I work as a bartender in a busy bar and restaurant. The bar is set up two-sided; one side has all the beer and lager taps with the liquors as well as fountain drinks. The other is strictly fountain drinks as it is meant as a quick station for servers to get refills for people.

I get an order from the restaurant for about ten people, all fountain drinks but different because two of the party are diabetic. I start on the drinks, getting glasses and filling them with ice, generally doing them two at a time and placing them on a tray.

I am the only one working on the bar itself.

Every time I get another glass, I notice that my drinks order has gone. One by one, every soda on the tray has vanished.

The man who has ordered has his back turned and is in conversation, but none of his party have their drinks.

I start the process again, and with each new glass, the same thing happens.

Frustrated, I move my tray, collect all the glasses, and do all the drinks at once.

As I am moving across the bar to deliver what seems to be the most difficult order I have ever filled, one of the new servers stops me and tries to pluck a soda from my tray.

I give her a “WTF” face and she brazenly states that it is my job to pour her drinks and that her table needs the sodas.

It turns out that she has been stealing my drinks orders whilst my back was turned, with no regard for preference — diet, zero-calorie, etc. — and giving them to her tables.

I finish serving my now angry customer, apologise, and then have to explain to the waitress that she actually has to tell me what her tables are drinking so I can pour them, not just steal drinks from other customers.

I show her the fountain station on the other side of the bar, even though I personally watched her being trained on this.

She is soon let go when she is found doing the same thing on other shifts, too lazy to get her own drinks for customers or to write orders down.

That evening, I filled 25 glasses for an original order of ten. The definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

My boyfriend and I make a quick trip to the grocery store. We go up to the self-checkout, where someone left a bag of cat food sitting on top of the drink cooler. I assume it was something someone decided not to buy at the last minute and left there. We use the register next to this bag of cat food.

As my boyfriend is ringing up the groceries, I hear someone storm up behind me and start slamming things down on top of the bag of cat food. I give a small glance behind me and notice a woman is standing super close, arms crossed and huffing loudly, as if she’s upset we are using the register. I should also note that the other self-checkout registers around us are empty: if she wants to use a self-checkout she can easily take her stuff and go to one of the other registers. Instead, she continues to stand behind me and huff loudly — which I assume to be her way of trying to tell us to hurry up. 

My boyfriend finishes ringing up the groceries. He goes to the attendant to get his ID checked for some beer and the lady behind me sighs even louder. Again. The other self-checkouts are open. She doesn’t have to wait on us to finish on this one. I decide to irritate her more. 

My boyfriend comes back and goes to pay, I wave my hand at him and start slowly putting coins into the machine. One by one. I drop one every now and then. Some on purpose, some on accident. He’s watching me in confusion while the woman behind me has finally had enough and starts making a scene of grabbing her groceries and cat food and asking the cashier at the register next to us if she is open. Said cashier has just walked to the register and put the light on. 

I let my boyfriend finish paying, and we walk away as soon as the woman has slammed her bag of cat food down on the belt of the newly-opened register. I glance back, see her glaring daggers at us, and give her a big smile as my boyfriend and I walk out of the store.

I work at a very popular fast food restaurant that’s known for its customer service. Whenever I am out in the drive-thru taking orders, I always say, “Hello, what can I get for you?” and every single time the customer says, “I’m good,” and then looks at me like I’m supposed to ask something else.

They never actually listen; they just assume I’m asking how they are.

I’m out with my friends eating sushi and all but one of us are done with our soup. We stack our empty bowls on top of one another, and a waitress comes to pick up our used dishes. As she’s picking up some of our other empty plates, the friend who didn’t finish her soup puts the almost-full bowl on top of the pile of five empty bowls. The waitress, not noticing the extra addition — likely because it wasn’t there before — picks up the pile and promptly tips soup all over the table. The spill avoids us, thankfully, but a few drops land on my friend’s purse.

We immediately apologized on her behalf, and the friend apologizes, as well, after turning a healthy shade of red. The waitress doesn’t react or say much, instead leaping to action to clean the mess. After she leaves, we think nothing of it and scold our friend for the mistake. Incident forgotten, we enjoy the rest of our meal.

