It’s 7 AM, and I’m at the restaurant, letting maintenance guys work on equipment in the kitchen. They have two trucks parked behind the restaurant. We don’t open for four more hours. We’re not a breakfast place, never have been. For eighteen years, we’ve opened for lunch daily at 11 AM.

In front of the restaurant is an empty, morning sun-lit parking lot.

Grandma comes to the door, pulls, pushes. She gives up. Defeated.

Twenty-something grandson pulls, pushes. Also defeated. Honestly, I’m not sure if he could’ve opened it even if it had been unlocked.

The hours of operation and the deadbolt are unforgiving.

Mom goes to open the door for poor Grandma. Yank. Yank, YANK HARDER! She, too, is defeated.

But then Pop swaggers up. His pointless shades at this early hour are perched on his chiseled face. His cargo shorts are full of magical and mystical Fatherhood tools. He’s been waiting for a worthy opponent. He knows his feeble mother and sissy son can’t be trusted.

His white socks are pulled up over his bulging calves, and they strain, even with his New Balance tactical tennis shoes, as he launches himself against the door.

Taken aback that his frontal assault isn’t successful, he grabs the door and, with the power of Odin, his forefather, pulls at the door as if he’s straining to lift Mjolnir to prove his worthiness. The door is still standing.

Finally, he resorts to his last hope. You might be thinking, “Look at the Hours on the door!”

But you’d be wrong. He calls the restaurant. I debate on whether to answer and decide that this should be a learning experience.

Mother and Grandma are peeking into a window, gazing at the chairs stacked on top of the tables. There are no lights on in the dining room.

Pops is standing near the door, cellphone in hand, tapping his bright white New Balance shoes in anticipation of the fight that will soon be happening. He WILL get his family French toast at this steakhouse at 7:05 AM!

Lanky son with his long curls hanging over his eyes looks up briefly. Pushes the hair away from his eyes as he stares at the Hours of Operation.

You can actually see the gears turning inside his head as he desperately tries to figure out what the clues are telling him.

Finally, he slowly lifts his entire arm and points at the sign.

The family slowly retreats to the safety of the shiny black Suburban. They’ll soon forget this defeat as they search for bacon and eggs. So, they’ll be back. Not realizing that we never open for breakfast. They’ll try again soon. Soon.

I own a small restaurant, classic American foods, decent prices, and kid-friendly. One of our policies is that kids ten and under can get anything off the kids’ menu for free. The stuff on the kids menu is cheap. Like, a bowl of mac and cheese with some chicken nuggets isn’t breaking my bank on food cost. A hot dog and some fries aren’t gonna bankrupt me.

Last night, I was sitting in the office watching some YouTube videos when I noticed a family that I know personally. Their daughter (twelve) is friends with my granddaughter (thirteen).

When I see people I know, I have a tendency to sort of “take over” the table. The server still gets the tip, but I give the table a lot of extra attention.

So, I stop over and say hi, and I check their ticket on the computer out of curiosity. The dad got our 22oz Porterhouse with a fully dressed potato (Butter, cheese, sour cream, bacon, chili, ranch dressing, and crispy fried onions), the mom got our fried catfish and hushpuppies, and the daughter got our pulled pork cheeseburger with onion rings. The daughter ordered off the main menu, not the kids’ menu.

Anyway, they spend about forty minutes eating, drinking, and generally being merry. Both their server and I are keeping an eye on their drinks, making sure they are having a good experience. I even gave them five free credits on the jukebox just to be nice.

I head back to the office to take a phone call, and while I’m back there, I notice a commotion on the cameras, at that very same table. Before I can make it to the dining room, the server is in the kitchen, heading towards my office.

Apparently, there was a “mistake” with their tab, and their daughter’s meal should have been free. The server tried to explain that that only applies to items on the kid’s menu, and the girl had ordered off the main menu. The explanation fell on deaf ears.

So, I head out to solve the problem. I explain that not only did the girl order off the main menu, but I know for a fact that their daughter is not ten or under, since my granddaughter had been to her twelfth birthday party back in March.

