I am in the car with my mother driving. We pull up to a fast food place; the dining area is already closed but the drive-thru is open all night. My mum hates drive-thru because English is not our native language and she sometimes has a hard time understanding everything through the speaker.

Employee: “What can I get for you?”

Mum: “A large Coke and a bean burrito, please.”

Employee: “That was a large Coke and a beef burrito?”

Mum: “No, a bean burrito.”

Employee: “Beef burrito?”

That goes on for a while, until my mum spells it out.

Mum: “B-E-A-N!”

Employee: “Oh, so, one bean burrito. Not beef. Got it. Anything else?”

Mum: “Yes, one beef burrito, please.”

She actually didn’t realize how weird the conversation was, not even when I burst out laughing hysterically and the employee gave her a death stare.

It is around 10:00 pm on a Friday night. I am the shift lead and we are winding down to our closing time at 11:00 pm. One of my coworkers finished work shortly before and stayed around in the lobby to chat with friends. He goes to the toilet and comes back seconds later asking me to come with him to the disabled toilets. Our disabled toilet has a sliding door that is open, and you can see in when it isn’t in use.

Upon arriving at the toilet, I see that someone has written the name “Steve” in foot-high letters across the wall in excrement and left their “pen” in the sink. Having dealt with numerous rectal catastrophes over the years, the stink doesn’t quite knock me sick, but the sheer sight of it destroys me as a person.

My staff member politely declines the offer to give me a hand with it, so I clean it myself. I go and watch the CCTV footage afterward and can only narrow down the culprit to about a dozen people.

I never did find out who “Steve” was but he was the one who finished me off. I handed my notice in the next day, which contained possibly the only ever use of “a*** graffiti” in an official document, and had a couple of weeks to myself before settling on haulage as a next direction for myself.

I very much enjoy my new life which is devoid of fecal horrors and the other joys of the fast food industry.

It is lunchtime so we are pretty busy, but the wait isn’t horrible. A couple comes in and sees the chaos but decides to order anyway. As I’m counting their change, they demand a cup because they “had to wait.” Since I don’t respond immediately because of counting, the man repeats his demand.

Me: “Yes, sir, I’ll be sure to get you a water cup. But I have to get my coworker to make it back here because water doesn’t work in the lobby.” *Shifts focus* “Hey, [Coworker], can you make this gentleman a medium water?”

I go back to doing orders, but they complain that their water didn’t magically appear. I simply walk over and make his water for him and gladly hand it over!

As I am helping a different customer, I see the couple hide behind a wall for a moment. Then, the customer comes marching up to my till and shows me the nastiest ring on the top of the cup, demanding a new one. I do exactly as before; I walk over to make him a new one! My line is getting bigger and I’m getting tired of his playing, but before I even press the button the woman starts complaining!

Female Customer: “CAN’T YOU JUST GIVE US CUPS WITH ICE?!”

Me: “You know what? Here—” *hands them cups* “—get your free soda.” 

I knew from the beginning what they were trying to do. Who orders a whole meal and doesn’t get drinks? And immediately demanding one over a normal waiting time? Disappearing behind a wall to spread sludge all on the top I know for a FACT was not there? And just for what? A. Dollar. Freaking. Soda. Congratulations, cheapskate.

It’s the mid-1990s. I’m a young, female employee. I have recently fallen in the kitchen and have seriously damaged my knee. As a result, I am in a brace that goes from hip to ankle, locking my knee straight. It goes on the outside of my clothing and fastens with about eight three-inch wide Velcro strips. Getting in and out of it is a process, and with my injuries, I need space to get in and out of the brace in order to use the facilities, as well as the bars for support.

As such, I am in the bathroom, making use of the handicapped stall, when the following occurs. I am removing the brace with a great deal of loud, velcro-ripping sounds. While I normally feel a bit guilty for making use of the handicapped stall, for the first time in my life I feel justified. Just as I get the last velcro free, someone starts POUNDING on the stall door. 

Me: “One moment!”

I hear a huff from the other side of the door. I do what I need to do in a hurry, while this person POUNDS periodically on the door. I try to hurry with getting the velcro fasteners back on, but I can only move so fast and getting them right takes fiddling. 

Still, the pounding continues. I finally pop out the stall door to find this old woman in a wheelchair glaring at me. Upon seeing me, she snaps.

Old Woman: “Are you handicapped?!”

Speechless, I sort of waved at my braced leg and tried to get out of the way as she shoved past.  Once out, she complained to my manager about me. Luckily, he told me not to worry about it; I was in the right!

I am a closer at a sandwich shop. The store has been closed for half an hour. We were super busy and, in my haste to close up, I forgot to lock the door when I turned off the open sign. Suddenly, I hear the bell chime on the door so I go to the front and see a gentleman standing there.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We closed half an hour ago.”

Customer: “I want something to eat.”

Me: “Sir, I am afraid I can’t make anything for you. All of our food is put away and the register is closed.”

Customer: “Well, this is ridiculous! I’m hungry!”

Me: “I’m sorry. [Other Restaurant] is open twenty-four hours. You could try there.”

Customer: “That’s not healthy!”

Me: “Well… I’m afraid I don’t know what else to tell you.”

The man gets a very angry look on his face and he turns his back to me. After hours, we’re allowed to listen to whatever music we want on our personal devices. I’m a bit of a Broadway junkie, so I was listening to a musical radio station. Suddenly, this song comes on my phone, very loudly.

Phone: “There’s a moment you know you’re f*****!”

The customer stormed out of the building and I ran out to the lobby, locking the door and laughing hysterically.

This story is part of our Musical Theater Roundup!

Read the next Musical Theater Roundup story!

Read the Musical Theater Roundup!