We have a guy who comes through so often and causes the exact same problem every time that the moment his face appears on the drive-thru camera, we start prepping his order automatically.

His order is always the same: three large Fantas and one large Coke. 

He pulls up to the speaker.

Customer: “Yeah, gimme three large Fantas and a large Coke.”

We already have them ready.

He pays, drives to the pickup window, and grabs the drinks. Then he does the thing he always does: he opens each one, tastes it, and frowns like he’s a professional soda sommelier.

Customer: “The syrup’s wrong.”

Every. Single. Time.

We take the drinks back, toss them, handle a couple of other orders, then hand him the backup set, the second batch we always prepare because we know what’s coming. 

He taste-tests again, suddenly satisfied, and drives off.

It annoys the absolute s*** out of me every time.

A lady comes through the drive-thru and orders “a taco.” I press the taco button.

Me: “Could I get you anything else?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Any mild, hot, fire, or diablo sauce?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Does everything look correct on your screen?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Alright, it’s going to be $1.39. We’ll see you at the window!”

She pulls up.

Me: “Hello, ma’am, it’s going to be $1.39.”

She hands me a $5. I ring her up, give her her change, and when her taco is ready, I hand it to her.

Customer: “What the f*** is this?”

Me: “A taco.”

Customer: “One taco?! I ordered eight!”

And you thought eight tacos cost $1.39?

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I misheard you. Would you like me to ring you up for the rest of the tacos?”

Customer: “Why would I order a single taco?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I misheard you. Would you like me to ring you up for the rest of the tacos?”

Customer: “Ugh! YES! What the f***, why would I order one taco?!”

I ring her up for seven more.

Me: “Alright, it’s going to be [price of seven tacos].”

Customer: “WHAT? No! I don’t want to pay that much! Why would I order a single f****** taco?!”

At this time, I’m seven months pregnant, and the hormones are hitting hard. The drive-thru window only stays open if you hold it, so every time I turn to talk to the crew, she screams obscenities at me through the gap.

I’m trying so hard to keep it together.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I misheard you. I apologize.”

She keeps screaming. Louder. Meaner. Finally, I reach my breaking point.

In the middle of her rant, I close the window, turn around, and let out the loudest scream I possibly can as I burst into tears. Everyone in the restaurant, and probably the whole parking lot, hears it.

I walk to the back room and sit down, sobbing uncontrollably. My manager steps up to handle her.

Eventually, he comes back.

Manager: “She paid for her seven tacos. She, uh… changed her tune after hearing you scream. She apologized.”

He also informs me that she’s notorious for screaming at drive-thru workers.

Thankfully, I only work there for two more months and never have to deal with her again, though I do witness her having a few more meltdowns at the window.

I worked at a fast-food restaurant and opened on the weekends. Toward the end of the breakfast rush, some guy comes through the drive-thru with a huge order. We were getting ready for lunch and didn’t have anything he wanted already made.

Me: “It’s going to take us a few minutes to get it together.”

Customer: “I’m late for church! Hurry the h*** up!”

Me: “I’ll get your food out as soon as the cooks are done.”

Customer: “That’s not good enough! You’re supposed to be ready! Fast food! Any delay is your fault!”

Me: “Well, you should have probably left your house earlier if you knew you were getting such a big order before church.”

The customer loses it and grabs his coffee (the one thing I have been able to hand to him) and throws it at me through the drive-thru window. Luckily, most of it missed, and it wasn’t that hot.

Manager: *Rushes over.* “How much was his food?”

I tell him. My manager pulls that amount out of the register, throws it at the man, and tells him:

Manager: “Get the f*** out of my drive-thru.”

Customer: “You can’t refuse me service! I’m gonna call the cops!”

Manager: “They’re already on the way.”

The guy swears at us some more and speeds off. My manager checks on me.

Manager: “Geez, are you okay? Homeboy needs to try a new church because that one isn’t working!”

Me: “Might be my parents’ church. Last time I was there, it was for Christmas and I witnessed a screaming physical fight over a parking spot in the church lot that was a lot fuller than usual because… it was Christmas.”

It’s been a long day, with the broken nature of the ice cream machine causing me to receive a lot of abuse from the customers and a coworker snapping and quitting mid-shift, leaving us down one person.

One of my drive-thru customers says to me as they’re collecting their order.

Customer: “Uhm, there’s a guy in your parking lot pooping on cars.”

Me: “What?!”

Customer: “Yeah, he’s just standing on a car and just kinda… squatting. He looks like he’s high on something.”

Me: “Oh, good lord, could this day get any worse?”

It could. It was my car.

It was a rather quiet summer night, and we were nearing our closing time when a car with a bunch of rowdy guys came up on drive-thru (they were so loud the poor cashier had to take off her headphones, and we could hear them from the kitchen, how to this day I still wonder).

They made a huge order for every type of chicken snack we had on the menu. This included the snack-sized chicken bites, nuggets, strips, and some spicy chicken ball skewers that we had for a limited time.

The manager had to ask the cooks to help because it was more than the fryers could handle. It took a while to cook and pack.

While their order was cooking and they had been quoted on how long it would take. The driver of the rowdy car handed the cashier a credit card to pay. The order came out to around $200, and it was declined.

After asking her to try again and the card being declined again, the driver said he would come in and pay with cash. Taking him at his word, the cashier waved him through; however, we suddenly heard the sound of rubber peeling and then a loud “Thunk” coming from the parking area.

It took a second, and we all sighed. They had bolted and, in the process, hit the pothole that was right in front of the drive-thru.

Turns out they had found that credit card, and the owner had deactivated it before they had a chance to use it. The cashier who took their order looked white as a sheet before the manager calmed her down, saying she did nothing wrong and took the card into the office.

As for all the food we had made, the manager counted everything and marked it all as waste and, with a big smile, said, “Take whatever you want, it’s on me this time.”

My respect for her went way up that day!

And the aftermath? The morning shift had questions as to why there was a rather beat-up muffler of a car in the parking lot in front of the pothole. The night manager and I just looked at each other and chuckled. While there were some words with the manager for what happened, his bosses were understanding of the matter but cautioned against letting it happen again.