(I’m a host at a patio that has an inside room for large parties. On this particular night we have an appetizer party of 100 people inside. A woman wanders out with her glass of wine and stands in the patio entrance.)
Me: “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m sorry but I have to ask you to return inside, as it violates our liquor license to have customers stand outside with open alcohol.”
Customer: *gesturing at the patio guests* “Then what are all these people doing?”
Me: “Sitting, ma’am.”
(A woman comes into the restaurant I work in and orders a salad during a dinner rush. It takes longer than normal to make, but not an obscene amount of time.)
Me: “Here you go, [Customer]!”
(She looks at the salad.)
Customer: “Why does this have avocado on it? I’ve been a customer of this place since it started and this salad has never had avocado on it. I’m allergic to avocado. I can’t eat this!”
Me: “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry! I can remake this for you, if you want?”
Customer: “No, I don’t have time. Just pull it off the top.”
(I do as she asks, and she storms out. I’m shaking, and I don’t notice my manager coming out from the office.)
Manager: “What was that about?”
Me: “She ordered [Salad] and she said it’s never had avocado on it before.”
Manager: “That’s BS. I’ve worked at this restaurant since the beginning, and that salad has always had avocado on it.”
(A clearly irate customer walks up to my counter holding a carton of fries.)
Customer: “These fries are too cold! Straight from the refrigerator, I’d gather!”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry about that. I’ll get you another one.”
(I take back her fries, but before throwing them away, I try a piece–it tastes warm. Figuring she wants really hot fries, I get her some that are fresh out of the fryer.)
Me: “Here you go!” *hands customer the fries*
Customer: *tries a piece* “No, I can’t eat this! It’s still cold! It’s disgusting!” *storms away, leaving the fries behind*
(I am working curbside delivery at a chain restaurant and a car pulls up to pick up their delivery. After the introductory spiel:)
Me: “I notice you ordered two salads without meat and a veggie burger. Are you vegetarian?”
Customer: “Yes… Why?”
Me: “Well, the dressing that comes with this salad isn’t vegetarian. Would you like a substitute?”
Customer: *turns white* “What do you mean? We always eat this salad. My wife loves this salad.”
Me: “I’m sorry you’ve never been informed of this. Most people don’t think about whether dressings are vegetarian or not, but this specific dressing contains animal products.”
Customer: “Is there just like maybe a little bit in it? How bad is it? We’ve been eating it for years!”
Me: “It contains four different types of animal lard in it. It is practically all animal product. It’s basically gravy, but for salad.”
(I can practically see the moral dilemma playing over his face while he thinks. He is even clenching the steering wheel.)
Customer: “What do I do? My wife is pregnant; all she wants is this salad and this dressing. She’s going to be devastated. She’s going to start crying…” *he continues muttering in this fashion for about half a minute* “Maybe I’ll break the news to her in a few months when she isn’t so…emotional. Do you think that’s okay?”
Me: “Wise choice. Have a great day and congratulations!”
I work in a chain-operated sit down restaurant in a small, midwestern city. We are very busy on weekends. We are also attached to a hotel with a bar and banquet facility inside. There are a lot of weddings that take place there, usually on Saturday nights, so Sunday mornings can be especially busy for breakfast.
One Sunday morning we are getting a lot of large groups, most of who did not make reservations. We have a lot of smaller tables in the front of the restaurant and then large tables in the back. We have just seated a group at the last available large table. There are a few smaller tables open, but they are not even close to adjacent. A woman comes in and asks for a table for 12. I tell her that I can’t seat a 12 right now as we don’t have any open tables. She asks if we can push some smaller tables together. I point out that the smaller tables that are open are scattered, with occupied tables between them, and if she would like she can sit in the lobby and we’ll let her know when something opens up.
She starts fuming and demands to speak to the owner. I tell her that he isn’t in at the moment and ask if she would like to leave her number so he can contact her later. She says “No, God-d*** it! Just seat my family! We’re f****** hungry!” I explain to her (again!) that there is no place to seat her and she can wait until something becomes available or she can go elsewhere.
Then she starts in that she knows the owner and they’re good friends and if he were here he would find her a table, he would find a way to make his regular customers happy.
I’ve worked there for six years and had never seen this woman before, so I doubt she’s a regular and I doubt she knows the owner. So, I ask her “Oh, you know Bill?” She says “Yes! I told you, we’re old friends. I went to school with his wife!” I took great pleasure in bursting this hag’s bubble. I said “Ma’am, the owner’s name is Brian, not Bill, and Brian doesn’t have a wife, he has a husband.”
Honestly, even if she DID know the owner, what did she expect? Was he supposed to magically pull a 12-top out of his butt?