I worked as a bartender for many years. When you’re working at an established place in Manhattan, you don’t have to put up with any customer bull s***, and you also learn very quickly when said bull s*** is about to happen. We are given carte blanche by the managers to deal with that s*** quickly and efficiently, as we don’t have time to waste.

Customer: “Dirty martini. On a tab.” *Hands his card over.*

Me: “Gin or vodka?”

Customer: “Vodka, obviously!”

Whatever. I make it for him.

Customer: “Why are there olives in my martini?! Are you an idiot?”

Me: “Listen, pal, we’re four deep and I’m not wasting my time on some bull s***. I cancelled your tab. F*** off.”

I had exactly half a second to enjoy his Surprised Pikachu Face before I moved on to the next customer. I could just tell he was looking to be an a**hole all night long and I just saved us all a night of suffering.

In the late 1980s, I managed the kitchen in a very busy and very popular Italian restaurant in Manhattan. Everyone was very overworked and underpaid, working shift lengths that were technically illegal then but completely unenforceable these days.

The restaurant owner was related to some Italian gangster criminal types, but he wasn’t part of their activities, and he wanted to do everything he could to avoid being seen as associated with those sorts.

He called me in for a meeting.

Owner: “I wanna make sure none of your boys have connections to any criminals.”

Me: “Pretty sure that’s the case.”

Owner: “Oh, and that Reagan guy is saying it’s a good idea to start doing drug tests, so we need to sort that out.”

I started laughing.

Owner: “What’s so funny?”

Me: “Connections to the criminal underworld I can rule out. But tell me there’s a kitchen in Manhattan where the line cooks working eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, aren’t on some kind of drugs, and I’ll call you a liar.”

The owner was given the choice of hiring more staff and giving out more days off or foregoing the drug tests. He forewent the drug tests.

It’s September 11^th, 2001, so as you can imagine everyone is a bit distracted today. I work in a deli north of 110^th St, so we’re a good couple of miles from the Financial District where it’s all going down, but obviously, the whole city is impacted. I take a customer call.

Customer: “Yeah, I wanna order a sandwich for delivery—”

Me: “We’re not doing any deliveries today.”

Customer: “What?! Why not!?”

Me: “What’s happening downtown is making everything very unpredictable today. Also, a lot of our delivery guys just wanna be with their families today.”

Customer: “But that’s happening all the way downtown!”

Me: “Look, we’re open for you to come in and buy from our selection, but we’re not doing deliveries today.”

Customer: “It’s people like you that are letting the terrorists win!” *Click.*

This happened a long time ago, so it’s paraphrased somewhat. I work at a diner restaurant at the bottom of a tall building in Manhattan. This place has been here forever, and we have a large prestigious law firm taking up a large chunk of the building above us.

One of these lawyers has dined with us for a few years, and his behavior has been getting steadily worse during that time. It started as snide remarks and minor complaints, leading to verbal abuse, shouting, and sending meals back three times on average. Oh, and he never tips.

Today, he has used up all his tricks on a new waitress, who is holding back tears from his behavior.

Lawyer: “You seriously think you can just work in New York and treat us this way? This kind of service might be tolerable in whatever bumble-f*** town you come from, but here, we have a way of doing things! You’re lucky I’m just not tipping and not calling your manager instead!”

Manager: “No need! I’m already here. Please pay your bill and never come back.”

Lawyer: “You can’t talk to me that way!”

Manager: “I’ve been the owner and manager here for fifty years, and your law firm has been upstairs for forty. I’ve known all the partners, the secretaries, and the paralegals, and they all talk to me and my staff. I know things you wouldn’t believe, like how you haven’t closed a legal case on your own in almost a decade, and how no one likes working with you. I also know that if you didn’t have a relative whose business brought in several millions in billable hours every year to the company, they’d have let you go years ago.”

Lawyer: “That’s all bulls***! I could sue you for slander!”

Me: “Please do try. [Founding Partner] is my personal lawyer.”

This little lawyer suddenly shrinks, pays his bill, and slinks out like the slime that he is.

Me: “How did you know all that? Did you know his name?”

Manager: “When you know there’s a lawyer like that upstairs, and one of them is using a zero-tip to get some kind of sad power trip, it doesn’t take much to put two and two together.”

Me: “What if he tells all his lawyer buddies upstairs about what happened?”

Manager: “Then I expect to see an uptick in business!”

Guess what? We did! That guy must be really unliked if all his coworkers came to eat here knowing he wouldn’t be here!

My family lived in a large two-floor apartment in the city. We were going to move, however, so we often had prospective buyers in. We have a lot of pet fish at home. Our aquariums add up to maybe 3,000 gallons total. Our living room had a 400-gallon tank, easily seen from the door. It was the only tank in sight from the entrance if all interior doors and wall dividers were mostly closed.

A couple of prospective buyers walked in with the realtor.

Prospective Buyer #1: “Oh, wow, nice. That’s a huge tank!”

Prospective Buyer #2: “Not bad. I like it!”

Dad: “Ah, thanks. Not for sale, of course.”

Prospective Buyer #1: “Yeah, obviously.”

There were chuckles all around.

We headed into the dining area where there was another 350-gallon tank built into our dining table.

Prospective Buyer #1: “Oh, more fish!”

Prospective Buyer #2: “Yeah, cool.”

Next, we went to the kitchen with a tiny twenty-gallon tank on the counter.

Prospective Buyer #1: “These people must love fish!”

Dad: “Yeah, we do.”

Me: *Whispering to my father* “They haven’t even seen half.”

Basically, as we headed from room to room, each time, the prospective buyers exclaimed surprise and awe at another aquarium. It got to the point where we finished the entire first floor.

Father: “Right. Ready to head upstairs?”

Prospective Buyer #1: “Hang on.”

They talked to each other for a while.

Prospective Buyer #1: “All right, let us be honest. This place is great, but we’ve decided that this place isn’t going to work for us. We’re sorry, we really don’t want to waste your time, and this is where we’d normally leave. However, is there any chance you could be kind enough to let us have a quick look upstairs at any fish you might have before we go?”

Dad: “Oh, sure! Of course, go ahead. No need to be in a hurry. There are plenty of fish up there.”

The no longer prospective buyers spent another fifteen minutes around our home looking at our aquariums and chatting with us before taking their leave. We never stayed in touch, unfortunately, but it was a fun day.