I have been working at a local Chinese takeout for the past year. If we had a manager, I would be a manager, but our chain of command is: boss man, then top cashier, and then cashiers, drivers, and cooks. This means I’m regularly tasked with things a manager would handle, such as training, supply orders such as utensils and sauces, and most notably, handling all refunds.

It’s a pretty slow evening on my 5:00 to 11:30 pm shift when a customer calls to place a delivery order. All is going well until I inform him of our standard delivery time: forty-five minutes to an hour. Well, he will not have this!

Customer: “Cancel my order! Too long!”

Me: “Sure thing! Just to clarify, since you had us charge you for your delivery ahead of time, it will be a couple of business days before it actually reflects on your account.”

This is where all h*** breaks loose.

The customer does not simply demand his money back.

Customer: *Screaming* “I will be down immediately, and you will be handing me money from the register.”

He hangs up as I mentally prepare for his assumed arrival.

He arrives fifteen to thirty minutes after our “friendly chat” and is still just as “friendly”! He again demands his money, so I attempt one last time to explain that his money is indeed on its way to his account, but to no avail.

In earshot of all our waiting customers, the customer dials 911.

Customer: “I’d like to report a theft at [Restaurant].”

Of course, the cops speed over — we sit very close to the local police station — and the customer gets to them first, so I let them chat. A cop then comes to me, explaining that he knows the issue now and doesn’t need further assistance! I see him go over to the customer once more, some words are exchanged, and out the door the customer goes, no register money in tow, thankfully.

Not too dramatic of an ending, but the kicker? The cop comes back to me one last time.

Cop: “You wouldn’t believe how many grown adults don’t understand how refunds work.”

Actually, Officer, I BELIEVE YOU!

That customer has yet to be seen or heard from again, and this was approximately six months ago. Victory!

I recently began working at a boutique, premium bar and restaurant. I am autistic, which isn’t widely understood by employers. I have to work hard and be patient to educate my employer. That includes being understanding to what extent sexism, racism, and so on is a problem, right?

I am speaking to a petite, female coworker aged twenty-five. I am male, and I’m thirty-four.

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], I have a funny question. Do you ever experience any— I mean, are you ever a victim of any sexual harassment here?”

Coworker: “What? Erm, no… not really. Well, a bit at the wedding.”

We recently hosted a small wedding when we were extremely busy.

Me: “Oh? So, not really from any of our regulars, or people here for a few pints?”

Coworker: “Nope. That was the first time.”

Me: “If you don’t mind me asking, what did he do or say that made you feel uncomfortable? Or she?”

Coworker: “He was just asking stuff like whether I was taken and when I was getting off shift. Nothing major. I’ve dealt with it before. Why… why are you asking?”

Me: “A video cropped up on my Facebook feed of a barmaid ranting about what was and wasn’t appropriate. I wanted to know what my own colleagues experience here. Also, we should be looking out for the teenage girls who work here. He didn’t touch you?”

Coworker: “No. And anyway, in the area we are located…”

Me: “You mean million-euro homes for half a mile around? We don’t exactly get students or a rowdy pub crawl, no. But if you’re not comfortable serving someone, just ask me to serve them, nothing more.”

Coworker: “Nothing more?”

Me: “I mean, you don’t need to say what he said or did, like if he said he wanted to motorboat you. If you’re not comfortable serving someone, just tell me you don’t want to serve them. I’ll serve them. That’s it. I won’t ask you for reasons.”

She looks confused and then looks down at her larger-than-average chest. Maybe my crude example of sexual harassment caught her off guard, but then she thought about what I was getting at?

Coworker: “Thank you, [My Name]. I’ll remember that. I’ll also serve someone for you if you don’t want to.”

Me: “Aww, thank you.”

We now have an unofficial anti-harassment pact. I think that is cute because I’ve always had difficulty relating to my work colleagues.

We are eating lunch in a nice restaurant away from home. It’s not our type of place, but it was the only option as everywhere else was fully booked. We opt for the only thing that looks normal: a sharing all-day breakfast — sausages, bacon, eggs, etc.

When it finally comes, it’s served on a flat board. It looks pretentious and a right mess. Worse is that the eggs have been cooked over easy, so the yolk has flooded the board, and it’s dripping off and everywhere. The beans are soaking into the bread and falling off of the board.

Me: “Can we get some plates or something?”

Waiter: “This is the way it’s served, sir.”

Me: “It’s a mess; I’m getting egg all over my shoes. Everything is getting soggy.”

Waiter: “This is how you eat our breakfast meal.”

Me: “Take it back, then.”

Waiter: “Excuse me?”

Me: “Take it back. First, it’s a mess. Second, it’s dripping everywhere. And third, I specifically asked for no beans and for my eggs to be scrambled.”

Waiter: “Well, I could ask the chef to remove the—”

Me: “No, take it back. Refund my money, please.”

Waiter: “Maybe we could do something else? I could put the breakfast into a baguette?”

Me: “Nope, refund in full.”

The waiter reluctantly refunded our money, making some snide comments as we leave. We managed to find a little cafe. They had all local ingredients, they were reasonably priced, and they tasted great.

The fancy restaurant was bought out a year later but still went under.

It’s my first week working in a bistro with a salad bar. It’s lunchtime and lots of people want food at the same time. I haven’t found my groove yet and I’m struggling to keep up. I’m preparing a salad for a customer.

Customer: “Are you having a bad day? You’re not looking very happy.”

I think, “How nice of her to check in!”

Me: “No, just a bit stressed.”

Suddenly, she starts berating me for preparing her food stressed. Apparently, she thinks that will contaminate the food and “infect” her with my stress or something. I have really bad news for this lady about all the food that’s prepared in every single restaurant ever.

Customer: “I demand that you have another worker make me a new salad calmly!”

We did.

My train home is cancelled, so I decide to grab some food while I wait for the next one. I find a nice-looking Chinese place and walk in.

Server: “Table for two?”

Me: “Huh?”

I look back and a woman also on her own is stood there.

Me: “Oh, no, just for one.”

Server: *To the woman* “Are you for one, too?”

Woman: “Oh, yes. Table for one, as well, please.”

Server: “Okay, I seat you together.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer and strides off, wanting us to follow. We sit and order separately. While it’s awkward at first, I strike up a conversation and we actually have a good time. She finishes her food and leaves as the bill comes.

Me: “Oh, sorry. There has been some mistake. I didn’t order this; the woman who was sitting there ordered that.”

Waitress: “Are you not together? I saw you talking?”

Me: “No, we ordered separately and don’t know each other.”

Waitress: “Oh, no! Sorry, I will be right back.”

She rushes off and speaks to someone who disappears out the door. She comes back to me with the new bill.

Waitress: “Sorry about that — some miscommunication. Could you check that this is right for me, please?”

It was, and I paid. I grabbed my coat and headed out. I saw the woman walking back to the restaurant with the server from earlier. They were arguing furiously. She saw me and swore at me but was told to go inside and pay. I’m not sure if she was trying to scam me or if she somehow believed she was entitled to free food, but it didn’t work this time.