As all our food is freshly cooked to order, wait times on Saturdays are generally over thirty minutes. We tell every customer before they order and there are signs everywhere telling people. A customer orders for six-plus people, all big meals that take ages to cook, so I say there is a forty-five minutes wait, which he says is okay. Cue him coming up to the counter fifteen minutes later, screaming and pushing other customers out of the way.

Customer: “Where’s my food? I ordered nearly an hour ago and I’m still waiting!”

Me: “Do you have a receipt, sir?”

Customer: “Why would I? Just give me my food or my money!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t provide a refund unless you have a receipt, but if you give me your table number, I can check the till and then check how much longer your food will be.”

Customer: “Fine. I’m at [table number].”

I check the till and see it’s only been fifteen minutes since he has ordered.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but it seems you only orders fifteen minutes ago, not nearly an hour. Your food will be another fifteen to thirty minutes.”

Customer: “This is unacceptable! I paid you for my food and I want it now!”

He pushes past two coworkers taking out food and drink and causes one to drop a whole tray of coffee on the floor.

Me: “Sir, you can’t be back here. Please go back to your table. We will bring your food out as soon as we can, but I did tell you when you ordered that it would take up to forty-five minutes as it was a big order.”

The customer pushes me aside into a table and barges into the kitchen, hitting someone else with the door.

Customer: *Surprised* “You’re all kids! You should be in school.”

My manager has arrived and is trying to get him out of the kitchen, but he is a foot taller and about fifty pounds heavier than she is.

Customer: *To my manager* “You should be ashamed of this slave labour. I bet you only hire them because you don’t have to pay them or give them breaks.”

He walks back into the main café where everyone is now watching.

Customer: “This place only hires children. This is slave labour. I will never come here again!”

Manager: “Please leave before I call the police.”

He walked out, followed by his tomato-red family, without his food or his refund. All the staff had really big lunches that day.

A customer has paid for his meals and left the restaurant before he comes storming back in up to the bar. He speaks briefly to a coworker before storming over to me in the middle of the seating area, where he looks me up and down.

Customer: “You’re the supervisor tonight?”

Me: “Yes, how can I help?”

Customer: “My bill was $5 more expensive than it should have been.”

Me: “If you follow me over to the counter, I’ll print out your bill and we can have a look at the issue.”

Customer: “Your prices are wrong.”

I do not want to have a conversation where we can disrupt other customers.

Me: “Follow me up to the counter and I will sort it out there.”

Customer: *Not moving* “[Item #1] and [Item #2] are different prices on your posters outside.”

Me: *Admitting defeat* “I can assure you that [Item #1] is the same price. But yes, [Item #2] has gone up a few dollars. The poster states that the menu is subject to change and, as [Item #2] is currently out of season, we are paying higher prices which our menus have to reflect. However, the menu which you had on the table has the correct price.”

Customer: “You need to change the poster!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but the posters cost a lot to make; that’s why we have ‘subject to change’ written on them, and we update our table menus. The price you’ve noticed is the only change we’ve had recently. Would you like me to refund you the difference?”

By this stage, the customer is right in my face.

Customer: “It’s not about the money; it’s about the ethics. Change the poster!”

I look around at a full restaurant that I should be serving.

Me: “That’s something I can’t do right now, but I will discuss it with the owner tomorrow.”

Customer: “CHANGE THE MENU!”

He’s now yelling in my face so aggressively I can feel his spit, and other customers are staring.

Me: “Sir, I can offer you a refund. If that isn’t what you would like, you can call the restaurant tomorrow and speak with the owner. I cannot change the poster right now, and as the price is correct in the table menus, it’s not my priority.”

Customer: *Yelling in my face* “YOU’RE A THIEF! CHANGE THE MENU!”

The customer stormed out, stopping only to angrily check the prices at the table, which he must have seen as correct. I was left to apologise to all the customers around us before trying to wash the spray of spit off my face. The customer’s wife left a terrible review stating how rude I was, and that I was a con artist and a thief, all over $4.

I’m standing by a table at a company party and all of the people that had been with me have decided it’s late and they have to leave. Before I can grab my drink and find a place to sit down, a guy comes up to me and says:

Guy – Hey, weren’t we fingerprinted together?

Me starts cracking up, because yes, we were, it’s company policy for our jobs! :)

This happens a few years ago at a former job. I am out to dinner with my coworkers for our annual holiday-season dinner out. We are at a rather pricey, high-toned steakhouse. I am at one end of the table and one of the managers is at the other end, seated next to the office receptionist, a person who can be as dim as a starless night. I hear her order the surf and turf special: two lobster tails and a fillet steak. When our orders come, I see her look down at her plate in puzzlement. She gets the server’s attention.

Coworker: “Why is there a steak with my surf and turf special?”

Everyone on the table is stunned to silence. Then, the server clears his throat.

Server: “Um, ma’am, a steak comes with the surf and turf. It’s right there on the menu.”

Coworker: “No, it said a fish fillet!”

The manager grabs a menu that happens to be nearby.

Manager: “No, it’s a fillet steak. That’s the ‘turf’ part of ‘surf and turf’. It’s steak and seafood.”

Coworker: “But it said fillet! I was expecting a fried fish fillet! Don’t you folks have fried fish fillets?”

The server looks a bit alarmed.

Server: “Sorry, ma’am, we don’t serve fried fish.”

Coworker: “Are you sure? I’d really like some fried fish to go with my lobster tails.”

Server: “Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have anything like that.”

Coworker: *Resigned* “Well, okay…”

I and other people on my end of the table were trying to not laugh. She kept grousing all through the meal about how she had expected “a nice fried fish fillet” and had never ever heard of a steak being called a fillet before. The servers were bewildered enough by her, but he turned a bit pale when the manager then requested some ketchup to put on his steak! He complied, but it was a strange meal.

I made sure to slip the server a twenty out of sympathy; he smiled and we both rolled our eyes at them. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with them on a day-to-day basis anymore!

I need to stop at the grocery store after work. There’s a Chinese takeout/delivery right next door, so I decide to call in an order. My plan is to get what I need from the store and then walk over to get my food. The girl who answers the phone doesn’t have an accent; we should have no trouble understanding each other.

Me: “Hi. I’d like to place an order for takeout.”

Waitress: “Go ahead.”

Me: “I’d like the General Tso’s platter.”

Waitress: “The what?”

Me: “The General Tso’s platter? You know, as opposed to the small portion.”

Waitress: “Are you sure you called the right place?”

I’m thinking I totally screwed up and called a pizza place or something.

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry. Is this not [Restaurant] Chinese?”

Waitress: “This is [Restaurant], but not [Restaurant] Chinese.”

Me: “Oh… I’m sorry.”

I was so dumbfounded by the exchange that I hung up without trying to order again. When I arrived at the grocery store, I walked over to the restaurant. The neon phone number in the window matched what I’d dialed on my phone.

I went in and ordered from a boy at the counter with no problem. While I waited, a girl came out of the back to talk with the boy who took my order; she was the girl I’d talked to on the phone! I’m still not sure what happened.