I am working in a sandwich shop. We have no problem letting people use the bathroom. 

One time, a man enters the restaurant. He has a large and thick beard on his face that makes us assume he is homeless. He goes directly to our bathroom. I am busy serving another customer so I don’t see him clearly when he gets out of the bathroom, but something is off.

His beard has disappeared!

He shaved his face and there is now hair all over the sink and on the floor.

My husband and I both ordered a salad and entree each with our waitress, who appeared to write a bit on a notepad.

His salad came out and, after waiting a bit for mine before starting, he finally took a couple bites. Then, our entrees came.

We flagged our waitress to tell her I had never received my own salad.

She said, “Well, my pen stopped working,” and kind of looked at us for a moment and walked away.

(I work at a crab shack. I answer the phone:)

Me: “Hello, [Business] Seafood; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. A few weeks ago I bought eight pounds of your steamed shrimp, and I feel there were a lot of smalls.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry about that. What size shrimp did you order?”

Customer: “I got the medium shrimp. But they were all smalls.”

Me: “Well, sir, we don’t sell ‘small’ shrimp. We buy them prepackaged and sorted by a company in the Gulf of Mexico. The medium shrimp we use are labeled 36 to 42 in a pound.”

Customer: “They were all very small, though. You gave me smalls.”

Me: “Sir, we don’t sell smalls. They come prepackaged—”

Customer: “Well, I guess I won’t be buying shrimp from you guys ever again.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir? Why did you wait weeks to call us about this?”

(All I hear is a click. All right, then.)

So it’s a kinda slow night, ya know cause Memorial day and all and this lady comes in with her 2 kids. I’ve seen this lady before and let’s just say she’s not the nicest of people. So she orders an extra large pizza, extra cheese and half with pepperoni as well as two drinks. No other orders than that. I write it all down, it’s paid for and she says she going to go sit outside, which is fine.
Some time passes, her order is made and I go and tell her that her pizza is ready. Side note, I have to get it off from on top of the oven where it was sitting on a pan because we had thought no one was here to get it and I didn’t see her outside till a moment later so the pan is CRAZY FUCKING HOT. So anyways I go and get the hot ass paned pizza and I warn her “please hold it by these two plates because this pan is super hot” and she just stares at the pizza.
Woman: “I didn’t want extra sauce I wanted extra cheese”
Me: “yes maam I know that is extra cheese”
Woman: “I don’t see the pepperoni, where is it?” Which this question I understand because we put extra cheese on top of the toppings so it’s hard to see so I point out where they are and what side it’s on.
Woman: “This pizza isn’t even cooked this pizza is raw!”
Me: “no maam this is how it’s cooked. I won’t touch this pizza but if you lift up a slice you can see its cooked”
Woman: “NO I want this put back in the oven I want it more cooked”
Well this lady did not say she wanted it well done or crispy when she ordered so this pizza that is served on a pan is already fucking cut up.
I, as best as I can without trying to burn my fingers, try and lift up the burning hot pan. In a very annoyed voice this lady asks “Why you shaking ya head at me? What did I do?” I have no fucking clue she is talking about so I go “I’m not maam I’m trying to lift this hot pan so I can take it to the back. Give me one moment, please” so I get it up eventually, set it down in the kitchen and go get the pizza maker and explain the situation. He tells me to tell her it’ll fall apart. So I go to the front and say just this “I don’t give a FUCK if you had done it right the first FUCKING time you wouldn’t have to do this again!! ” she keeps going but at this point I’m already headed to the back to tell the guy what she’s saying.
NOW this is not the first time this lady has come in and ordered this…and this is not the first time she has made this same complaint yet she never seems to understand to, ya know, ask for it cooked more! ANYWAY! I go and tell the manager/pizza man for the night what is going on and that she is now cussing at me over this. He gets up and goes to her and as he turns the corner from where he was from where she is at the counter she is already cussing up a damn storm. “HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU MESS UP PIZZA LIKE THIS? I WANT THE NUMBER TO YOUR MANAGER AND YOUR OWNER CAUSE THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE AND YOUR CASHIER WAS RUDE TO ME (no I have not been from the two interactions we’ve had I’ve been nice) AND THIS PIZZA ISN’T COOKED” and shes is just goes on and on. As calmly as he is the manager is responding “well if you wanted it a certain way you should have asked for it. No I’m not going to put it in the over. You know what, here’s your money, get out of my damn store. Don’t ever come back here. Emily if she ever comes back come and get me!” And the woman is like OFFENDED that he’s done this now, cussed her way to the door and sits outside.
Her way of revenge? She took a cheese shaker. Turned around and flipped off the store as she left.

(I have just handed the check to a table of four young customers who look like they might be in high school. Their bill is $42.58 and they leave me $43 in cash. I immediately chase after them as they are just leaving the building, thinking it must have been a mistake.)

Me: “Hey, guys! I was just wondering if something was wrong with my service tonight? You only left me 42 cents as a tip.” 

Customer: “Well, no, there wasn’t a problem. We just didn’t have enough money extra to leave you a tip.” 

Me: “Okay… Just so I’m understanding correctly… you think it’s acceptable to come into a restaurant and order enough food that you can barely pay for down to basically the last penny and then not tip your server?” 

Customer: “Well… like I said… we just didn’t have enough left over.” 

Me: “Then next time you want to come out, either make sure you have enough money to pay for what you want, assuming you all can add correctly, and either order less food so you can tip appropriately… or, to save everyone the headache, just stay home. Because now, when I clock out of here tonight, I will have to tip out the bar, the bus boy, and pay taxes from all the tips I made, which technically means it cost me money to wait on you. That is literally the opposite of what my purpose is in coming to work every day. So, thank you very much for wasting my time. If you come back, just be aware that I will absolutely refuse to serve you and I can’t tell you that anyone else here will want to, either. Have a nice night!” 

(One of the girls came in to complain to my manager, but when he heard my side of the story, too, he basically laughed in her face and told her that we don’t really need customers like them, anyway. At the end of the night, he even bought me a beer. WINNING.)