I work in an international-themed diner popular with tourists. Different tables have different themes from all over the world, and the menu is full of signature dishes from many countries. Our pies are stored in a large glass globe, with the continents etched on to them – very cool-looking in my opinion!

 A tourist family comes in and their young boy (maybe four or five) immediately sees the chocolate pie contained within the globe, and he is transfixed.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Restaurant] what can I get you?”

Father: “We’re from New York; do you have any dishes from there?”

Me: “I’m afraid not, sir, as the menu theme is international. Was there something specific you were looking for?”

Mother: “This is ridiculous! What about our children? They can’t eat this foreign crap!”

Me: “We do a simple children’s’ menu, ma’am, that contains burgers and fries?”

Mother: “And for dessert? What are my children supposed to be rewarded with for good behavior?”

Weird question, but okay.

Me: “The children’s menu has a chocolate brownie and ice-cream, ma’am.”

Father: *Looking at the menu* “$5.95 for a brownie! That’s highway robbery!”

They continue in this vein for a while, and I finally get their orders down (with half the flavors or ingredients taken out because they sound “foreign.”) They are adamant that they are NOT ordering dessert for their son, even though he keeps whining for some. The parents stay quiet enough throughout the meal, staring at their phone mostly while their son remains generally well-behaved.

I am serving some other customers (we’re very busy) when the father storms up to me.

Father: “You’re trying to poison my son!”

I suddenly fear an allergic reaction and go into medical mode. As I am asking questions he points to his son, who is gulping down ice water and looks very uncomfortable.

Father: “How can you give him something so spicy!”

Me: “Sir, there’s nothing spicy on the children’s menu. I—”

I stop and look closer. The boy’s face is covered in chocolate, as are his fingers. I glance over to the glass globe and realize what has happened.

Me: “Sir, did your son, perchance, eat some of the chocolate pie from the bar?”

Father: “Certainly not, he—”

The father looks over at his son, looking properly as if he’s noticed him for the first time, including all the chocolate smeared everywhere.

Father: “—he… he might… you should have been watching him!”

Me: “Sir, that’s your job, not mine, although I do apologize for not noticing your son helping himself to our Montezuma chocolate pie, a delicious chocolate and chili recipe from Mexico.”

The father huffs and storms off. I got more ice water for the poor boy, but hopefully, that taught him a lesson about stealing food!

I made sure the pie was on their bill.

This is before the health crisis. I am at a nice restaurant with my boyfriend and his family, and his sister and her husband are letting their kids run wild. I used to wait tables, so I understand how frustrating it is when parents do this. The kids are stealing food from other tables, petting a service dog without permission, and running around. The final straw comes when the waitress appears with some hot soup and one of the kids nearly barrels into her.

Me: “Hey, [Kid]! Come here for a second!”

The kid comes over. 

Me: “See that girl right there? She’s holding something hot. If you bump into her, she could spill it on somebody, and she would get blamed for it, even though it isn’t her fault. Do you think you can calm down?”

The kid nodded and ran in the other direction. I looked up. My boyfriend’s sister’s and her husband’s faces were bright red, and my boyfriend’s parents were smiling.

Later, the sister pulled me aside and told me that I had no right to tell her child how to behave. Their father overheard and loudly complimented me for “being a better parent than the actual parents.”

My boyfriend and I have since broken up, but I really hope I made his sister think about how to make kids behave in public.

I’m at the front desk at my school fair where people buy tickets for activities, helping out to get service hours needed to graduate. When you buy tickets, your child/children automatically get a bracelet so they can play the Wheel of Fortune. It is one bracelet per child, and you can only play once. A boy, about ten or eleven, comes up with his newly-purchased tickets.

Boy: “I’d like a bracelet, please.”

Me: “Sure, what color would you like? We have red, blue, green, and yellow.”

Boy: “I’ll have blue, please.”

I attach his blue bracelet and he is on his way. After this, it gets incredibly busy and we are rushing to give bracelets and change. The boy returns to the counter and he looks vaguely familiar, but at this point, I’ve seen probably 150 children in thirty minutes.

Boy: “Could I have a bracelet, please?”

Me: “Have you had one already? I’m sorry, I don’t remember if I’ve seen you already.”

Boy: “No, I haven’t had one yet, but my brother did.”

Me: “All right, pick a color.”

He picks a color and I put it on him before he runs off again. I make note of his face and clothes in case he returns again. Sure enough, ten minutes later, he’s back.

Boy: “I’d like a bracelet, please.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t give you one; I remember you from earlier. In fact, I think I already gave you two.”

Boy: “No! I haven’t had one yet! Give me a bracelet!”

Me: “Could you go get your parent, please? I’d like to confirm with them; I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

He leaves again and comes back with one of his parents. It’s important to note that parents and kids can’t see the boxes of bracelets since they’re under the table with a table cloth over it, covering the front.

Parent: “What seems to be the issue? My son told me you’re refusing to give him a bracelet. They come free with the tickets, right?”

Me: “Yes, they do, but they are limited to one per child. I could be wrong, but I think I remember your child coming by once, if not twice already.”

Parent: *Now angry* “He hasn’t had his bracelet yet! How dare you accuse my child of lying?! Now give him a yellow bracelet or I’ll report you to administration!”

Me: “Sir, there are other families around, so I need you to keep your voice down. I cannot give your child another bracelet since you’ve just proved to me that he’s had one already. The bracelets are under the table so you have no way of knowing what colors we have available right now. And if I may add, next time you try to trick us, throw away the previous bracelets. I can see them sticking out of the pocket of your coat.”

He turned bright red and spluttered incoherent sounds before grabbing his child and speed-walking away. Our “manager” congratulated me for standing my ground and gave me a free drink from the concessions stand, as well as bonus service hours.

Related:
Brace(let) Yourselves For An Angry Ending

I work at a serve-yourself type of candy store. A boy has put his hands directly into one of the bins and is playing with the candy he has grabbed. I walk over without him noticing and stand over him.

Me: “Please do not touch the candy with your hands.”

He jumps guiltily, and I can almost see his brain working to come up with a valid excuse.

Boy: “Sorry! I! I, uh… I… have… Attention Deficit Disorder?”

Me: *Bluntly* “So do I.”

Another customer startled me and I glanced away for a moment. When I looked back, the boy had already left the store completely. Yes, I do have Attention Deficit, and no, it is not ever an excuse to misbehave.

I work at a laundromat that has machines up front, but we also do commercial laundry in the back. We have a register to offer change for the machines, which I am standing next to with my back to the register. Behind me on the counter is a bell for when we’re in the back. A little kid of about five or six dings the bell and I turn around.

Kid: “SORRY!”

Mother: “Sorry isn’t an excuse when you do something stupid on purpose.”

I had to laugh. Even though it’s annoying to get the bell rung when you’re standing next to it, that mother made my whole night.