The mom tried to argue, but the dad put his hand up, apologized for his wife’s behavior, and passed me his card to pay.

Before they had even left my establishment, the mom already left a nasty (and completely false) Google review, stating that we lie about our policies, and kids don’t really get free meals.

It is around April. A couple comes in with their two kids in strollers. I’m showing them the TVs, when the mom asks me:

Customer: “Where’s your Father’s Day ad? I want to see what sales you have for Father’s Day.”

Me: “We don’t have them yet.”

Customer: “Why not?!”

Me: “It’s April. Father’s Day is in June.”

Customer: “You seriously don’t have any ads?!”

Me: “No, it’s too early.”

Customer: “For real?!”

Me: “Ma’am, for real. Mother’s Day is next month, so why would we have ads for Father’s Day before Mother’s Day has even happened?”

Finally, after telling her multiple times, we get back on the TV topic. We find a TV they like, but we only have the display, so I say:

Me: “This is our last one. If you like, I can see what I can sell it for as a display discount.”

They oblige, and I head up front to check it out. Unfortunately, it only drops a couple of dollars.

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s only a couple of dollars drop in price.”

Customer: “That’s illegal.”

Me: “What’s Illegal?”

Customer: “If it’s open like that, you need to sell it for far less!”

Me: “No, ma’am. The company could even sell it for hundreds more if they liked. The only thing we’re not allowed to do is go below the margin price. We can sell anyone anything for as much as they are willing to pay.”

She gets mad and walks to the front to see my sales manager and asks for a better salesman. I go back to chatting with my boss, and I can hear her in the back near the TVs with another salesman:

Customer: “No, that’s illegal!”

After this goes on for long enough, my sales manager intervenes.

Sales Manager: “Ma’am, you will not be getting any discounts or mythological sale prices on any TVs today. Your choices are display prices or the exit.”

Customer: “This is illegal and unfair! Mother’s Day ads are just for clothes and beauty products! The Dads get the TVs, and I don’t want to wait until June!”

Sales Manager: “You can email the complaint to this email address to discuss the inequalities in the holiday ads, but there’s nothing my sales staff can do for you today.”

Customer: “Do I get a discount if I threaten to sue you all for discrimination?”

Sales Manager: “No, but we then discount you as a customer and refer you to our legal team. Exit that way. Bye!”

She starts trying to argue again, but her husband pats her on the shoulder.

Customer’s Husband: “Honey, you tried. It’s getting embarrassing now. I’m taking the kids to get ice cream. Please come with us and stop… whatever this is.”

She glared at us all the way to the exit. It’s a shame that her behavior got rewarded with ice cream.

A mom and her young son walk into the store.

Customer: “I’m going on a trip, and I won’t have access to my data. I’ll need maps of the rural regions of [countries].”

Me: “Let me show you the map section.”

I take them over there, and we start going through the detailed survey maps of the countries she is visiting. Her son pulls a few more books out and starts flipping through them.

Son: “Hey, Mom, look! They printed Google Maps!”

Mom: “You know they printed maps before Google, right?”

Son: *Confused.* “Before… Google?”

Mom: *To me.* “Now you know why we need a family trip to a place without data!”

A teenage customer walks in. He’s fifteen at most.

Customer: “Can I put this cash in my auntie’s account?”

It’s a small amount (not enough for any real money laundering!), so we allow this if they know the account holder’s full name as well as the account details. I explain this.

Customer: “It’s [account number].”

Me: “And the full name?”

Customer: “Uh… It’s just aunty.”

Me: *Throwing him a bone.* “Aunty, what?”

Customer: “I don’t know, it’s always just aunty!”

Me: “You don’t know your aunt’s name?”

Customer: “It’s not like I call her by her name! You think I just call her by her name? You think I would call my mom by her name?”

Me: “You don’t call your mom by her name, but you still know it.”

Customer: “…”

Me: “You… don’t know your mom’s name?”

Customer: *Storming out, embarrassed.* “It’s just mom!”