I worked at a restaurant ages ago. One coworker worked days and I worked nights but seemed like a nice guy. The thing about him is that he was morbidly obese. I say that not to mock him, but because it’s important to the story.

One weekend I picked up a day shift. My coworker was working, and he had the section next to me. We had over an hour wait for a table and we were in the weeds up to our eyeballs. Not far into our shift, the air conditioner went out. It was already a hot day so with all those people and with us rushing around, it warmed up quickly.

I was on my way to the kitchen when a table flagged me down. It was not my table, but I stopped anyway.

Customer: “Get me a manager. Now!”

Me: “Certainly, but can I first ask what the issue is?”

He pointed to the end of the table, where I could see it was wet. I grabbed the clean towel from the back of my apron, ready to wipe it up but he stopped me.

Customer: “Do you know what that is?”

Me: “Water? I—”

Customer: “No! It’s sweat. That … that tub o’ lard of a server has been dripping sweat on our table. When he delivered our food, he also delivered that!”

I had noticed that my coworker was sweating profusely as he ran around, more so than the rest of us. I myself was sweaty but it wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t hide it from my tables. My poor coworker wasn’t so lucky.

Customer: “This is disgusting!”

I had to agree but at the same time I felt bad for my coworker. It wasn’t his fault the air was out and it was super hot inside.

The manager looked like he wanted to cry when I told him about the table. He went to the table, hunkered down to their level, and talked quietly but the customers were not so kind. I could hear snippets of them yelling about germs, someone mentioned the health board, and it got to the point the bar manager joined them to see if he could help. The adjoining booths customers were listening in, and I knew that wasn’t good. My coworker stood at the top of the stairs, watching as his table loudly called him childish names about his weight.

Finally, they got up and left, their bill comped (they had not touched their food). The manager gave gift cards to the tables who had witnessed the chaos but made it seem as if they were because of the air going out, not the server.

At the end of our shift, my coworker went into a meeting with the managers. He handed in his stuff and quit, he was so mortified by what had happened. They begged him to stay, he’d been there years, but he was so embarrassed he simply refused and left without another word.

A year later, he returned to the restaurant. He had lost over 130 lbs and looked like a totally different man. He told us that day had been his wake-up call. He’d not only gone on a diet but he’d gone back to school and was on his way to doing something (I can’t recall what field of work he was studying) so he’d never have to wait tables again.

He even showed off a tattoo he had gotten on his arm. It was a pig wearing an apron, holding a heavy tray of food. The pig was struggling with the weight of it and was sweating. He said the tattoo reminded him of where he had been and where he’d never go again.

All these years later… I barely knew him, but I’ll surely never forget him.

A tornado has recently destroyed a large part of my city. When the tornado warning goes off, servers and the back-of-house staff gather up everyone. The staff goes into the walk-in coolers, and the patrons go into the bathrooms.

Chaos erupts outside, but thankfully, the building stands strong. The warning is eventually over and we all come out. An inventory of people is made: everyone is safe and accounted for. No one is hurt.

Outside, part of the parking lot is a mess. Vehicles are no longer neatly parked but have been tossed around like an upended box of Matchbox cars. Across the street… there’s destruction. The tornado plowed through the town literally across the street. We, obviously, have no power.

Then, a lady pipes up.

Customer: “So, why haven’t we gotten our food yet?”

Seriously?!

Me: “Ma’am, you were in the bathroom. The staff were in the fridge. Were you not aware that the reason for this was a tornado?”

Customer: “Well, we ordered over thirty minutes ago!”

Me: “Yes. And everyone was preparing for the storm. No one was going to continue making food and risking their lives.”

Customer: “Yes, and now it’s over. I expect my meal to be comped.”

Manager: “Well, since we have no power, you’re not going to GET your order. No one is. As of right now, we’re closed. I suggest you go see if your home is even still there.”

Customer: “You are being very rude!”

Manager: “And you’re being an idiot. Now get out of my restaurant.”

Male Voice: *From the crowd* “[Customer], let’s go see if we even have a car to take us home.”

