I work in a deli. The owner is a good-looking woman with a stern mien. She treats her employees fairly and doesn’t take any guff from customers. 

After a few months, I notice that whenever a customer comes in and acts particularly jerkish, the owner takes them over to the side, speaks to them quietly, and then hands them a card. The customers always seem to go quiet when that happens.

One day, when we’re customer-free for a few minutes, I ask her about it. 

Owner: “I tell them that if they want to behave like a brat, I can help break them of it, but not for free.”

The cards she was handing out had her “other” business’s phone number. In evenings and on weekends, she was a dominatrix. When I got my income tax refund, I tried out her “services”, and she was worth every penny.

I’m a nineteen-year-old manager of a local deli. This place is neat because the original owner was a loveable d**k who didn’t take s*** from the customers. This translates into how we treat people to this day. Anyone who has worked in the hood will understand you can’t show weakness as a business.

One night, I get a call ten minutes before we close. A lady tells me how much she loves our food and explains that she’s on her way to the airport. She has a huge order. I figure she wants to stock up for her house out of state.

Me: “Where are you coming from?”

Lady: “I’m in [Town thirty minutes away].”

Me: “We have a location next to the airport that’s open until 10:00, but our location closes in ten minutes.”

Lady: “Please wait for me and do my order anyway! Please! My food must come from the original location!”

Yep, I was rude. I said, “Nope,” hung up, and continued to close.

She arrived just as I was counting the money. She banged on the glass, and I just gave her a “We are closed” motion with my hand waving under my chin. Then, I ignored her.

She eventually left, presumably to catch her flight. 

I wouldn’t open that door if someone’s life depended on it when money’s out and it’s dark and I’m alone.

The woman later wrote a phenomenal complaint; she even accused me of being racist and the whole nine yards. She’d been eating there for sixty years, blah, blah, blah.

The owner set up a meeting with me, and I explained my side. We agreed that I was right since my main job is getting everyone clocked out by 8:30. But the way I’d handled it was not great. I agreed with that, too. 

They demoted me to server, so I quit. I started a new job in fine dining an hour later and celebrated with lunch at the place where I’d just quit. 

I ate there a few times a year over the years and was never charged.

That lady did me a favor, but getting a kid fired cause you couldn’t take my simple solution off the bat and don’t understand the word “no”?

Customer: “Are these shrimp cooked?”

Me: “No, ma’am. They’re completely raw.”

Customer: “Okay… do I need to cook them?” 

Me: “I’d recommend it.”

Customer: “I just want you to know, that lobster tail I bought from you was the toughest thing I’ve ever eaten!”

Me: “How did you cook it?”

Customer: “Cook it?”

Me: “Um… yeah. They’re not cooked. They’re raw.”

Customer: “…”

Me: “…”

Customer: “…Oh, Lord Jesus, what did I do?!”

Customer: “How many shrimp are in a pound?”

Me: “There’s about thirty to forty in a pound.”

Customer: “Okay. I’ll take a pound, please.”

I start getting the shrimp.

Customer: “Wait! Wait! Wait! I haven’t told you which shrimp I wanted.”

Me: “I’m sorry. I thought you were pointing to this shrimp here in the middle.”

Customer: “That’s right. But I haven’t told you which shrimp yet. There’s one sitting here near the front that I want.”

I try to reach the shrimp she’s pointing at. Keep in mind that, because of the glass, I can’t really tell where she is pointing.

Customer: “No. Not that one. To the left. No. My left. Yes, that one. Now, near the back is another one I want. It’s kinda pointed to the left.”

After she hand-selects each shrimp, I put the bag on the scale.

Me: “It’s a little over a pound.”

Customer: “Take five shrimp out.”

I reach into the bag.

Customer: “Wait! Wait! Dump them out, so I can tell you which five I’d like to lose.”