(My wife and I are at a work conference in Denver. On our way out of town, we stop at a little cafe to have an early lunch. The place is empty, and it seems like there is only one waitress and a cook in the whole place. The kitchen is open so you can watch the guy walking around. The waitress is pleasant and brings us our drinks promptly, and takes our orders.)

Wife: “I’ll have the [Burger] with fries.”

Me: “I’ll have the pastrami sandwich with fries.”

Waitress: “I’ll get that started for you. Anything else I can get you in the meantime?”

Us: “No, thanks.”

(As we wait, we can overhear the cook talking animatedly on the phone, though we can’t really tell what he is saying. He puts our order on the counter, lets the waitress know, takes off his apron, and walks out the back. The waitress brings us our food and everything looks all right. The waitress leaves and we start eating.)

Wife: “These fries are kinda overdone.”

Me: “They are pretty crispy…”

(I dig around and see that the deeper I go, the more well done they are.)

Me: “Actually, these are burnt.”

(My wife digs into her pile to find the same is true.)

Me: “I don’t know? Is it worth sending them back? You know how much I hate making a scene or wasting food.”

Wife: “These are beyond ‘oops they are a little overdone.’ They are so hard they are actually painful to eat, and taste terrible. Let’s just ask the waitress what she can do about it. We don’t have to yell at her; just be polite and ask what she can do about it.”

(I waive over the waitress.)

Me: “These fries are really kinda burnt. Is there something you can do about it?”

Waitress: *grabs a fry off my plate and examines it* “I’m so sorry, these are inedible. I’ll get another batch for you right away, and I’ll cook them myself.” *as she’s walking away she mumbles to herself* “I thought I heard him say something about ‘not too overdone; oh, well.’ I should have known.”

(In record time the waitress has returned with lovely fries.)

Waitress: “Here you are. Again, sorry about that. We’re a little short today, and the cook is trying to handle too many things at once. But he should know better.”

Me: “No worries, I understand. Mistakes happen. Thank you for fixing the situation.”

Waitress: *goes into the back*

(We eat a while longer, and everything is pleasant until I get to the second half of my sandwich.)

Me: “What the hell? The second half of my sandwich is ham, wrapped in a single slice of pastrami so you can’t see it until you bite into it.”

Wife: “Seriously?”

Me: “Yeah, look…”

Wife: “It’s a good thing you aren’t Jewish, or, you know, allergic to pork like me.”

Me: “I can’t believe they would do that… It still tastes good, so I’m going to eat it anyway, but I think I should talk to the waitress about it.”

Wife: “You should.”

Me: “I think I’ll wait till after we’re done and have paid. I don’t want to give the impression that I am looking for free food.”

(We finish eating, ask the waitress for the check, pay, get the receipt back, and have signed it.)

Me: *to waitress as she is clearing the table* “Can I talk to you about something quickly?”

Waitress: “Yeah, what’s up?”

Me: “I just wanted to give you some words to take back to the cook. If you run out of pastrami, let the customer know, and ask them if they are cool with a ham substitution, or if they’d rather have something else. If you burn the fries, own it and make a new batch before you send them out to—”

Waitress: *cuts me off* “Did your sandwich have ham on it?”

Me: “Yes.”

Waitress: “Hang on one sec. I’m gonna grab the cook.”

(She calls over the cook who has recently re-entered the building.)

Owner/Cook: “Hey, I’m [Cook], the owner of [Cafe]. What can I do for you?”

Me: “Hi, [Cook]. I just wanted to give you a couple pieces of friendly advice. If you run out of pastrami, don’t sub ham without asking. It wasn’t a big deal for me, but my wife is allergic and it could have been a serious situation. If you burn fries, own it, and remake them before the customer sees it. If you get a reputation for trying to slip things in ‘unnoticed’ and only fixing them if someone complains, you will go out of business. In a cafe, your food needs to speak for itself, and if you have to redo things all the time because of simple mistakes like burning the fries, you won’t last long. I’m not after anything; I ran my own business for years, and I just want to see other small business owners do well for themselves. And this wasn’t exactly a gold star for you. However…” *points to waitress* “She was your saving grace. Whatever you are paying her, she deserves a raise because she was on point during our whole visit. If she hadn’t been so polite and helpful, I might have just left and let you stumble along.”

Owner/Cook: *shocked look on his face* “I… I… You’re right. I’m sorry. You nailed it on every point. I ran out of pastrami, and didn’t feel I had time, so I fudged it. I burnt the fries but thought I might be able to get away with it, cause they weren’t black. Thank you for calling me on the carpet. I really appreciate you taking the time to say something polite and that you showed an interest in my business, not just your own lunch. [Waitress], their meal is on me.”

Me: “As I said, I’m not after anything in this situation. We both ate our food, and have already paid.”

Owner: “No, not good enough! [Waitress], go reverse the charge on the card!”

(She walks away.)

Owner: “I already pay her more than any of my other staff because she is the best. But you’re right, she probably deserves more.”

Me: “Well, why don’t we forget the reversal of charges and you can give the whole cost of the meal to her as a tip directly?”

