(I work at a popular steakhouse. One of our mottos is, “No rules, just right,” meaning we basically can never say no to a customer. We give them whatever they want. As I’m sure is obvious, this causes a lot of problems and doesn’t actually help anyone.)

Customer: “I’d like a side of bananas, please.”

Server: “Let me check that we have bananas.”

(The server is relatively new. We don’t carry bananas at all, as this is a steakhouse, and bananas don’t come in our fruit mix or any drinks. We literally have zero bananas in any store. It’s just not a part of our menu.)

Server: “We don’t have bananas, do we?”

Manager: “No. Why?”

Server: “Table eight wants bananas. I’ll let them know we don’t—”

Manager: “Go to [Grocery Store]. If a customer asks for it, we must have them.”

Server: “I have four other tables; I can’t just leave the store!”

(The server actually has to leave the store and another server takes her tables. Since she is gone for a bit, as the closest grocery store is a few minutes away, the server who closes out her tables gets the tip. The one table who asked for bananas is finishing their meal when she returns. The server chops up the banana and takes it to the woman.)

Customer: “Oh, you’re back! You can take the bananas back; I don’t want them anymore.”

(Surprisingly, we still have the same rule, even though that server lost all her tips and the bananas just rotted in the back. We haven’t had a request off-menu since then, and if we ever do, the servers all have an agreement that we don’t let the manager know. Such a stupid rule. Sorry, customers; you won’t always get what you want!)

Related:
Banana-Drama, Part 7
Banana-Drama, Part 6
Banana-Drama, Part 5

(I work in the electronics department of a popular department store. While I am explaining to a couple the differences in our prepaid mobile phone carriers and plans, this question crops up.)

Customer: “So… what carrier is Verizon with?”

(I am at a restaurant known for their southern cooking from scratch with my daughters for my eldest’s 12th birthday. As we are seated, we can overhear the woman at the table behind us.)

Customer: *to waitress* “Honey, I am absolutely allergic to gluten. I cannot have any gluten on my plate. Please tell the chef, or else I’ll blow up like a balloon and have to go to the hospital!”

Waitress: “Of course, ma’am. We take customer allergy very seriously here. We have a lot of items for those with a gluten allergy to choose from. Have you decided what you would like?”

Customer’s Husband: *orders*

Waitress: “And for you, ma’am?”

Customer: “Yes, honey, I think I will have the double-fried chicken, with side salad, mashed potatoes with gravy, and two of your delicious drop biscuits.”

(The waitress gets a pained look on her face and the woman’s husband just buries his face in his palms because he surely knows what’s coming next.)

Waitress: “Um, ma’am, our chicken is coated in a flour base, our gravy is made with flour, and so are our drop biscuits. The only things you ordered that are gluten-free are the mashed potatoes and salad.”

Customer: *without missing a beat* “Oh, no, honey. Listen. I can have flour; I just can’t have any of that gluten stuff.”

Waitress: “But, ma’am—”

Husband: *interrupting the waitress, looking at her with a pained expression* “It’s fine.” *he gives her the “I’m sorry” look* “She isn’t allergic to flour.”

Waitress: *sensing what the husband was doing* “My apologies, ma’am. Let me go put this in for you.”

(As soon as the waitress leaves, the wife starts to complain about how none of these waitresses know what they are talking about when she tells them she’s allergic to gluten.)

Customer: “It means I’m allergic to the gluten they put in the food back in the kitchen, not flour! Why doesn’t anyone understand this?! Everywhere I go, I get told there is flour in everything I order! I’M NOT ALLERGIC TO FLOUR, JUST GLUTEN!”

Husband: “Yes, honey, I know you’re not allergic to flour… just gluten.”

(Two minutes later, the waitress came out and set down a bowl of salad. The woman quieted down. Just as she finished her salad, her food arrived, and she happily ate everything on her plate without swelling up like a balloon and needing to go to the hospital.)

(I am working at a bar in small part of town when a man, visibly drunk already, talks to one of my coworkers.)

Drunk Dude: “You guys got any [extremely pricey Vodka]?”

Coworker: “No, we don’t, sir, and we won’t be serving you.”

Drunk Dude: “Do you know who the f*** I am, you little b****?!”

Coworker: “No, I don’t, and I don’t care. I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

(I have my hand on the phone and am ready to call the cops.)

Drunk Dude: “I am the prettiest black woman you have ever seen!”

(He then proceeded to punch my coworker in the face, full-force, knocking her out. I was able to hide until he left, and I called the cops. They found him three blocks away, trying to beat up a bird!)

(It is the 1980s. I’m male with long hair but can’t be considered feminine by any stretch of the imagination. I try out for a part in the school play. I’m hanging out with friends afterwards, discussing various actors and actresses whose methods we like.)

Me: “You know, my parents would be so upset if they knew I wanted to be a thespian.”

(At that point, a young woman nearby jumps up from her table and storms over to where I’m at.)

Woman: “You don’t have to pitch your voice so low if you want to be a lesbian!”

(I blink and look over to where she’s hovering an inch away from me.)

Me: “Lesbian? Well, I do like women, so… but no, we’re talking about thespians. You know, actors and actresses.”

Woman: “It’s okay to be a lesbian. I’m one. Why are you trying to look all manly?”

Me: “Uh, because I am a man.”

Woman: *now screeching* “No, you’re not! Why are you trying to act all butch? Is it because of your friends?”

(She then started screaming at them for trying to get me to act male. I didn’t know what else to do, so I stood up and grabbed my crotch and yelled, “To thine own self be true!” It was then that she realize that I was indeed a man, turned bright red, and stormed off. Every since that day, I’ve been called the lesbian thespian by my friends.)