My wife and I traveled to Montreal, arriving on a Sunday evening. The city shuts down fairly early on Sundays (most places anyway), and that included the dining room in our hotel. Fortunately, the hotel knew of a small cafe a short walk away that they thought would still be open, but, “Don’t delay… Go now!”

We got there, and the cafe was open, but the manager advised us that they would close in an hour.

Manager: “In Canada, that means lights off, doors locked, kitchen and dining room closed, and employees on their way home. Given that, we can’t make all the items on our menu, but if you allow it, I can recommend some great options.”

Me: “Of course!”

We then observed a couple with a young child at one table, and at a second table, another couple about our age. We sat down after accepting the manager’s suggestion for dinner.

The young child was a bit antsy — not surprising for it being a bit late for his age, which I guessed to be around three or four. He wasn’t particularly loud, but he was a bit whiny, and he did get up and wander a bit.

That is when the woman of the younger couple said loudly:

Young Woman: “You’d think they could control that child.”

The comments escalated from there. The young man at one point said:

Young Man: “I’d have had him outside and over my knee long before this.”

A little while later, their server went over and whispered something to them. We couldn’t hear that, but we heard the young man boom out:

Young Man: “We are not the problem. They and that out-of-control child are! Either they — or you — get a handle on that child or throw them out!”

There was a little back-and-forth, and then the young woman loudly demanded:

Young Woman: “Give us the phone number to CPS! I’m going to call them right now!”

All this time, the manager and the server kept casting nervous glances at my wife and me. Then, the chef appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was a little short guy. None of them would be a match for the loudmouth guy judging by size alone.

I was small but fit; my wife was also small but fit, a one-time fitness instructor who also had training in martial arts. I think the manager sensed that if we sided with them, we’d quickly gain the upper hand. Still, as a person with manners, he had not yet called the police — amazing restraint on his part.

Finally, he worked up the courage, walked up to their table, and demanded:

Manager: “Leave now or I’ll call the police.”

He looked at us. We both gave him a thumbs-up and, with that, he said once more, with full resolve:

Manager: “OUT… NOW!”

The couple got up and headed toward the door. Then, the manager pointed out that there was still the small matter of the tab to settle or they’d face jail for sure.

They paid, fuming all the way, and left.

He then approached us with a quiet thanks and glasses of wine on the house.

Our place has a huge self-serve breakfast bar. I’m busy setting it up one morning when a coworker comes to me.

Coworker: “Help! I’m so confused.”

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Coworker: “I’m trying to cook the eggs! I’ve been trying to cook them for twenty minutes, but they aren’t doing anything!”

I walk over to see what the issue is, and it’s immediately apparent.

Me: “I guess we should stop putting the liquid eggs and orange juice in similar containers from now on…”

I had a coworker who was absolutely awful to waitstaff because he believed it got him better service. I once asked him if he minded the fact that the waiters might spit in his food, and he went, “Heh, heh, heh, some places charge extra for that.”

Worse, I was usually seated next to [Coworker] at corporate functions because our last names were only a few letters apart, and seating was by last name.

It hurt my soul watching [Coworker] act the way he acted, and it hurt my happiness watching as the service at our table consistently went from “okay” to “the worst service in the house” due to his behavior. I started requesting specifically not to be seated at the same table as him.

Another corporate event was coming up, and when I checked the seating chart, to my dread, I saw that I was once more seated at the same table as [Coworker]. Fed up with it, I hatched a plan.

I found out who the catering company was and warned them about [Coworker] in advance. I advised that they record his outbursts, gave them the email addresses of some high-level executives, and told them that if [Coworker] gave them trouble, they should threaten to blacklist us. It took a while for the person I’d called to understand, but eventually, I got passed along to a manager in the catering company who had a brilliant evil cackle as we conspired together.

Next, on the day of the event, I made sure to rile the guy up. I knew what sorts of things would upset [Coworker]. A couple of his biggest triggers were praising young people and talking about the poor, so I made sure to say a few triggering phrases to him before the servers came around.

He had so many nasty outbursts with the waitstaff that day, and each time he started to calm himself down, I mentioned something else to piss him off, like talking about a homeless encampment or mentioning an article about a fast food worker getting a GoFundMe after the company stiffed him for his many-year anniversary.

My a**hole coworker barely knew which end was up by the end of the day. He was practically frothing, and his face was blotchy and red. I’m surprised he didn’t have a heart attack. He had to call off work the day after because his “voice was too hoarse”!

My plan did not take long at all to come to fruition. By the next week, [Coworker] had been let go.

I never told anyone else about it, though one woman seated at the table watched me do it and secretively congratulated me when [Coworker]’s “retirement” was announced.

A few years later, I saw [Coworker] manning a cash register at a retail store. I asked him why he was here, and he ranted that his “401k” in his mid-fifties wasn’t enough to retire off of and he had been disqualified from the company pension.

My parents own farmland and rent it out to farmers. We went to a seminar for farm owners, so there were lots of very wealthy people in the mix. They served us lunch at the hotel restaurant, and it was very good food.

This hotel is part of a huge international chain, so it was their own catering service.

At the end of the meal, one of the women at our table flagged down a waiter.

Woman: “Can I get a box to take the rest of my food home in?”

Waitstaff: “We don’t have boxes or allow anyone to take the leftovers home.”

Woman: “That’s terrible! You just lost your tip!”

Waitstaff: “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Woman: “That’s it?! You’re not going to do anything for me?”

Waitstaff: “I can get my manager for you.”

They got the manager, who came out and told her the same thing: she couldn’t take home the food. Cue her screaming at the manager.

Manager: “Ma’am! There are still a full six hours left of lectures for your event. We cannot ensure the quality of your food being left out or in a box that long. We would be liable for any food safety issues.”

Woman: “I can’t even take this food home to my dog?!”

Manager: *Knowing what kind of seminar this is* “You can afford a farm, but you can’t afford dog food?”

Woman: “I will ruin you! You don’t know who you’re messing with!”

My dad looked at me and explained quietly.

Dad: “I know who she is; she only lives like twenty minutes from us. She has a net worth of at least ten million, I’d say.”

Me: “And she’s whining about not being able to take home a few bites of leftover pot roast?” 

I don’t doubt that she has some influence with as rich as she is, but as far as I know, she has yet to take down the Hilton!

My aunt used to do some embarrassing stuff at restaurants. Her favorite was to order something, eat 90% of it, and then call over the waitstaff.

Aunt: “This was inedible and absolutely awful! I shouldn’t have to pay for it!”

Apparently, back in the day, this worked and she would frequently receive free meals. Until one time when it didn’t.

The waitstaff looked her dead in the eye.

Waitstaff: “You ate it. Therefore, you will pay for it, and I hope you enjoyed it because this will be the last time you are allowed here.”

She got super embarrassed, paid, and rushed out of there. After tucking her tail and running, her “Customer-Is-Always-Right” core recharged and she called the restaurant to complain.

I’m not sure if she got the manager or the owner, but they essentially told her the same thing as the waitstaff. Her husband, who had no issues with her scamming places, got mad and wanted to pursue some sort of legal action. Nothing came of it.

This is one of the many reasons my family and I haven’t seen or talked to her since I was eleven or so. I’m thirty-two now.