(Before he can answer, the waitress returns with a reversal slip.)

Owner: “Too late. It’s on the house!”

(We chat with him for another ten minutes and enjoy it. As we stand to leave I pull the cost of the meal in cash out of my wallet and leave it under my water glass. As I walk out past the waitress:)

Me: “I left a little something on the table for you.”

Waitress: “Thank you so much for talking to the owner. I’ve never seen him react like that with anyone before. He usually gets upset!”

(I am heading to work on a cold winter morning at 5:30 am, and figure I have time to stop for some breakfast and a coffee. I pull right up to the drive-thru speaker but have to politely yell into the box to get somebody to answer and take my order. I enunciate clearly and give them my order. Upon pulling up to the window a female worker comes over looking to be on the verge of a mental break down and reads back my order.)

Female Worker: “You had the [Breakfast Sandwich] and a medium double-double coffee, yes?”

Me: “No, sorry, the double-double should just be two cream and one sugar.”

Female Worker: “Ok, your total is [total].”.

(She hands out the debit machine and walks away while I finish the transaction, but does not return for quite some time. The automatic drive-thru window has shut and I am left holding their debit machine out the car window in -30 C (-22 F) weather. Finally, she comes back and takes the machine.)

Female Worker: “Did you have an extra-large triple-triple sir?”

Me: “No, it was a medium two cream and one sugar.”

(She nods and walks away. After more waiting and me being the only one in the drive-thru lane the girl comes back with the deer-in-headlights look on her face.)

Female Worker: “Here is your food, sir. Have a nice day.”

Me: “Wait, I need my drink!”

Female Worker: “Medium double-double?”

Me: “No, it is medium two cream and one sugar.”

(After even more waiting, a male worker with the look of hating his very existence on this earth, approaches the window.)

Male Worker: “Here is your medium double-double, sir. Have a nice day.”

Me: *speechless* “Thanks! You, too!”

(One of the most common substitutions I do is swapping out dairy for soy milk. Most of the time it’s just a taste preference, but it can also be because of allergy. The customer here is about ten or eleven, with a number of other kids around.)

Girl: “…and can I have my milkshake with soy milk? I’m very allergic to dairy.”

Me: “Sure, that’s not a problem. We even have a separate blender, okay?”

Girl: “Oh, good, thanks!”

(A minute later, as I’m handing off her drink:)

Girl: “Wait, can I get whipped cream on mine?”

Me: “Sorry, I— You said you have a dairy allergy? The whipped cream is made from milk.”

Girl: “No, it’s not! It’s whipped CREAM, not milk!”

Me: *thinking quickly* “Is your mom or dad here with you?”

Girl: “Yeah, why?”

Me: “If they say it’s okay, I’ll put whipped cream on your milkshake.”

(A few minutes later, with her mother:)

Girl’s Mom: “Why would you embarrass her in front of her friends like that? That was cruel of you to do!”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but I didn’t want to give her anything that might make her sick.”

Girl’s Mom: “Well, she swells up and stops breathing, but she’s got an Epi-Pen for that. I just can’t believe you would humiliate my daughter. It’s hard enough for her to have allergies. You need to be more sensitive!”

(This went on for about five minutes. The girl’s friends didn’t notice a thing until her mother started carrying on. Best part? I’m also allergic to dairy, and generally consider airways closing up a lot more embarrassing than checking with my mom!)

(We have three stations for our counter – two baristas and a third person to work on food and take orders. Our store manager consistently gets in trouble with head office for understaffing us. We have a group meeting:)

Store Manager: “I’m consistently getting complaints about coffees being slow. What do you guys need to go faster?”

Coworker #1: “We need three people.”

Store Manager: “If I give you three people, one person isn’t busy most of the time. It’s a waste of money.”

Coworker #2: “But if we only have two people, any time there’s orders to take, food to prepare, or somebody on break, we slow down massively.”

Store Manager: “I send help when you need it, don’t I?”

(Next shift, it’s just me and Coworker #1.)

Store Manager: “I’m not giving you a third person because you’re not busy enough. [My Name], take our parked drive-thru orders as well.”

(An hour later:)

Store Manager: “Why aren’t you doing quick coffees? This isn’t good enough. I want quick coffees!”

(I see a customer order a specialty frozen blended drink in the drive-thru and three kid-size ones, with no coffee, for the kids.)

Cashier: “One moment, please. I need to figure out how to key these in and there are several blended drinks in front of yours.”

(It takes a few minutes, but definitely not more than five. The cashier apologizes several times for the wait. The kids are a little restless but nothing unmanageable. Meanwhile the poor cashier hasn’t stopped running herself ragged taking and filling orders. Finally, she starts handing out drinks.)

Cashier: “I am so sorry again for the wait.”

Customer: “Look, I came in during lunch rush, ordered four specialty drinks, and I haven’t seen you stop moving since I pulled up. I’m not gonna yell at you or call to complain and I don’t want anything free. Put my change in your tip jar and relax a bit.”

Cashier: “Thank you.”

Customer: “I worked retail five years. I’ve been there. Have a nice day.”