My mother was old-school; you ate what she served you or you would either sit all night at the table picking at the plate or have it served to you for breakfast the next morning. And no, simply skipping dinner was not an option; you eat it, period!

My most hated meal of hers was liver and onions. The mere scent of it just made me sick to my stomach, and on more than one occasion, I would retch while trying to force it down. One evening, my dear little sister came in from soccer practice to find me at the table, picking at the dish. As she plopped her tired little body on the sofa, I suddenly had an idea.

Me: “[Sister], if I give you my allowance for this week and do all your chores, will you eat this slop?” 

To my surprise, her eyes lit up.

Sister: *Squeaking* “Is that liver and onions? Mmm!”

Then, she proceeded to scarf the plate down like a starved orphan. My mother later entered the kitchen, saw the empty plate in the sink, and immediately began furiously searching the trash can. After coming up empty-handed, she demanded:

Mother: “How did you eat that so fast?!”

Me: *Shrugging* “It wasn’t as bad as I thought, I guess.”

As she walked away with a puzzled look on her face, my sister and I quietly smirked at each other.

Later on, I came home to find my poor sister sitting at the table with tears trickling down her face and taking tiny bites of her meal — Hamburger Helper, which she passionately hates and I love, ironically.

Mother & Father: “Eat!”

They finished their meals and left, leaving my sister alone at the table. She looked at me with those sad puppy dog eyes, and she didn’t have to say a word. I gladly scooted over and feasted.

Sister: “You don’t have to eat all of it if you don’t want to… Are you sure? It’s gross… Okay, wow! Thanks!”

And again, when my parents came back later on, they were flabbergasted to find my sister’s plate cleaned and her skipping away as happy as a spring bunny.

For years, my sister and I had that little deal “under the table” — if one of us hated a meal, the other one of us pretended not to like it either and then later ate REALLY good that night. And most puzzlingly, neither one of our parents ever caught on.

I work at a popular fast food restaurant that usually has $1 large drinks during the summer. Some restaurants across the country will keep this promotion all year, but most usually have it for a few months.

Customer: “I thought the drinks were a dollar.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, that promotion has ended. The drinks are full-price again.”

Customer: *Rolls her eyes* “Well, they’re a dollar in Georgia, so charge me a dollar.”

Me: “I can’t do that, sorry. Would you like a different drink?”

Customer: “No! I want a dollar large drink! They’re a dollar in Georgia!”

Me: “Our one-dollar summer drink promotion ended, I’m sorry. Do you still want your order?”

Customer: “Not if the drink isn’t a dollar.”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, I will void your order. Have a nice day.”

Customer: “What? I still want food! God, it’s not hard! Give me a dollar drink like in Georgia, you stupid b****!”

She slams her purse on the counter with every word and screams.

Customer: “They’re. A. Dollar. In. GEORGIA!”

Me: “Ma’am. You’re in Michigan.”

The customer screamed furiously and left.

My friend is griping about her government class, which is required for all high schools in the USA. The students at our school are not generally the brightest crayons in the box.

Friend #1: “I don’t see why we have to take government, anyway. Nobody here is gonna go into it.”

Me: “I’m sure there are people both dumb enough and charismatic enough to be politicians.”

Friend #2: “Like me?”

Me: “No. You’re way too much of a good person to be a politician.”

Friend #2: “Aww! Thank you!”

A server puts in an order for a gin martini. I make it and set it on the bar.

Server: “Um… this guy said he wanted it perfect.”

Me: “Okay, then I need to remake it.”

Server: “Oh, why? What does that mean?”

Me: “Perfect means half dry and half sweet vermouth.”

Server: “Oh, I thought he just meant he wanted it really well made.”

I work in a restaurant. One of our worst employees — notoriously bad attitude, rude to guests and coworkers — is working as the expediter. She runs food out to a young couple. The guy had ordered a steak salad with grilled shrimp added on top. The expo says this as she’s putting their food down.

Expo: *To the guy’s date* “I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping with him, because he’s going to be farting all night.”

Obviously, their server was horrified when they told her what happened and she comped their entire meal.