(I’m 10 years old. I am helping my father out at his takeaway, being the ‘cashier’. We are Asian. A white customer in her thirties walks in, and orders some food. I call my dad’s friend to make it, and he does. He brings it out and leaves.)

Me: “Okay, miss, that will be £30.00.”

Customer: “What? Oh no, darling; I’m the old owner’s daughter! I get my food for free!”

Me: “£30.00.”

Customer: “FREE. Give me my food for free, sweetheart.”

Me: “Please pay £30.00.”

Customer: “Dearie, I get it for free. My father—bless him, he’s 60 now—is the owner, and lets me have it for free! Give it to me!”

Me: “I don’t believe my father is 60; he is only 40. And we are Asian; you are a White person. Now, please pay for your food, or I will be forced to call the police.”

Customer: “You cheeky lying little brat!”

(She grabs my hair, and pulls hard.)

Customer: “Give me my free food now! Or I’ll spank your bum so hard you will die! You’re just a worthless teenager trying to earn money you don’t deserve!”

Me: “Daddy! Daddy! A lady’s got my hair, and she says you’re her daddy, and, and, gets f-food for free!”

(My dad runs in.)

Dad: “Stop! She’s only 10! You’re hurting her! I will call the police!”

(The customer goes pale, and runs out the door. I’ve not been back there in two years.)

(I am on break and heading towards the restroom, when a customer asks me to take his order. Seeing that it’s busy, and assuming that the customer has been waiting for some time, I step up to the spare till that the managers all share. All of my on-duty coworkers are either Hispanic or African American.)

Me: “Sorry about the wait. What can I get for you today?”

Customer: “Number four, medium, with an iced tea to drink. I’m glad you finally came out of the kitchen. I thought I’d never get to order.”

Me: “I’m sorry again about your wait. We’ve been a little understaffed all day.”

Customer: “So, that must be why you were doing the Mexican’s work.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “The kitchen, the kitchen! I guess all these n****** who can’t take an order right needed someone back there who speaks English to fix everything. They need to hire more white folks like you to work here.”

Me: “Sir, I would appreciate it if you refrain from making such offensive remarks.”

Customer: “Aw, c’mon. No need to cater to them. Just between us, you think whites are the best race, right?”

Me: “Just between us?”

(I beckon the customer closer, then speak loudly enough for the entire restaurant to hear.)

Me: “If you spout any more of this racist bull-s***, I will not hesitate to kick you out.”

Customer: “But you’re white!”

Me: “Not that it matters, but I’m half Native-American.”

Customer: “You don’t look it. If that’s true, what’s your ‘Injun’ name?”

Me: “In my tribe, I am called ‘Ejects-Bigoted-A**-hole-From-Premises’. Now kindly get the f*** out.”

This story is part of our Native-American roundup.

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(This takes place a week after the last day for a former manager who used to work at my restaurant. Note: this manager has always been nasty with me. I’m in the back working, but clearly visible from the counter.)

Former Manager: “I’d like a number 12 combo with extra pickles and sauce. So help me if there are no pickles!”

(I make the order for my former manager, making sure to get it right. He gets his food and leaves to sit at a table. However, a minute later, he’s back.)

Former Manager: “Who made this? Was it [my name]? This is unacceptable. I asked for extra pickles and what’s this?”

(The former manager literally THROWS the sandwich onto the counter, making it fly everywhere. From this point on, he stares at me the whole time, not even glancing at who he’s actually talking to.)

Former Manager: “Where are the d*** pickles? There weren’t any at all! This is bloody unacceptable!”

Coworker: “Really, [former manager]?”

Former Manager: “Where is [assistant manager]? I demand to talk to him. Someone’s going to get fired over this!”

(The assistant manager, who has now been promoted to franchise manager, comes out from behind a rack and cuts the former manager off mid-rant.)

Franchise Manager: “Hi, [former manager]. What seems to be the problem?”

Former Manager: “[My name] messed up my order. I asked for extra pickles and sauce and instead got no pickles at all. I knew she was incompetent the whole time she worked here. Should have fired her when I had the chance. She’s no good man! She needs to go! I can’t believe they promoted her.”

Franchise Manager: “Okay, stop. First of all, she’s a great worker; she’s one of the best we’ve had. Which you’d know if you spent less time making her life difficult. Second, I am certain she got your order right down to a letter. Thirdly, I was watching you take out the pickles yourself. And you know we do not allow customers to behave this way and abuse employees. Now, as franchise manager—”

(The former manager’s face drops suddenly as he hears this.)

Franchise Manager: “As franchise manager, I have the authority to refuse you service completely. Goodbye, [former manager]. Please don’t come back.”

(After my former manager leaves, my franchise manager turns to me.)

Franchise Manager: “That felt good. I don’t know why you turned this down!”

(And that was the day I saw the former manager get banned from the very store he once used to run. We’ve heard no word of him since and he never came back.)

(I work at the drive-thru.)

Me: “Thank you for choosing [restaurant]. How may I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, I would like a 16 piece family meal with two thirds of it fish.”

Me: I’m sorry, ma’am; did you want 10 or 11 fish?”

Customer: “What do mean?”

Me: “Two thirds isn’t a proper fraction to use. It will give you between 10-11 pieces. So how many pieces would you like?”

Customer: “I don’t see how you get those numbers. Just give me 12 fish. Is that a fraction you can figure out?”

Me: “Yes, one 16 piece, 3/4 fish the rest chicken. Is there anything else for you today?”

Customer: “I don’t see the difference between 3/4 and 2/3, but okay.”

Me: “Hi! May I please get the 10 piece chicken tenders meal, with a large drink and a side of gravy to go?”

Cashier: “Sure! Would you like the 10 or the 20 piece?”

Me: “I would like the 10.”

Cashier: “Done! Would you like the meal to go with it? And if so, would you like to upsize it?”

Me: “I asked for a meal with a large drink.”

Cashier: “No problem! Would you like any sides with that?”

Me: “Gravy…”

Cashier: “And is that to stay or to go?”

Me: “I have explained all of this already. It’s to go.”

(Note: there is only one person in the drive thru, and I am the only customer inside ordering. The place is dead, but it still took about 10 minutes for my food to come out. When I check my order, they’ve only given me 8 nuggets, no gravy, and cold fries.)

Me: “Excuse me, but there’s only 8 nuggets. My fries are cold and I asked, and paid for, a side of gravy. Could I please get this fixed?”

Cashier: “Why is everyone so d*** picky?! You’re the seventh person to complain during my shift! And honestly honey, you could honestly survive without the two extra nuggets and gravy. Do you really want to add more blubber to those love handles you have going on there? Come on, get a life and stop pestering me!”

(My order was finally fixed, and I called the manager the next day to complain. He said he’d do something about it, and apologized. I was at the same location today and the same cashier who belittled me had been promoted to supervisor!)