A customer comes into our 24-hour diner late at night. He was clearly slurring his speech and reeked of alcohol. I’ve had drunk patrons before and not been too bothered, but this guy clearly just drove here.
Me: “Sir, have you been drinking?”
Customer: “No, I don’t drink.”
Me: “You smell like alcohol and appear drunk.”
Customer: “I don’t drink, I’m just sipping.”
My manager helped him to a sip of water while I called the police.
I work in a small local diner. A customer is staring at a sign we have above the menu, and then calls me over.
Customer: “I’m offended by that sign you have up there!”
He points to the sign that says:
Sign: “Customers beware: Managers who are only summoned to repeat store policy that has been explained by the waitstaff will do so less politely and then laugh at you.”
Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
Customer: “That’s not a very professional attitude for a manager to have!”
Me: “Well, it’s half a joke, and half a deterrent for customers who want to complain about things that we have no control over.”
Customer: “What if I wanted to complain about that sign?”
Me: “Then I would call the manager for you, and things would get very meta.”
I made some soup for the diner/takeout place I worked in as a teen, but I put the carrots in later than I should have, and so they still had a slight crunch to them.
When the first customer bought a cup, he stormed back in after a few minutes.
Customer: “Are you f****** idiots trying to kill me?!”
Me: “Sir, what are you—”
Customer: “—The carrots in this soup are uncooked! You’re trying to give me food poisoning from uncooked carrots!”
Me: “Sir, you can’t—”
Customer: “—Give me a refund, or I’ll f****** sue this place!”
At hearing all this noise, my manager walks out from the back, holding a raw carrot, taking bites out it, while maintaining eye contact with the customer and keeping a straight face.
Manager: “What’s this I hear about suing us for food poisoning?”
Customer: “…”
Manager: *Takes another bite.* “Come back in a couple days, see if I’m still around, would ya?”
The customer swears at us and storms out. I turn to my manager.
Me: “You hate raw carrots.”
Manager: *Now making a disgusted face and throwing the uneaten part of the carrot into the trash.* “I know, but making dumb-a**es realize they’re being dumb-a**es tastes better!”
I’m eating in a diner, and there’s a large sign next to the menu:
Sign: “Food will not be remade if you’ve eaten more than two bites of it.”
Me: *Talking to the waitress while pointing at the sign.* “That happen often?”
Waitress: “At least once a day. There’s some trend going around online, some video of a guy who ate most of their meal and then got it remade, so got almost two meals for the price of one. Happened so often that the boss put that sign up.”
Me: “Sorry to hear that. I actually like my meal, so you don’t have to worry about me.”
Waitress: “Oh, honey, no. It’s not about actually liking the food. These people come in knowing they’re gonna do this. We could give them prime wagyu steak for a dollar, and they’d still find a way to get more from us.”
Me: “Ouch. Well, that being said, I’m still enjoying my meal, so thank you!”
Waitress: “Bless you for saying so. Want to eat some cherry pie to follow the meal?”
Me: “Oh, thank you, but no. I’m on a budget.”
Waitress: “Hun, I didn’t say anything about you paying for it.”
Me: “For… for real?”
Waitress: “After almost a month of people trying that scam every darn day, you’re the first person to actually say thank you.”
Me: “Well… I love cherry pie, so thank you!”
How bad have things gotten out there that I get free pie simply for saying ‘thank you’?
Customer: “A table for six, please?”
Me: “Do you have a reservation?”
Customer: *Affronted.* “No?! This is a simple diner! Why would we need one?”
Me: “Well, it’s early Sunday afternoon, and we get the after-church rush around this time, so some people book ahead. We can squeeze you on a table at the back, but it’s close to the kitchen doors, so it will be—”
Customer: “—Are you discriminating against us because we came from the church?”
Me: “Sir, look inside the diner. You see those two hundred plus customers? They’re almost all from local churches. Does this look discriminatory to you?”
Customer: “So then how come they all got booths?”
Me: “They were all here before you, sir.”
Customer: “Well then, you’re discriminating against more devout Christians who stayed until the end of the sermon and didn’t sneak out the back to get a better table!”
Me: “Sir… do you want the table at the back or not?”
Customer: “We’ll take it, but we’re not happy about it!”
Next Sunday rolls around, and I see this same family pull up to the diner a good hour and a half earlier than the previous Sunday. This time, they easily get a booth.
Me: “Good to see you again, sir! Did the sermon run shorter today?”
Customer: *Shocked that I recognized him.* “Uh… yes.”
Customer’s Young Son: “Dad! Why did you sneak us out the back if the sermon was gonna finish early?”
Customer: *Goes red.*
When that boy ordered cherry pie à la mode, he got an extra scoop from me.
Related:
When They Wear Their Sunday Best Expect The Sunday Worst, Part 3
When They Wear Their Sunday Best Expect The Sunday Worst, Part 2
When They Wear Their Sunday Best Expect The Sunday Worst