Customer: *Storming out* “My car had better be there, or I’ll sue the s*** out of [Restaurant]!”

Male Voice: “Shut up, [Customer] just… shut the h*** up.”

The crowd slowly began to sort themselves out. I think most were in shock from seeing the mess outside, but at least everyone else had their heads screwed on straight. Even though the manager promised that meals were comped today, most people paid with cash and left impressive tips.

We got a phone call later with an angry woman’s voice screeching about how rude the staff was. The manager was the same, so she didn’t get very far.

Sometime later, higher-ups got in contact with us, not to hand down punishments, but to basically point and laugh at a series of complaints. There were several complaints about the restaurant not answering phones DURING THE TORNADO and demanding that the staff be reprimanded for job abandonment. The highlight of the list was a complaint about the restaurant refusing to serve food after the power went out and the rudeness of the manager.

It just goes to show you: nothing will stop an entitled customer from throwing a tantrum, not even a tornado.

My niece is two and occasionally likes to hang out with just me. One night, we are hiding from her mom in her closet. 

Niece: “Can you shut the door?”

Me: “I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t. You’ll have to do it.”

Niece: “Why not?”

Me: “I’m not really there. I’m just on the phone with you.”

Niece: “Oh, yeah.”

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I am Hispanic, but I know about as much Spanish as your average Johnny Q. Public: “Como se llama,” “Uno, dos, tres…”, and that’s about it.

Yet when I started working in customer service as a cashier, I would routinely come across these types of comments:

Customer #1: *After misunderstanding something I said* “Oh! Sorry, it’s your accent. I’m not Mexican, after all.”

Customer #2: *Again, after not clearly understanding something I said* “You can speak English with me, not Spanish.”

Customer #3: *After discovering an error with his order* “If you can’t understand fluent English, then you just need to work in the kitchen or ask your boss to give you an interpreter to help you!”

And then, there was this woman. She was in a separate line, waiting for another cashier. He went on break as she was approaching and directed her over to me. She walked up to my register while wearing a twisted, sour expression on her face like I was openly picking my nose.

Customer #4: *Very slowly* “Can you understand me?”

Me: “I most certainly can! How can I help you today?”

Customer #4: “What?”

I repeat myself more slowly.

Customer #4: “You’re not as fluent as you think you are, so just stop. And that’s ‘May I take your order, please?’ not ‘How can I help you today?’ You say that when you’re working in a retail store.”

She then proceeded to very slowly give me her order. When she was finished:

Me: “For here or takeaway?”

Customer #4: “…”

Me: “For here or takeaway?”

Customer #4: “…”

Me: “Madam? For here or takeaway?”

Customer #4: *Screaming* “For here! And it’s called ‘to go’, not ‘takeaway’.”

Me: “Your total will be $8.50.”

Customer #4: “Can you break a $100 bill?”

Me: “No, I just started and don’t have enough—”

Customer #4: *Loudly huffing* “Can I have someone who speaks English, please?! I don’t have all day!”

That was when the customer behind her stepped forward next to her.

Customer Behind Her: “Hi, I’ll have [series of food items].”

Customer #4: “EXCUSE ME! I’M STILL ORDERING!”

Customer Behind Her: “I’m on my lunch break. You want to play your games, do it on your own time.” *Continues his order*

She loudly protested, only for the customer to continue talking to me like she was invisible. I smirked, canceled the first order, and gladly took the new order, also while pretending she was invisible. She ultimately gave up and stomped out of the restaurant.

This story is part of our Editors’-Favorite-Stories-Of-2023-(so far!) roundup!

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I’m in line at the grocery store checkout. The customer in front of me is carefully watching as each of his items is scanned. Then, suddenly, he erupts.

Customer: “That bag of frozen vegetables is too much! Why is it that expensive?”

The young cashier looks at the bag of frozen vegetables.

Cashier: “They’re ‘organically grown’; those are usually higher priced.”

Customer: “’Organically grown’? What does that even mean?”

The cashier thinks for a few seconds and then responds in an authoritative voice.

Cashier: “It means the person who grew them had organs.”

I assume the cashier was either joking or just wanted to be done with the situation.