing from the adrenaline that came from the confrontation for most of the meal.

When we finish and pay at the register, a different waitress asks us what happened, and I explain.

Waitress #2: “That man is a regular. He always acts like he owns the place and bullies other patrons.”

I hope they managed to get control of the situation, because it really soured what was usually the highlight of my week as a struggling mum.

Can’t Even Have A Little Bite Without A Customer Getting In Your Face

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: werewolfer | September 22, 2021

I work in a grocery store in the meat department. We have a regular that comes in every day and wants his meat products cut up into little bite-size pieces for him, and it all has to weigh exactly half a pound. We call him Little Bites.

I had the day off today, but I go to the cafe attached to the grocery store to have lunch with a friend. I’m not wearing my very specific and bright-colored polo, my hat with the store logo, or my meat coat. I’m in regular clothing.

I’m talking with my friend, and she keeps glancing behind me, so I look over my shoulder. Little Bites is leering over me.

Little Bites: “Finally! I’d like two, please. Both chicken, thanks.”

Me: “What?”

Little Bites: “Don’t you work here?”

Me: “Not right now, and not at all today. I’m clearly having lunch.”

Little Bites: “Well, I don’t really like any of your coworkers, so just go run back there and do it really quick.”

Me: “No, I can’t, because I’m not working right now.”

Little Bites: “At least go back there and tell them I want two and for both to be chicken.”

Me: “I’m having lunch right now and won’t be doing that.”

Little Bites: “Fine!”

And then he stormed off. When I asked my coworkers the next day if he came back, they said yes and that he was fuming. He avoided me for a few months after that, which was an added perk.