I work in a restaurant. The other night, a woman and her six-person commune were seated at my table. They made it obvious that it was the birthday of one of the young teen girls in the group. She was very shy, and her mother often spoke over her and ordered for her, demanding that she got a to-go cup while everyone else had glasses.

They were fine and I did my best.

Toward the end of the meal, since they never asked about a birthday celebration, I brought them their check.

Mother: “Yeah, uh, it’s actually her birthday.”

She pointed at the teen girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Mother: “We would like a birthday celebration.”

Our restaurant has a “birthday saddle”, and it’s very irritating to get everyone in place to do a celebration properly. That being said, I don’t mind doing the birthdays. If the birthday person honestly wants to get on the saddle and have a waitress make a ruckus to tell the restaurant that it’s their birthday, then THAT’S OKAY.

But the thing was that this girl didn’t want to have that attention on her, and I could see that. I even asked her straight-up if she wanted me to get the saddle, and she said no, she’d rather just eat.

Her mother then pointed her finger at me and puts on “the smile”. You know the one: the condescending “You effed up!” smile.

Mother: “Come here. Right now.”

I did, and she hissed in my ear:

Mother: “We made a reservation and called in advance to tell you that we wanted to celebrate her birthday. Now, either you or someone else get the saddle, or sing Happy Birthday, or something — I don’t care — but we will not be paying out until that happens.”

I did the quickest birthday celebration that I could without the saddle or the accompanying ice cream (which honestly is really, really gross, and I told them that). All of my coworkers could tell that I was absolutely shaken and pissed because I felt bad for this girl. Her voice was so small when I asked for her name that her mother ended up blurting it at me over her. She was turning fourteen that day.

Her mom paid and left a 13% tip, which was okay; I was honestly expecting to get nothing. But the cherry on top was that I found a $20 bill left after they left. I like to think someone at the table appreciated my effort to make EVERYONE comfortable. I’m there to serve you, not entertain you.

A woman and her family come into the family-owned local seafood eatery where I work. She immediately asks:

Woman: “Do you have the mango-papaya Mahi-mahi?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry. It’s a seasonal dish.”

Woman: “That’s the only reason I came here! Why don’t you have it?!”

Me: “Because it’s seasonal, ma’am. That means we only have it [time of year].”

Woman: “Well, if you can’t make it, you have to make something as close to it as possible.”

After much haranguing and cross-communication, the chef settles on a tilapia with mango salsa as the closest compromise.

After the food is delivered, the woman takes one bite.

Woman: “No, it just doesn’t taste the same. I think I’ll just have pasta instead.”

I take the plate back to the kitchen, and the chef is LIVID. He storms out and slams the plate back in front of the woman and goes off.

Chef: “We bent over backward in the kitchen to accommodate you! This is the only dish you’re getting tonight, and you’re paying for it!”

It must have done the trick because the woman just accepted her fate. She and her husband switched plates, and apparently, he thought it tasted awesome. They paid out and that was that.

On their way out, the woman asked when we would have the mango-papaya Mahi-mahi again, to which we had to explain for a third time what “seasonal” means.

I work at a restaurant with very tall, very good milkshakes. Most of my coworkers are in agreement that the shakes are exceptional… save for [Coworker #1], who is allergic to dairy, and thus feels she has no business commenting on the shakes beyond the price per volume.

[Coworker #2], for reasons I do not and will never understand, is convinced that [Coworker #1] has to try one of these shakes, allergy be damned. [Coworker #1] has attempted and largely failed to get [Coworker #2] to back off until this exchange.

[Coworker #2] approaches [Coworker #1] with a vanilla shake in hand.

Coworker #1: “How many times do I have to tell you no?!”

Coworker #2: “Come on! Just try it, will you?”

Coworker #1: “If you try and feed me that shake, I will vomit on you.”

Coworker #2: “Come on! You’re exaggerating.”

Coworker #1: “No, I’m threatening you.”

[Coworker #2] abruptly went quiet, turned, and walked away.

