This story reminded me of an incident that happened just a few weeks ago. My uncle is in his early seventies, and this time of year, he gets a lot of wide-eyed looks from small children when they see a fat man with long white hair and a bushy white beard and mustache, even if he is usually wearing a cowboy hat and jeans. He even has an “official” North Pole ID card identifying him as Santa Claus, even though he doesn’t play Santa professionally anymore.

Every Saturday, my uncle, my mother, and I go to a local diner for breakfast. On this particular morning, just a couple of days after Thanksgiving, as we are on our way to the booth we’ve been directed to, we pass an older couple finishing up their breakfast. The husband ALSO looks a great deal like Santa Claus; his beard is a little longer, his hairline is a little more receded, and he’s wearing suspenders.

I don’t really think anything of it or notice the small child in the high chair who’s looking back and forth between my uncle and the old man who was already there, but apparently, the other man does. Right after we sit down, he catches my uncle’s eye and beckons to him. My uncle crosses the aisle, and they have a conversation and both of them laugh before he comes back to our table, sits down, and leans toward my mom and me.

Uncle: *Quietly* “We’re about to do a bit. Hang on.”

A few moments later, the couple gets up, and the husband crosses the aisle, comes up to our table, and speaks in a voice loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to make it obvious he’s drawing attention to himself.

Old Man: “See you, Junior!”

Uncle: “Bye, Pop!”

Old Man: “Be good!”

He turns to the waitress standing just behind him, coming to take our drink order.

Old Man: “That’s my son.”

The couple walked out, and I finally noticed several small children who looked absolutely delighted to have seen Santa Claus AND Santa Junior.

As a funny side note: My uncle’s birthday is Christmas Eve, and his mother used to tell people that Santa dropped him down the chimney.

About four days before Christmas, we plaster our front door in 8.5/11″ signs saying “Closing at 4 PM for Holiday party, see you tomorrow!”.

On the day, I arrive at the party, get a drink, and start to mingle. I watch as a random guy breezes through the door, sits in a booth, and starts staring at his phone.

Me: *To the manager.* “Uh, that guy just—”

Manager: “—yeah, I saw him. You don’t know him since he’s always here late and you’re opening shift, but he’s the worst customer we’ve ever had.”

Me: “Oh wait, is he the guy that made [New Hire] cry and quit after a week?”

Manager: “That’s him.”

Me: “What an a**hole. Want me to kick him out?”

Manager: “Actually, I want to try something.”

Word slowly goes around the party that this jerk has waltzed into our holiday party and is expecting service. As we do, we all slowly quieten down and just… stare at him. 

After about five minutes, he looks up to see a whole room of smartly dressed people all creepily staring at him, silent as a mouse.

Customer: “Uh… the f***? Where’s the service?”

All of us continue to stare. Even the music has stopped.

Customer: “What the f*** is going on?!”

Still staring. I think some of us have started smiling creepily.

Customer: “F*** this place! Y’all f****** insane!”

He storms out and as soon as the door slams behind him the music and chatter resumes. That was the start of a great party!

Related:
The Nightmare Before Christmas, Part 3
The Nightmare Before Christmas, Part 2
The Nightmare Before Christmas

Our diner is open on the morning of Thanksgiving, but we are only serving breakfast. We close at 11 AM but this doesn’t stop a customer banging on the door around 11:15 as we’re cleaning up.

Me: “Sorry we closed early today.”

Customer: “You were open earlier! If you’re open today you’re open all day!”

My manager walks over and opens the door ajar to talk to them.

Manager: “Doesn’t work that way, my dude! We opened this morning only as a courtesy to the neighborhood, but it’s been posted on the door for almost a month that we’d be closing at eleven today.”

Customer: “You’re ruining my Thanksgiving!”

Manager: “We have eighteen workers here who get to go home to their families. We’re saving eighteen Thanksgivings.”

Customer: “F*** them!”

Manager: “And now you’ve just made me extra thankful that I get to do this.” *Slams door.*

The customer remained banging on the door to the point where it seemed he might break it. After it was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer we had to call the police to “escort” him away before any of us felt safe leaving, delaying all of our Thanksgivings with our families by an hour.

As a teenager (waaaay back in the 1980s), I briefly worked at this tiny restaurant in a small town. It had a diner-style seating section up front and a small, shabby dining room in back.

The day I interviewed, I was recovering from a serious injury. My hair was clean but unstyled, I wore no makeup, and I wore clothes that weren’t fitted and were comfortably loose at the chest and hips.

I got hired for the dining room. I showed up for my first shift feeling — and looking — much better, and in particular wearing fitted clothes that revealed my hourglass figure.

The woman who owned the place and had interviewed me wasn’t there that night, but she apparently got an earful from the regulars, because the next time I showed up to work, she told me huffily that I would have to work the diner section instead.

Owner: “I hired you under false pretenses, but I guess I can try to find you some shifts up front.”

False pretenses? Whatever, I was sixteen and didn’t think much about it at the time.

I only worked there for two more days before I’d had more than enough of her creepy pervert husband, who ostensibly “managed” the front section. By then, I had finally realized what was going on.

Up front, I worked with waitresses ranging from adorable to brick-house sexy. In back, the waitresses were older, heavier, and/or frumpier.

The older married couples who came in twice a week always sat in back. When the husbands came in alone at lunchtime, they sat up front.

It was just a very gross workplace on a lot of levels.

I live in a small (and admittedly conservative) town. My sister has just come out and is a little nervous about the town’s reaction so to help support her and to ‘normalize’ it in our little town I wear a pride flag pin on my shirt when I am outdoors, as well as on my work uniform at the restaurant (okay’d by the boss).

Inside of a week, I already get my first comment – unsurprisingly from the after-church Sunday crowd.

Customer: “Oh, dear. Such a shame. I thought you were a nice god-fearing person.”

Me: “I’m here serving you every Sunday after church, so obviously I’m not in church. I don’t know what I did to make you think I was religious.”

Customer: “I mean you’ve always been so respectful.”

Me: “How have I been disrespectful?”

Of course, I know what they’re referring to but I’m going to make them say it.

Customer: “Parading that woke agenda gay stuff around! We don’t want to see it!”

Me: “I’m wearing a pin. You’re wearing a cross. We both wear things that represent what we support.”

Customer: “Do not compare gay stuff to the Lord Jesus!”

Me: “Would you like to order, or would you prefer to leave?”

Customer: “What I would prefer is for you not to wear that thing in front of my children! I don’t need you grooming them when we just want a nice meal!”

Thankfully, before I say something that might get me into trouble another customer in the next booth over speaks up:

Other Customer: “Oh sure, you raise your kids in your religion from birth and tell them that if they even think of leaving it they’ll burn forever in fire, but because they’re wearing a rainbow pin they’re the groomer?!”

Customer: “This is none of your business!”

Other Customer: “I’m paying to sit here and not listen to your bigoted a**, so it is my business. Shut up and keep your homophobia to yourself or f*** off!”

Customer: *Standing up and leaving.* “I won’t sit here to be surrounded by such offensive people!” *Walks away and turns back to us for one final word.* “Groomers!”

The customer leaves, and the other customer and I share a look.

Other Customer: “I’ll have the groomer’s special, please!”

I don’t know what that was, but I got them a free cookie.