I work in a fish and chip shop. A local lady comes in.

Me: “Hey, how ar—”

Customer: “How much are the four-dollar chips?”

I show her a basket of chips.

Me: “About this much and about half a scoop more.”

Customer: “No, how much are the four-dollar chips?”

Me: “…um, four dollars?”

Customer: “Well, there’s no reason to be f****** rude about it!” *Storms off*

I noticed she only had three dollars in her hand. She also could have bought three dollars’ worth of chips.

I work at a fast food place. There’s a severe thunderstorm watch, so even though several of us have recently gone off shift, we’re still sticking around because we don’t want to drive home in a storm.

It’s eerily quiet outside: no wind, no rain, hot, and extremely humid. We decide that it’s probably tornado weather.

Sure enough, the severe thunderstorm warning is upgraded to a tornado watch. Still, it’s absolutely silent. A couple more customers filter in and we start making food for them.

Then, the storm hits. It’s extremely sudden. Abruptly, it’s just raining sideways. Water is battering against the glass of the windows. A cherry red stop sign slaps against the windows and is held against them by the force of the wind.

An order comes up on the computer for [Delivery App].

Without much else to do, we make it. The power starts flickering, but our grill is gas, and the computer’s backup battery keeps it from shutting down. We make the burger.

The wind direction changes and the stop sign drops off of the window abruptly, landing on the pavement. Then, it pinwheels away to possibly alert someone else to the deteriorating conditions.

A car pulls up in front of the store. The wind is so strong that the car can’t pull directly forward; instead, it slides sideways as it pulls forward. The driver gets out. It’s the [Delivery App] guy and he wants to pick up the burger.

We beg him to stay. The tornado watch is still in effect for nearly thirty more minutes. He shakes his head and grabs the burger bag, and before we can say anything else, he vanishes into the storm.

The story doesn’t end there. Eventually, the wind dies down. It’s still raining like crazy. There’s a huge puddle around the joint, and it’s starting to leak inside under the walls.

One of the customers takes off his shoes. He takes off his socks… and puts them on the table. He takes the inserts out of his shoes… and puts them on the table. He takes the inner sole things out of the shoes… and puts them on the table. He puts his shoes back on. He then puts all of these things into his pocket and walks out to his car.

I get the strong stuff to clean his table with.

When I leave for the night, management is talking about shutting down for a few days for sanitation reasons because of the water coming in through the walls. Apparently, the insulation needs to be taken out and dried before it can mold. I am told not to come in tomorrow and that they’ll have a spot for me in the rotation of another nearby place in the same chain by Monday.

I used to work in fast food. We would regularly have people from construction crews come in, and one person would usually end up ordering for the entire group — anywhere from five to twenty people. Often, these guys wouldn’t speak English, so they’d come in the store, we’d bust out the picture menu for them, and things would go pretty smoothly.

Every once in a while, though, these guys would decide to come through the drive-thru, and that was always an ordeal. If you’ve ever tried to take an order from someone who doesn’t speak the same language you do, is ordering for fifteen people, and is talking through a drive-thru speaker, you’ll realize it is one of the most frustrating experiences there is.

One day, this guy was trying to order and just kept yelling, “Two, two, four!” over and over and over.

At first, I thought he was ordering a number two meal and two number four meals. Apparently not. He got more emphatic with his shouting. So, I looked through the menu and found an item priced at $2.44 and thought that might be what he wanted. Wrong again!

He yelled for a few minutes more, and then just started going off on me in Spanish.

Meanwhile, I was yelling back through the speaker:

Me: “I don’t speak Spanish! I don’t know what you want! Come order inside!”

After a few minutes of this, I realized it wasn’t going anywhere and started helping other customers.

The guy eventually gave up and decided to come inside, but not to order. Oh, no, it was too late for that. This guy came in irate and was yelling and screaming profanity at everyone behind the counter.

The funny thing is that he was cussing and yelling at us in English when he came inside. Oh, you speak English now all of a sudden? Great!

I used a fast food bakery’s app to order soup for my mother and a salad for me. I walked into the bakery, saw a bag with my name, checked the list on the bag, and took it to my mother’s house. We sat down and opened the bag and pulled out a mac and cheese and two steak sandwiches.

After checking the tag again and seeing my name and my order, I decided I should call and let them know what happened as there would be an upset customer who paid more than I did and got less food.

Employee: “Hello, [Bakery], how may I help you?”

Me: “Hi. This is [My Name]. I wanted to let you know that I got the wrong order. It had my name and my order listed on it, but it’s two steak sandwiches and a mac and cheese.”

Employee: “You must have picked up the wrong bag.”

Me: “No, it has my name on it and my order.”

Employee: “I have been filling orders for six years. I know what I’m doing. You picked up the wrong bag.”

Doubting myself, I check the paper again.

Me: “No, I’m looking at the paper and it has my name and my order on it, but it was someone else’s order.”

Employee: “You must have picked up the wrong bag.”

Me: “I picked up the bag with my name on it.”

Employee: *Sighing* “Well, I suppose I’m going to get another call.”

Me: “Yes, I just wanted to let you know.”

I work at a regional fast food joint as a cashier-slash-maker of shakes and other cold treats. We have a customer come up and demand our manager. When he comes over, she gives her complaint.

Customer: “I want another burger and a refund; I found a hair in my [Signature Burger]!”

She holds up a strand of blond hair from the burger.

The manager makes a slow, deliberate glance at me with my solidly dark red hair and the other cashier with frizzy black hair. Then, he steps aside so the customer can see the grill where our two cooks with their shaved heads are working on an order as he runs his hand over his close-clipped brown hair.

Manager: “Ma’am, do you notice anything about our employees?”

Customer: “What are you talking about? I want a refund and another burger!”

Manager: *Tersely* “Ma’am, the only blonde here is you. That hair belongs to none of our employees. I am not giving you a refund or a replacement.”

She looked like she was going to argue but apparently thought better of it, as she grabbed what was left of her meal and left in a hurry.

Related:
Hair Apparent, Part 2
Hair Apparent