At the end, a different waitress comes back with six free meal vouchers for us but doesn’t explain why. I turn the card over and see something written on the back, thinking it is just some promotion they are doing, but when I ask what it says, the new waitress says it is the manager’s signature.

I think what happened is that the waitress told the manager that she spilled the soup — even though it wasn’t her fault — or the manager saw, but either way we were likely given the free meal vouchers to “compensate” for what they thought was the waitress’ mistake so that we don’t complain. While nice of them, it’s completely unnecessary; mistakes happen! It made me realize that a different set of customers had likely gotten angry and complained over a similar situation, and that it happened enough that these vouchers became common practice.

Servers sure go through a lot!

My husband was in a horrific auto accident which left him bedridden in the hospital for weeks, and then in rehab for several more. He has recently been released to continue his rehabilitation from home but is still dependent on the use of a wheelchair to get around. He’s feeling better and wants to go to a baseball game, something he did on a regular basis before the accident, and to celebrate his first day back in the ballpark he has also asked that we eat dinner before the game in an on-site sit-down restaurant. The place is hugely popular, does not take reservations and, on the day of a game, is open only open to those attending and is therefore only accessible from the continuously-staffed concourse entrance.

Although we are there when the gates to the stadium open, when we arrive, the restaurant has filled and there is a wait to be seated. Our name is put on the list — our pretty uncommon last name is used to avoid confusion as our first names are quite popular — it is noted that we need wheelchair access, and the family sits on a nearby bench to people-watch and wait.

Finally, our name is called and we are led to a table that has one chair pulled away — as requested — seated, and handed menus with the usual, “Your server will be with you shortly.”

We wait, and wait, watching several people seated after us get their drinks and even appetizers or meals, trying unsuccessfully to flag someone, anyone, down repeatedly as they pass the table to wait on others. Finally, a young lady, who has been waiting tables all around ours, approaches, and we expect to finally get service of our own.

Instead, the waitress says, “You know, you can’t just waltz in and seat yourself and expect someone to help you; there are many people who’ve been waiting for quite a while. You need to leave. This table was prepared for a customer in a wheelchair and we had to find a seat for them elsewhere.”

We have not seen anyone else in a wheelchair waiting to be seated, nor do we see any others currently seated. My husband responds, “Excuse me? We were seated here by the hostess, and as you can see, I’m—” 

The waitress cuts him off. “I told you to leave. If you don’t, I’m going to have to get my manager and security.”

“Please do, now!” I chime in, and she marches off, shaking her head. Soon, a manager arrives, as well as another man wearing a ballpark security jacket. The waitress is at another table but quickly joins them.

The manager says, “I understand you came in and seated yourselves at this table which was being held for a customer in a wheelchair instead of waiting your turn. We have many other people trying to get in to eat and you need to wait for a hostess to seat you. We don’t tolerate that and you will need to leave as requested.”

I start to explain, “We were seated by the hostess, at this table, and my husband is in—”

The manager cuts me off, saying, “That’s easy to check; what name did you give when you checked in?”

We give him the name. He approaches the hostess stand, looks back through the list and, shaking his head, starts back toward the table. It appears that he suddenly realizes that my husband is, in fact, sitting in a wheelchair, as he stops abruptly, his facial expression changing from bewilderment to surprise, looks between my husband and the smirking waitress, and then resumes his approach.

The manager says to the waitress, sternly, “Please see me in my office at the end of your shift. Now, go back to work; I’ll take care of this table.” Then, he turns to the security guard. “Thank you for your response; you can go now.” And finally, he turns to us. “I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding; dinner is on me. What can I get you to drink?”

We are late to our seats in the ballpark, but we are well taken care of from that point. The waitress never says another word to any of us but does shoot an occasional hateful glare our way until we leave, stuffed beyond stuffed, as the manager insisted that he was also paying for desserts all around. He also refuses the tip that we offer.

My husband has made a nearly full recovery and now uses only a cane on most days and a walker on bad days. The wheelchair rarely gets used. He’s been to many games since and I’ve joined him for a few of them, but we’ve not been back to the restaurant.