(At our restaurant we serve a nugget meal, which comes with 8 or 12 nuggets. It’s the #5, but many people order a #8 or #12, wanting the nuggets. When they order a #12, it’s pretty easy to catch the error, as we don’t have a #12, but the #8 gets mixed up a lot with the actual #8, which is a grilled chicken club sandwich. I make it a habit to double and triple check #8 orders just in case. It happens way more often than I’d like. It’s near closing time, and most of the other employees are cleaning or working the drive-thru. I’m the only one at the register.)

Customer: “Yeah, I’d like the #8 with sweet tea.”

Me: “Okay, that’ll be the grilled chicken club meal with a sweet tea?”

Customer: “Um, yeah! That’s what I said!”

Me: “Okay, just double-checking. Your total will be [total].”

Customer: “Why would you need to check? I SAID a #8! What’s so hard?”

Me: “I apologize, sir. Just wanting to make sure it’s right.”

Customer: *getting very irate at what he seems to take as an insult to his intelligence* “Of course it’s right!! WHY WOULDN’T IT BE?”

Me: “Sorry, sir.”

(I finish ringing up his order, give him his drink, and his food, which has just come up.)

Me: “Have a nice day, sir.”

(I help the next person, then two women step up to my register.)

Lady #1: “Hi, I’d like a #12, please.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am; we don’t have a #12. Did you want the #5 with 12 nuggets instead?”

Lady #1: “Oh, yes! I’m so sorry! Didn’t mean to say that; I guess I was just thinking of the number I wanted and it came out wrong.”

Me: “Don’t worry about it. It’s no problem at all.”

Lady #2: “We’re paying together. I guess I shouldn’t order a #8 if I want nuggets, right?”

(She’s grinning, so I know she’s joking. I laugh.)

Me: “You’d really be surprised how often that happens, honestly—”

(Customer #1 suddenly storms back inside and to my register, cutting in front of the women.)

Customer #1: “You gave me the wrong thing! Why is there a sandwich in here?”

Me: “Sir, if you’ll wait just a minute, I’ll finish this order and then help you, as there are no other customers in line.”

Customer #1: “NO! I am in a hurry and you messed up my order!”

(I already know what his problem is, but I’m not about to help him over the other women who were already at my register.)

Me: “Sir, please wait just a minute, okay?”

Customer #1: *ignoring me* “I ordered a nugget meal and got a sandwich! I demand you fix this for free! How hard is it to get my food right?”

Lady #1: “Oh, go ahead. We’re not in a rush.”

Me: “Are you sure, ma’am?”

Lady #2: “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Me: “Okay. Now, sir, may I have your receipt?”

(He thrusts it in my face.)

Customer #1: “I ordered an #8 and I got this sandwich!”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, the #8 is our chicken club sandwich. I remember taking this order a few minutes ago, and I repeated your order to you to make sure it was right. You did say it was.”

Customer #1: “I wanted the nuggets, idiot! How hard is it to know I wanted the 8 nuggets?”

Me: “I do apologize, sir—”

Customer #1: “Don’t apologize! Fix! It! Now!”

Lady #1: “Sir, you need to calm down. I ordered the wrong thing by accident, too, but I’m not acting like a child about it. If you ordered wrong and told her it was right when she repeated your order, it’s your own fault. Buy the nuggets if you want, but don’t make them give you free food over your own mistake.”

Lady #2: “And you’d better hurry if you’re in such a rush.”

Customer #1: “Fine! Do you sell the nuggets by themselves?”

(We do, and I ring up his order. He leaves in a huff after getting his nuggets.)

Lady #1: “You weren’t kidding about people mixing those combos up, honey!”

(We have just got home after picking up a bucket of chicken; I go to take a bite when I notice something awful. I ring the branch.)

Me: “Hi, I’ve found what looks like cooked internal organs in my meal. What can you do about it?”

Worker: “Hang on. Let me get the manager.”

Manager: *very young sounded voice* “Err… hello.”

Me: “Yes, I’ve found something in my food. I don’t know what it is but it looks like a lump of lung. What can you do for me?”

Manager: “Err… Do you want me to replace it?”

Me: “Hang on. You are proposing that I stop eating my family meal, get in my car, and return a chicken leg? To presumably return home to a cold dinner?”

Manager: “Well… err…”

Me: “Or are you suggesting that I eat my dinner, and dessert, then drive clear across town to have another piece of chicken? Are you not even going to apologise?! Or offer me a free meal or something next time?”

Manager: “You can return the piece of chicken for free.”

(I stopped eating fast food chicken after that.)

(After a long day at work I decide I’m too tired to make dinner and opt for getting food from a well-known fast-food drive-thru on my way home.)

Server: *over drive-thru speaker* “Hi, what can I get you?”

Me: “Hi, could I get [Burger] as a small meal?”

(The screen comes up with my order, saying ‘large meal.’)

Me: “Oh, sorry, but I wanted a small meal, not a large.”

(Screen changes to ‘medium meal’ and I decide that’s good enough.)

Server: “What sides do you want?”

Me: “Um… fries?”

Server: “Which two sides do you want?”

Me: “Um… well… fries and I take [Soda-pop] as the drink.”

Server: “Yes, but which two sides do you want?”

(I have no idea what he’s talking about and frantically start scanning the menus around me for a clue.)

Server: “… Hello? What two sides do you want?”

Me: “Ah, sorry, but what can I choose from?”

(Silence…)

Me: “Um, sorry? What options do I have?”

Server: “What do you want for your two sides?”

Me: “What can I choose from?”

(Silence…)

Server: “Please pull forward to pay.”

(I am really confused at this point, pull forward, pay, and get my food soon after. When I open it up at home I look inside and see that I did get a mini cheeseburger and a box of popcorn chicken as sides. Only then do I vaguely remember an ad I had seen weeks ago about how you can create your own meal with your own sides. But why couldn’t that server just explain it to me?!)

(I am working at a fast food restaurant. My store manager is a complete bully, and has had it out for me since day one because she doesn’t seem to like females. Nevertheless, I am a very good worker and always follow her instructions. All the other managers like me, and staff respect me and always come to me for help. I am allocated an hour and a half during the afternoon to do ‘changeover’ – that is, restock the dining room, mop, clean, empty the bins, etc.)

Manager: “You finished your changeover far too quickly today.”

Me: “I’ve been here for years and have it down to a fine art. It doesn’t take long. I can have it done and be back serving customers pretty quickly.”

Manager: “You are allocated an hour and a half because to do it properly, it should take you that long. Stop cutting corners or I will write you a warning.”

(A few days later, I am doing changeover. It’s almost impossible for me to stretch out a job that takes 30 minutes to the allocated hour and a half, but I try. I sanitise surfaces that never get touched. I clean picture frames. I even mop the floor twice. The restaurant is sparkling. I feel her gaze following me the whole time.)

Manager: “That took you far too long. You are supposed to be my most competent worker. That job should only take you 30 minutes! You’re pathetic and a time waster.”

(I quit a few weeks later. She literally ran out into the car park and cheered for joy. On my last day, she celebrated when I came in by yelling out to all the customers that it was the best day of her life. Some people are just not meant to be managers.)

(My job requires checks at specific times, so I often wear a watch. Not many other employees do, including managers. The play area is closed and cleaned before the rest of the restaurant.)

Manager: “[My Name], go clean the play area at 8:30.”

(I check my watch. It’s 8:45.)

Manager: “Did you hear me? You need to clean the play area at 8:30, okay?”

Me: “Okay.” *mumbling so my manager can’t hear me* “I’ll just… make time go backwards.”