Customer: “I would like two orders of the chicken caprese with no caprese.”

Me: “Okay, it is a chicken dish based on a caprese salad which is comprised of fresh mozzarella, sliced tomato, fresh basil, and then drizzled with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. So the actual dish is a balsamic glazed chicken breast stuffed with fresh mozzarella, tomato, and basil. Which of the ingredients do you wish to avoid?”

Customer: “Caprese.”

Me: “So you want two plain chicken breasts then?”

Customer: “No, I just don’t want no caprese on it.”

Me: “Again, caprese means fresh mozzarella cheese, tomato and fresh basil leaves drizzled with balsamic vinegar, so when you say you do not want the caprese do you mean the balsamic glaze on the chicken? Do you not want the basil? Or is it the cheese, or the tomato? Because they all make up the “caprese” part of the chicken caprese dish, so saying you don’t want caprese makes it plain chicken. So can you tell me which ingredient it is you do not want?”

Customer: “Caprese.”

Me: *soul slowly dying*

(It’s a busy day. The store is short-staffed and as a manager, I pick up some slack taking orders. Our establishment requests that we be fast, but also ensure that we take care of the orders. It’s a take three, bag three orders rule. I have already taken five orders, because two of them were drinks only. A customer approaches me.)

Me: “I’ll be right with you.”

Customer: “Okay.”

(He then starts ordering. I gaze at him for a moment, and then take his order. After completing the order:)

Me: “I took your order this time, but I won’t do it next time, as I have to be fair to the other customers.”

Customer: *screams* “I’m here now and you should get my order first!”

Me: “In order to be fair to the other customers, and since they were there first, I needed to complete their orders first.”

(He calms down until I give him his food and he leaves, but it’s far from over. He leaves a comment on our online system, saying that I refused to serve him and that I intentionally didn’t want to deal with him. He also made some disparaging comments about my appearance and weight. However, the general manager watches the tapes with me and sees this guy acting a fool. Next time he comes in, the general manager stops him:)

General Manager: “We can no longer serve you, due to your previous attitude towards our employees.”

Customer: *yelling* “I’m a customer and you should do whatever I say!”

General Manager: “Let me stop you right there and ask you to look around. There are other customers in the restaurant, and the world doesn’t revolve around you. You should think about that the next time you want to be rude and ruin someone’s perfect score because you’re a douche.”

(The guy left in a bad attitude and hasn’t been seen since.)

Like most American teenagers, my first job was in a fast food restaurant. I went through my fair share of interesting stories, from the customer who laughed with me when his total came to $6.66 to an old woman who complained her milkshake was too cold, but the most memorable one didn’t even involve a customer.

Our walk-in freezer, naturally, didn’t lock, so as to prevent such incidents as those commonly seen on sitcoms. The outer freezer behind the first door was more like a fridge; the inner freezer behind a second door was much colder.

On an uneventful night, I go back to the inner freezer for more fries. As I go in, the heavy doors to the outer and then the inner freezer each swing shut behind me, as always. As I’m picking up the box, the lights suddenly go out, leaving me in pitch-black darkness. I then hear a commotion outside the inner door, followed by the voice of a female manager yelling.

The freezer is small and square, so, confused but not worried, I drop the box and easily fumble my way to the door, but when I push it open, I feel and hear it pushing against something on the other side. I squeeze out through the small opening I made to find a rack of salads half-blocking the door and the manager both trying to move it and screaming at a male employee my age. There was no freak power outage; he’d turned the lights off while I was inside and started barricading the door!

I barely know anything about this kid besides his name. We’ve had no significant or hostile interactions that I can remember, no arguments or anything that night. I don’t know if I did something to annoy him without realizing it, or if he just decided to play a joke on a random person. If so, none of the managers that night or the next day find it funny. I don’t even get to confront him myself; he’s sent home immediately. The manager who caught him apologizes to me profusely, makes sure I’m all right, and assures me he won’t get away with it.

Once she learns what happened, my mother calls them twice that night in outrage, but it’s unnecessary. None of the higher-ups hesitate or waste any time. He’s fired immediately, and I never see him again. Apparently, in the world of fast food, trying to barricade someone in a freezer with the lights out is a 100% indefensible action.

(I work in a family hamburger shop in a popular amusement park in my area. A customer comes in during a slower period and saunters up to the drinks area where I am at the time.)

Customer: “Could I get a blueberry-lime vodka, hold the ice?”

(As I am sixteen and could not possibly serve him that even if we had it, I think he’s joking and I try to joke back.)

Me: “Coming right up.” *takes a water cup and mixes in some different types of Vitamin Water and Sprite* “Here it is!” *jokes making a show of presenting this “fancy” drink to him* “I can’t actually give this to you, though.” *pouring it out*

Customer: “Heh…” *chuckles but continues to stand there*

Me: “So, uh, is there anything I can get you?”

Customer: “No, just the drink.”

(I realize that this customer was not, in fact, joking and wholeheartedly went into a family burger joint looking for a fancy mixed drink, and went up to the sixteen-year-old to ask for it.)

Me: “Oh… Uh, well, we don’t have that, exactly. We have beer at the stand on the patio outside, but aside from that, you probably won’t find what you’re looking for here. Sorry.”

Customer: *with his expression turning sour* “Useless kid.” *storms off*

(I was shocked at what just happened. To this day, a part of me still thinks I was sleep-deprived and hallucinated the whole thing.)

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(I’m working at a famous hamburger place when this happens. A young lady has come in with her child, who is maybe three years old. The child is running around in the lobby while she is waiting in my line. When she gets to me, the following happens:)

Me: “Ma’am, it’s unsafe for your kid to run around in here like that. He’s going to hurt himself.”

Lady: “He’s fine. And don’t call my child a kid. A kid is a baby cow! Call him a child!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, but your child will get hurt; please ask him to stop running around.”

Lady: “He’s fine! Now let me place my order.”

Me: “Fine, what can I get for you?”

(Just as she’s starting to order, her kid falls and does a header right into the corner of one of the garbage cans. The kid doesn’t make a noise, but all of a sudden starts shaking, so it’s clear he’s having a seizure. The mother runs over to her kid and turns him over. His eyes are rolled back, his head is bleeding, and he’s shaking. One of my coworkers is calling 911 and others have rushed to help her.)

Lady: *looks up at me and yells* “THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”

(She later tried to sue us. I was asked to give a deposition, and I told them that I had asked her to stop having her kid run around, and a couple other people I worked with said they’d heard me tell her. She didn’t win her case. Also, a kid isn’t a baby cow; it’s a baby goat.)