I used to work in a high-end Italian restaurant. A lady called over the manager to complain.

Manager: “May I ask what’s wrong?”

Customer: “Okay, so everything was wonderful. Food, service, drinks, everything great.”

Manager: “Okay, ma’am, glad to hear. So what’s the problem?”

Customer: “Don’t you think it’s inappropriate to be playing Mexican music in the restaurant? It just ruins everything.”

Manager: “What do you mean by Mexican music, ma’am?”

Customer: “Well, first of all, I can’t understand what they’re saying, so how can anyone enjoy it? And second of all, shouldn’t you be playing Italian music of all things?”

Manager: “Ma’am, this is Italian music; the band isn’t singing in Spanish.”

Customer: “Yes, they are.” 

She looks at the rest of her party as if the manager is an idiot.

Manager: “Ma’am, I’m Italian and I speak the language. This is the Italian language that you’re hearing, and this is an Italian band that plays Italian music, since you know, this is an Italian restaurant. Was there anything else I could help you with?”

Customer: “No, but I think you’re confused. I know Mexican when I hear it.”

She then left a bad Yelp review about how “inappropriate Mexican music is in an Italian restaurant”.

Related:
Totally Estúpido! Part 36
Totally Estúpido! Part 35
Totally Estúpido! Part 34
Totally Estúpido! Part 33
Totally Estúpido! Part 32

I’m working in the hotel restaurant, serving the continental breakfast buffet line. A woman is trying to squirt some whipped cream on her waffle. As she attempts to shake the can, it slips out of her hand and hits the floor. She hurriedly picks it up, looks at me, and says:

Guest: “You’ve got to grip it tight before you shake it!”

She says this while making suggestive motions with the can.

Before I can even respond, she starts to realize what she is doing and tries to save it by saying:

Guest: “I’m not going to try this on you or anything!”

Ever since that day, “squirting cream on your waffle” has become a euphemism among the restaurant staff.

Another Sunday, another story of the after-church diner crowd. After a long time of receiving religious flyers instead of tips from these people, my manager gets an idea. As we’re opening on Sunday morning:

Manager: “Here, I made these over the last week. Keep some in your apron and dish them out when appropriate.”

He lays out a selection of home-made and printed ‘religious’ flyers, with titles like:

• A brief history of why Jesus would’ve left 20%.
• Jesus loves everyone, but the waitstaff have notes.
• Why the power of prayer does not extend to making rent.
• Forgive them, Father; they know exactly what they owe.

I took one of each, and it didn’t take long before I had to use one. A family has paid and is up and leaving when I catch up to them at the exit.

Me: “Excuse me, I wanted to say thank you for the tip!”

Customers: *Looking awkward.* “Uh, well, thanks. We think the word of God is priceless, so—”

Me: “—yes, yes, I get all that. I figured since you were kind enough to give me one of yours, I’ll give you one of mine.”

I hand them the flyer, and the dad takes it before reading it. His face pales when he sees the title.

Title: “Voodoo, curses, and summoning entities: dealing with cheap customers the right way.”

Me: *Customer service smile turned up to maniacal.* “This should be a good guide to everything that’s about to happen, starting from tonight!”

He drops the flyer immediately and ushers his family out. They haven’t been back since, but I like to think that for every little unexplained noise they hear in their home, they think of me and my smile.

My friend can sometimes be a bit of a know-it-all, but to be fair, he knows quite a bit. He has an occasional bad habit of overhearing other conversations that contain incorrect information, and butting in to correct them. 

We’ve spoken to him about reining it in and minding his own business.

We’re at a booth in a restaurant, and we overhear a couple of guys having this conversation one booth over:

Guy #1: “Hey, what’s that movie where Nicolas Cage gets his face taken off?”

Guy #2: “He takes his face off? Oh, I’m not sure.”

Guy #1: “Well, it’s got some other guy who takes his face off, too.”

Guy #2: “They both get their faces off? Hmm, I think it sounds familiar, but I can’t remember.”

My friend stares at me, pleadingly.

Me: “Yeah, go on. Put them out of their misery… and ours.”

Everyone in both booths was happy for him to tell them about John Woo’s action masterpiece, ‘Face/Off’.

CORRECTION: A misspelling has been corrected.

This is the story of a woman whom I will forever refer to as “Arugula Lady.” 

When I was in high school, I worked part-time as a waitress at a chain restaurant. One day, Arugula Lady was seated by herself in my section. After bringing her her drink, she started ordering. Everything was normal until she asked me a question about one of our salads.

Arugula Lady: “What’s arugula?”

Me: “It’s a type of leafy green. It’s a little peppery, if you’re into that.”

She gave me a funny look, but she ordered the salad, and I brushed off the look as my imagination. Shortly after this, my manager pulled me aside.

Manager: “I wanna get your side of the story, because the woman at table three just told me that you were flirting with her, and that doesn’t sound like you.”

Here I will add that, not only am I straight, but Arugula Lady was quite likely old enough to be my mother. I was so confused that the only thing that came out of my mouth was:

Me: “What?”

Manager: “Yeah, she said you asked about what she was ‘into’?”

It clicked, and I explained what actually happened.

Manager: *Chuckling.* “So, she’s a nut. I figured as much. Tell you what. I’ll cover her table. I have a feeling she’s gonna be a problem otherwise.”

I was very grateful, as Arugula Lady sent me dirty looks every time I passed her. I ignored her and focused on my other tables. After she left, my manager showed me a copy of her check while shaking his head in amusement. I laughed too when I saw what Arugula Lady wrote down as the “tip.”

Arugula Lady: “I have no problem with you hiring lesbians, but make sure they don’t flirt with your customers.”

There’s a corkboard in the back where we pin the checks customers wrote goofy things on, and the stories behind them, if any. I was proud to finally have something to contribute.