Today was supposed to be my day off, yet they called me in, and like a sad, broke puppy, I went in.

Most of the night was great — I was bartending and it’s just more fun — except for one table.

This table had four kids with them. They asked for separate checks — of course. The table total was almost a hundred, and not a single one of them tipped. They also left the totals blank. So, filled with bartending bravado, I brought the tickets back.

Me: “Oh, my God, y’all, I’m so sorry. I think I took the wrong slips. I’m supposed to take the copy that has the tip and total written.”

But these jerks were immune to the shame and told me that I had the right copies. Instead, they wrote out a note to my manager saying how awesome I was.

Gee, thanks. I’m sure my landlord will take that. Maybe I can use it to buy my son new shoes.

Oh, wait, no. Obviously, that’s dumb.

I brought the note back to my general manager. (Even without a tip, I want them to know I’m on top of things.) It turned out that one of the people at the table was a former waitress at my restaurant. And after running me ragged, she and the rest of them didn’t leave me a penny. And for the record, I take care of my tables; they had refills, extra sauces, extra napkins, extra lemons, a splash of sour mix in the former waitress’s lemonade because it wasn’t lemony enough, etc.

I always thought that one of the trademarks of a service industry veteran is that we always tip. I was wrong.

I had some great people that made up for them (as it goes). But seriously, any industry person who thinks that an “attagirl” note is an acceptable tip needs to spend the rest of their lives with twelve-top tables of after-church customers.

I decide to try out a new restaurant in town. I walk in, take one out of literally half of the restaurant’s empty spaces and… wait. I wait some more, and before I know it I’ve waited for almost twenty minutes and the staff haven’t even shown any interest in doing their jobs.

When one of the waitstaff looks me dead in the eye and then turns her back on me, I decide to just stand up and leave. I leave a one-star review on their Google review page, noting that my review is the only review that is one-star, bringing an otherwise immaculate five-out-of-five rating to a 4.9.

The next day, I get an email from the review site, informing me that the owner has left me a comment. I assume they want to make amends, as they have left me their contact number. I make myself a nice cup of coffee, sit myself down, and call.

Restaurant Owner: “Hello?”

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name]. You left your number on my review?”

Restaurant Owner: “Ahh, yes. You must be One Star.”

Yes, he genuinely refers to me as “One Star”. Considering my name is on the review comment, this is not a great first step at amends.

Me: “Uhh… yeah, it’s [My Name]. I left the ‘one-star’ review on your page.”

Restaurant Owner: “Uh-huh, you see…. the reason why we have such good reviews before yours is that we want everybody to have a good experience with us.”

Me: “And this is relevant because…?”

Restaurant Owner: “Well, when you write reviews that are not strictly true, it gives off a bad impression, doesn’t it?”

Me: “Excuse me? What are you trying to say?”

Restaurant Owner: “Well, is there something you are perhaps not telling people in that review? Like how you waltzed by the ‘Please Wait To Be Seated’ sign?”

There was never any sign.

Me: “I beg your pardon? For your information, there was no sign whatsoever, and even if that was your policy, why did your staff show no interest in pointing it out rather than remaining glued to their phones?”

Restaurant Owner: “Look, we can pretend all we want, but that’s not the reason why you called, is it?”

Me: “Oh, really? So, according to you, not only am I a liar, but now you know my motive? Go on, then. Enlighten me.”

Restaurant Owner: “We will happily give you another chance in our restaurant, but I want that review deleted.”

I sputter a bit at this. How does a restaurant owner have such gall?

Me: “Neither of those notions is what I intend to entertain. And you know what? Once I have hung up this call, I will be adding this conversation to the next review. You do not speak to who pays your income like this, and you certainly do not tell them what they will or will not do.”

I hung up the call, and I made good on the promise of another review, bringing the 4.9 down to 4.8. I know it’s petty, but in the moment, they deserved it. Not long after, a lot of “anonymous” accounts sprung up posting five-star reviews, some of which tried denouncing my own. I wonder what sad and pathetic person would have to resort to that.