(I’m a waiter at a fancy restaurant.)
Customer: “Excuse me, sir, are those ‘must wash hands’ signs only for the employees?”
Me: “Yes, sir. By law, we must wash our hands to prevent contamination.”
Customer’s Date: *looks disgusted, gets up, and leaves*
Customer: *plays on his phone for thirty minutes, then throws money on the table and leaves*
(My parents have decided to try a new steakburger restaurant in town. However, my mom is having trouble figuring out the menu.)
Mom: I just want a single cheeseburger!
Me: Well, they sell single steakburgers with cheese.
Mom: But I don’t want a steakburger!
Me: Then why did you want to come to a steakburger restaurant?!
Mom (to cashier): Do you sell just a single steakburger with cheese? I don’t want all the fancy stuff on it.
Cashier: …Yes?
(I am working as a waitress in a restaurant and this couple comes in for dinner. They sit down at the table and I take their order and send it to the kitchen. A few moments later, the lady calls me over.)
Customer: “Sorry I forgot to tell you I’m celiac.” *allergic to gluten* “Could you please check that my order is okay?”
Me: “Yeah, of course. Your main meal actually is celiac already, but I’ll just inform the kitchen so they know.”
(I go and let the kitchen and my manager who is running the pass know, and everything is fine. About two minutes later, my manager calls me into the kitchen really confused because my celiac table has ordered a Cobb Loaf — a very much full of gluten bread loaf. Thinking maybe they didn’t realise it was bread, I go and check with the table.)
Me: “Hey, guys, I just noticed you’ve ordered a Cobb Loaf, which is a bread loaf and contains gluten. Did you still want to order it?”
Customer: “Oh, no, that’s okay; we’ll risk it.”
(The customer then proceeded to eat half of the bread completely unfazed and I’m so confused.)
(I am working in a restaurant as the pass coordinator and when the night gets quiet, my runners go home and I run the food myself. I have just run three massive plates of marinated ribs out to a booth and I’m carrying three finger bowls to the table.)
Customer: “I’m sorry, but is your water suitable for vegans?”
Me: *looks at the table which has three massive plates of ribs and every single other person has a steak* “Yeah?”
(I’ve recently broken my ankle, but I’m beginning to walk on it again using a walker or, in this instance, a cane. We are going to a restaurant, and all of the handicap spots are taken. They drop me off and go to park in the back of the parking lot. I go inside to check in.)
Me: “Hello, we have a reservation for [My Name].”
Host: “Yes, your table is ready, but we won’t be able to seat you until the entire party is here.”
Me: “Could you make an exception? I’m struggling a little here—” *gestures to my walking boot and cane* “—and I need to sit down.”
Host: “You’re welcome to sit in the waiting area.”
(I look. All of the waiting area seats are taken. I move towards them, but no one offers me a seat, and the people I ask refuse. My family still hasn’t come in from parking.)
Me: “Please, I really need to sit down.”
Host: “Ma’am, I can’t let you sit until everyone is here. If you don’t like it, I can get the manager.”
Me: *almost in tears from pain* “Why can’t you just let me sit at the table?”
Host: “It’s policy.”
(At this point, another party was called, and I took one of the waiting area seats they vacated. My family members took almost another ten minutes to find parking and walk from the far spot inside, so it’s a good thing the other party got called or I might have collapsed.)
