I work at a restaurant. It’s a typical night, kind of slow. I get a table with a father and his kid.

Me: “Hey, how are y’all doing?”

Customer: “Good, thanks.”

Me: “Good! What can I get you to drink?”

Customer: “A [soda].”

Me: “Sounds good. I’ll go grab that and be right back.”

Kid: “Lift up your skirt, please.”

I was a little stunned, but mostly I was trying my hardest not to lose my s*** laughing because it was the dad I was talking to the whole time and that was the first thing out of this seven-year-old’s mouth.

I know that sounds bad, but for one, I’m a dude, and two, the kid meant my apron. My coworker took over the table because it was a buddy of his, and he told me the kid said that because he served them all the time and kept candy for the kid in his pocket, so that’s what the kid wanted.

It’s kind of a cute thing but a really funny thing to be able to say I’ve had a customer ask me to lift up my skirt.

When I was a teenager, I worked as a busboy and dishwasher at a family-style restaurant. It was hard, grimy work, but I was good enough at it that I “moved up” to prep cook. It was a much easier job as I could come in when I wanted to shred lettuce, make onion rings, and other similar tasks. As a result, I got to know many of the dishwashers that came through. A good percentage didn’t last because of the nature of the job — low pay and hard work.

But I’ll never forget one particular coworker who was working his first day when I was there doing prep work. He was older than me, gregarious, and friendly. He talked nonstop about his future plans, his girlfriend, etc. It was a bit annoying as I just wanted to get in and get out, but I tried to politely listen as I did my work. He also sang and danced a bit while working, which was definitely annoying but, again, didn’t impede the work I was doing.

But things got weird when he started eating off the plates of leftover food that came back, gleefully saying how great this job was. I don’t think I’ve ever been more disgusted than watching him joyfully finish a half-eaten waffle or snarf down leftover fries.

One of the waiters came back while he was doing this and looked at me as if to ask, “What is this guy doing?” I just shrugged.

Then, the restaurant got hit by the lunch rush and the new guy was quickly overwhelmed. Having been a dishwasher, I knew that one person could get through it; you have to just work fast and be focused. But fast and focused was not this guy. His perky demeanor got more and more somber as the reality of the job hit him and dishes started piling up.

He started hinting that I should help him. And then he began to outright whine that he needed help. I have helped busboys in the past if things get tough, but I had quite a few items to prep and some plans after work, so I said I couldn’t. I knew he wouldn’t get fired and that if things got really bad the manager (who was a good guy) would step in to help particularly given that it was his first day.

He stopped talking, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see him looking daggers at me. I was glad to finish my tasks and get out of there.

I heard later that he quit after the first day, and I never saw him again. I was not surprised.

I work in a restaurant. It’s Christmas Day, 2017. We’re fully booked; it’s bookings only for a four-course dinner and complimentary champagne. The last seating has passed, and a family walks in.

These people are some of our regulars. Apart from the usual family, which is a husband, a wife, and two young daughters (ages four and two), there are also a few other family members with them. It’s an eight-person table.

I have never seen a guy look so broken. The second they enter, they start apologising, as they know it’s bookings only. The husband then utters a sentence that no one wants to hear, especially on Christmas Day:

Husband: “We had a power cut all morning, and then once the power was back on… the oven broke. You guys are the only place that we knew was open.”

Every single staff member in the place then proceeded to move Heaven and earth to find this group a table, high chairs, and kids’ colouring books. The kitchen, already incredibly tired and stretched to its max, began to pile these eight plates with possibly the biggest roast dinners I have ever seen. The side dishes were just as impressive.

I’ve mentioned that the family had two young children; this, of course, means some mess. We had buttered, minted peas as a side dish, and MANY of these ended up on the floor.

I’ve never been so touched as I was to see this 6’4” man, who had previously worked as a bouncer and was generally built like a brick s***house ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES under a table that he could barely fit under, just to pick up the errant vegetables that his children had dropped. He wouldn’t even stop after we said it was okay to leave it.

They then proceeded to buy a round of drinks for the entire staff AND they tipped around 40%.

The table was the cleanest I have ever seen, especially from a party of that size.

It is December 23rd. I’m a server, and a group of four men comes in about a half-hour before closing (10:30-ish). Throughout their meal, they are nice and apologize for coming in so late. We talk a bit when I am in the dining area, everything is going well, and they finish up their meals. I am hopeful that they will leave a good tip, until…

Customer #1: “You’re a great waitress, and the food is delicious. We are planning on coming in for dinner tomorrow night. Are you working then, too?”

Me: “Yes, I’m working tomorrow, but I should let you know that since it’s Christmas Eve, we will be closing at 2:00 pm and won’t reopen until the 26th. If you were hoping for a late dinner again, we won’t be available.”

[Customer #1] is instantly infuriated and slams his fork down loudly on the table. Three of the men look up at me like I just admitted to some sort of heinous crime. They all start talking over each other.

Customer #1: *Yelling* “Then where are we supposed to eat? Do you want us to starve?”

Customer #2: *Also yelling* “This is bulls***! You need to stay open for your regular hours! Where are we supposed to go?! Do you even care that we have nowhere to eat dinner on Christmas Eve?

Customer #3: *Yup… yelling* “What do you have going on that’s so f******* important that you can’t be bothered to come to work and do your job?”

[Customer #4] doesn’t say a word; he just shrugs his shoulders and keeps eating. I lose all hope of getting a decent tip and just don’t care.

Me: “I’m driving downstate after we close to have dinner tomorrow and spend Christmas with my family. I have not been home in weeks, so no, I don’t care about where you’re going to eat dinner compared to that. I believe that [Chinese Restaurant] will be open if you want to try there, or you could get something from the grocery store.”

Customer #2: “That’s not what we want!”

Me: “Well, you still have plenty of time to figure it out. Here is your check for when you’re ready, but feel free to take your time, and I will continue to stop by if you need anything.”

I did check on them after that. [Customer #4] did all the talking while the other three just glared at me. Thankfully, he paid the bill and did leave a very generous tip.

This story takes place many years ago at a fun family arcade-type place that turns into an adult arcade place with alcohol and bars after hours.

It’s my friend’s friend’s birthday, and we all go out to the bar and restaurant together. There are twenty of us all together. I’ve never met any of them besides my friend, including the guy celebrating his birthday.

My friend and I sit at one end of the table together with the guest of honour.

There are two servers managing our table — one for the three of us and one for the rest of the seventeen. Our server does not even speak to anyone else at the table. We’re basically a table of three and a table of seventeen.

Everything is fine, we have a great time, and the food is okay — about what you’d expect from this kind of place. We all discuss the bill, and everyone will pay for their own bill. My friend and I decide that we’re going to cover the guest of honour and we’ll put it on my card. Cool.

The server arrives and we tell her not to worry; we’ll make ours easier and she can give us the one bill for the three of us. She brings it and walks away.

I notice the forced gratuity of 15% for more than eight people on the bill. I wave her over.

Me: “Hey, you only served the three of us. Should the forced gratuity be there?”

Server: “More than eight people at the table. Yes.”

Me: “But you didn’t deal with the eight. You only served us. It’d be better for you if you removed it.”

Server: “No way. Too bad.”

Me: “Okay, then.”

I paid and we left.

I too am a server and have been since I was seventeen. I have never left under 25% on a tab… except that one time. Oh, well.