I work in a restaurant. We have a rule that if you make a reservation, we will hold the table for a half-hour. If you don’t show up within that time, we give the table to someone else. We only have six tables that are easy to push together for large groups; the rest are booths or high-tops.

One day, I get a reservation for a large party around lunchtime. The guy is pretty nice on the phone. I don’t really remember how many people, but it is probably around eight or ten.

The time of the reservation comes and goes, and the man and his group don’t show up. Sometime later, and after my manager has told me to pull apart the tables and give them to someone else, the party arrives.

Now, it is lunchtime, but we aren’t too busy; we have a lot of high-tops available and could pretty easily put the group at one of those. I tell the guy that it will just be a minute as we have to wait for a table to be cleaned so we can put a few more together.

All of his niceness just goes away. Standing at the door, in front of his entire group of people, this “businessman” starts YELLING at me for not having his table set up.

Me: “Sir, we only reserve tables for a half-hour after the reservation time. Your reservation was forty-five minutes ago.”

Businessman: “Well, you should have called me to ask if I was still coming.”

Me: “No, sir. We don’t do that.”

Naturally, this makes him yell for the manager. My manager finally comes up and, of course, the guy calms down because it’s easier to yell at a twenty-one-year-old woman than an older man.

We manage to seat him, he makes a bunch of comments about hiring smarter workers, and I walk away.

I’ve always been pretty emotional, and I end up crying in the bathroom.

One of the women in the guy’s group comes into the bathroom, looks at me, and gives me a hug.

Woman: “I’m his client. The fact that he acted like that in front of a bunch of clients was despicable; he was unbelievably rude. I’m actually ashamed to be seen with him, and when I go back to the office, I’m going to tell his manager how he acted. We won’t be doing business with him anymore.”

I end up killing the guy with kindness when he leaves as I smile sweetly and say:

Me: “Have a great day, sir.”

The client winked at me as she left.

I was already warned by the hosts that I had an annoying cornball at my table when he wrote his name down on the waitlist as “Hugh Jazz” and asked them to repeatedly call it out when his table was ready. I’m in the weeds but can handle getting triple-sat. The first two tables are chill, expedient, and flawless.

Then, I reach the “hero” of our story. He has a female companion with him; I don’t know how he landed a date.

Me: “Hi, can I get you anything to drink?”

Customer: *With a dumb grin* “I don’t know. Can you?”

I groan hard on the inside.

Me: “Yep, it’s my job. Couple coffees?”

Customer’s Date: “Sure!”

Customer: “I’ll have a non-decaf!”

Me: “So… two regular coffees?”

Customer: “Yes!” *To his date* “This guy’s sharp!”

I’m just not in the mood, and I bail to go fetch the coffees. I have a feeling this guy must have murals of “Marmaduke” and “Garfield” comics lining his walls.

I drop off the coffees on the table and his date asks me for creamer. I point at the caddy on the table.

Me: “We have half-and-half right here.”

Customer: “Then I’ll have a whole!”

Me: *A bit perplexed* “Whole milk?”

Customer: “Suuuuure.”

I am just not getting a good read on this guy, but I am getting annoyed. I turn around to take care of other tables but eventually work my way to the kitchen walk-in and grab a small pitcher of whole milk.

I come back to the table, and the guy has already dumped a few creamers into his coffee.

Me: “Uh, did you ask for milk?”

Customer: “Already got it. A half and a half make a whole!”

He starts cackling. For the record, his date is not reacting or laughing at anything, either.

I pretty much lose it and break character.

Me: “No, bud, that is just awful. I’ve got a million things to do. You can’t just be wasting my time.”

He clammed up and apologized, and he was quiet for the rest of the evening. Sometimes it’s the small victories.

For the record, I don’t have anything against people trying to be funny. I know they mean good cheer, but at least rehearse in front of an audience at the local dive’s open mic night to find out how awful your material is instead of holding employees hostage who don’t have a choice.

I’m serving in a restaurant and I approach a table to take an order. A little kid at the table speaks up.

Kid: “I have a question. The Bailey’s cheesecake — is that for dogs? Because our dog’s name is Bailey.”

They pointed to the puppy sleeping in Dad’s lap. Awwww!

A customer is perusing the menu while I am taking orders at her table.

Customer: “I’m allergic to fat. Please make sure everything is fat-free?”

Me: “Allergic to… to fat?”

Customer: “Yes. Everything I order must be fat-free.”

Me: “Well, this is an Italian restaurant, so that might be tough. We do have some nice salads that—”

Customer: “No salads! I’m allergic to salads.”

Me: “Of course.”

Customer: “What’s this? This looks nice.”

Me: “That would be… the ribeye.”

Customer: “I’ll have that but without that fat.”

Me: “You’ll basically be ordering a plate of air, ma’am.”

Customer: “Oh, I’m also allergic to air.”

She ended up ordering the ribeye. She ate every bit.

Related:
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 21
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 20
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 19
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 18
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 17

I worked in a restaurant. Every Sunday, this couple would come in, order food, and sit and fight and argue with each other the entire time they were eating their meal.

They did this every. Freaking. Sunday. For the entire four years that I worked there.

Why don’t you just break up or divorce already?!