I work for a fast food restaurant. We aren’t very busy at this time of day, so when a man and a young girl I presume is his daughter arrive, there is only one customer in front of them. I can hear them discussing their food plans while waiting.

Man: “What do you want to eat, [Girl]?

Girl: “Dinosaur nuggets!”

The girl says this with excessive excitement. The man seems amused and approving of this response.

Man: “That’s an amazing answer! High-five.”

He gets his high-five, and a little while later he comes up to order. He gets a kid’s chicken nugget meal for the girl.

Me: “Just so you know, sir, our nuggets aren’t shaped like dinosaurs.”

Man: “Oh, thank you for the warning, but she’s fine. That’s not what she meant by dinosaur nuggets.”

Girl: “They don’t look like dinosaurs; they’re made from dinosaurs.”

I should probably mention I’ve never been good with kids. It’s not that I hate them or anything; I just never know how to respond to all the random things they say and do. I probably should just nod and not worry about what a little girl is saying, but instead, I foolishly try to correct her.

Me: “They’re actually made out of chickens.”

Girl: *Mildly exasperated* “I know! That’s the dinosaur!”

Me: “Umm… okay.”

The man has been watching with a look of amusement at this discussion but finally decides to help clarify.

Man: “She’s actually right. I was teaching this smart young lady about dinosaurs yesterday and told her that the last of the dinosaurs evolved into birds, so technically, all birds are dinosaurs. Great job, [Girl], for remembering and helping to teach others about them.”

And that’s the story of how I got schooled on dinosaurs by a kid who may or may not have been old enough to be in school herself.

I’m at a semi-famous fast food chain that has “kosher-style dogs” on its menu, in a part of the US that’s rather notorious for its lack of religious diversity. The entire state has fewer than 6,000 Jews. Although “kosher-style” means it’s not certified kosher (and I don’t really care), I still get a good laugh out of this exchange.

Me: “Can I get a kosher dog, please?”

Cashier: “Would you like cheese or bacon on it?”

I just about fall over laughing. Afterward, I text a Jewish friend about it.

Friend: “Correct answer: ‘both.'”

I am on a long road trip and get hungry. As I’m in a rural area, there are not many options for food, and I end up stopping at a fast food place I typically try to avoid. Inside there is a sign that says that due to staff shortages, customers need to order from the kiosks. There is one employee working the front end, making the specialty drinks, calling out order numbers, and handling customer complaints.

Our order numbers are listed in order on a TV screen above the pick-up counter. Every number is being called out in order, without variation. I am order number seventeen, and until order number sixteen gets their food, there is no issue. I move up to the counter as I should be next, but a man shoves his way in front of me.

Man: “Where is my order? I’ve been waiting for five minutes!”

Employee: “Sir, you have order number nineteen. You need to wait until your number is called. There are customers ahead of you.”

Man: “I don’t care! I ordered four kids’ meals and four apple pies. Give them to me now!”

Employee: “Sir, I can’t do that. There are customers who have been waiting longer.”

Man: “I left my kids in the car alone! The oldest is only six! They’re probably crying with starvation by now. You are literally starving my babies! I won’t wait a minute longer. Give me my kids’ meals!”

The employee puts a rush on his order after that, and he is served next. The employee looks flustered but begins making a medium pineapple mango smoothie, which I ordered. A woman in a business suit pushes her way past me and begins drumming her nails on the counter. The employee sets the smoothie and a bag containing a chicken sandwich and apple slices on the counter. The woman immediately grabs the smoothie.

Employee: “Order number seventeen!”

Woman: “This is wrong! I ordered a salad.”

Employee: “No, number seventeen had a smoothie, sandwich, and apples.”

Woman: “Are you stupid? I had a smoothie and a salad!”

Me: “She’s not stupid. That’s my smoothie you took. We must have ordered the same one. That is my order.”

Woman: “Don’t defend her. She made my order wrong. Get me my f****** salad!”

Employee: “Yes, ma’am.”

The employee, now looking extremely confused and flustered, bags the woman’s salad and puts it on the counter.

Employee: “So sorry for the mix-up. I don’t know how I got the order numbers confused.”

Woman: “Whatever.”

The employee now starts making an iced coffee.

Me: “Ma’am, I still haven’t gotten my smoothie. Medium pineapple mango.”

Employee: “I already made that.”

Me: “And the lady with the salad took it. I ordered the same one, with the sandwich and apples.”

Employee: “Oh, my gosh! I am so sorry! I thought the smoothie went with that order! I didn’t realize two customers ordered the same one. I was so confused when she said she ordered a salad. I’ll make your smoothie now.”

She made my smoothie and then checked the order numbers. The woman with the salad was order number twenty, which is why the employee hadn’t seen her smoothie order yet. If the customers had just waited for their turns like they were supposed to, we wouldn’t have had an issue.

I work in a fast food restaurant.

Customer: “Can I get a birthday cake cookie?”

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t carry those.”

Customer: “What cookies do you have?”

Me: “Chocolate chip, sugar, white macadamia, oatmeal raisin, and brownies.”

Customer: “Can I get a peanut butter cookie?”

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t carry those.”

Customer: “What cookies do you have?”

We go around like this a few times until:

Customer: “Never mind. I’ll go somewhere else.”

I’m working in a fast food place during the Sunday after-church rush, and we have a line so long that people are waiting outside the store. A family of three makes it to the counter. Despite the fact that they have had plenty of time to look at the menu board, the parents don’t know what kids’ meal to get their three-year-old. Their options are a hard shell taco, soft shell taco, or bean burrito. They keep changing their minds after I ring it up.

I can tell my manager is getting annoyed as she is working the hot table and knows we have a mass of people waiting.

Me: “If you don’t know what to order, please step to the side and let me know when you have decided. I can’t have you holding up the line.”

This was not the thing to say, apparently. The father, dressed in his Sunday best, starts tearing me a new one in front of the entire crowd.

Customer: “You low-life degenerate! You’re probably a college dropout who can’t make change!”

He isn’t saying this quietly. I wipe his order and start helping the next customer — because screw him.

Once his order is wiped, he knocks over our cup display and shouts:

Customer: “Now, listen here, you piece of s***!”

Manager: “Get out of the store or I’m calling the cops.”

Customer: “Oh, yeah? What are the cops going to do?”

The best moment I’ve ever had working in fast food is my manager turning to the corral and saying:

Manager: “Show of hands, who here just witnessed this guy verbally assaulting my employee?”

A large number of customers raise their hands. My manager then tells the customer to get out and not to come back.

He tries to come through the drive-thru about thirty minutes later. He orders the same combos and a kid’s meal. He gets to the window and there stands my manager.

Manager: “Not going to happen. Keep driving, jacka**.”