So tonight was a little slow. We’re not the type of place that you go for St. Patrick’s Day. But when I say slow, it was still busy, just slow by our standards… we’re one of the busiest restaurants in town (we’re a national chain, one of the busiest locations in the company).

I was the Manager On Duty tonight. We close at 11 PM, and by 9:30 PM, we had just our closers working (two cooks, a dishie, a bartender, and three servers… one for each section).

At around 10:30 PM, I come out of the office and look towards the lobby, where I see a very large group of people gathering. I immediately head in that direction. The conversation that I walked into the middle of went something like this:

Leader Of The Group: “We should have a reservation.”

Bartender: “I’m sorry, we don’t take reservations. How many in your group?”

Leader Of The Group: “A lot.”

Bartender: “We can’t put anything together for you until we know how many you have.”

Leader Of The Group: “Okay, it’s probably about seventy.”

Bartender: “I’m sorry, how many did you say?”

I arrived at the podium just at that last part. 

The bartender’s reaction (basically your classic jaw-drop), along with my blank stare, made an impact. Before I could speak, the bartender said:

Bartender: “You do know we close in about thirty minutes?”

Leader Of The Group: *To his group.* “Come on, guys, let’s just go to [restaurant next door].”

He turned around, and a bunch of them followed, but not all. I let them go without dispute.

Now faced with a much smaller group, who were willing to break into sub-groups, we got around to seating them. We ended up with about thirty-five to forty of them, and spread them around among the three servers, and I headed immediately into the kitchen to alert the guys.

Unhappy, they stepped out for a quick smoke before the chaos, so I manned the line. The orders started coming in before they returned, so I started cooking, and the guys came back just before all the main orders came in.

The three of us pounded out all of the food quickly, then I ran around to expo the trays up and help run food… then jumped out on the floor to help bus tables (the ones that were lingering when the group arrived had now left).

We got the entire group in and out within about forty-five minutes.

Amazing teamwork got the job done. Unfortunately for the cooks, the late rush reversed most of the cleanup they had done, so we all got done late, but I was proud of the job they all did.

But seriously, who brings seventy people into a restaurant thirty minutes before close?

I work in a Mexican chain restaurant.

Customer: “I want [standard order of nachos].”

Me: “Okay, so that’s the standard nachos—”

Customer: “—But instead of cheddar I want Monterey Jack.”

Me: “Okay, so that’s—”

Customer: “—And can you sub pinto beans for the black beans?”

Me: “Sure thing, so—”

Customer: “—Also you need to swap out…”

She gave me about six more modified ingredients in quick succession. I repeated them all back to her, and she said “sure”, but when the food came out, she started moaning that I got this and that wrong. Since she was causing a scene, the manager just let her take it for free and tried to wash their hands of the situation.

Me: *To the manager.* “You know she’s gonna come back, right? She’s gonna try that again, as you letting her walk out of here without paying means we’re an easy mark.”

Manager: “If you see her come back in, call one of us over. We’ll serve her.”

Deal!

To no one’s surprise, she’s back a week later. As requested, my manager takes the order.

Customer: “So, instead of—”

Manager: “—No, don’t say ‘instead of’, just tell me exactly and only what you want.”

This annoys her a little, and she tries to work around it by saying:

Customer: “Well, I’m just saying instead of chicken I want…”

Manager: “—I’m sorry, I don’t want to confuse the chefs. Tell me exactly and only what you want, and the chefs will make that.”

Customer: “Can you sub—”

Manager: “—No ‘sub’ or ‘modify’ or ‘instead of’. Just list exactly… what… you… want.”

Customer: “I don’t know why you are making this hard.”

Manager: “Ma’am, I’m gonna bring you exactly what you want. We can EASILY make whatever you want, but I’m not going to let you confuse the chefs, so we will start with chips. What items do you want on the chips, and what items do you want on the side?”

She sighed, said what she wanted, got just that, ate it, paid, left, and was never seen again. Nice try, Nacho Lady, but try that scam somewhere else!

My mom worked at the local pizza chain as a second job (it would become the first job for me and both my siblings as well). My family used to frequent it, and we knew many of the employees, so when my mom mentioned she was looking for a part-time job, they said they were looking for part-time help.

Fast forward a few years, and some management has changed, and my mom has become one of the top night servers. One Friday night, she was working with a new girl and another established waitress.

It was the new girl’s first Friday night, and it was hectic. At this point, they had suspected the new girl of stealing, but couldn’t prove it. After the rush, the shift manager was looking through the computer:

Shift Manager: “Hey [New Girl], table B1 never cashed out. You need to make sure you cash them out when they pay.”

New Girl: “Oh, that older couple? I think they forgot. They walked out without paying.”

Shift Manager: *Gives a small grin to my mother.* “Do you know who that was? That is [Mother]’s mother and father. They come in every Monday and Friday night.”

Mother: *Already on the phone with her parents.* “Hey, did you guys forget to pay? Oh, you paid in cash? Thanks.”

The new girl just hung her head, took the cash out of her pocket, and walked out the door…

I had a woman complaining that her blackened white fish was over-seasoned. I looked at it, and yes, I could clearly see by looking, that she was telling the truth, and it was definitely over-seasoned. So, I told her that I would take it off of her bill, and offered to get her a new piece of fish.

Customer: “Here. Taste it and see for yourself.”

Me: “No, you’re right. I can see from here that it’s over-seasoned. As I said, I’m not going to charge you for it.”

Customer: “Well, I think you should taste it.”

Me: “No need to, ma’am. Would you like me to get you another piece of fish?”

Customer: *Getting aggressive.* “Take. A. Bite!”

I’m a vegan and haven’t eaten meat in about eight years.

Me: “Ma’am. I don’t eat meat. Besides, I’ve already told you that I’m taking it off of your bill.”

Customer: “Then take a bite, chew it, and spit it out! No one asked you to swallow!”

Normally, when a customer comes in within thirty minutes of closing (we close at 7 PM as we’re more of a lunch spot), I grin and bear it. Does it mean I work later? Yes. But my boss doesn’t turn away anyone, and I get paid for the extra time, so usually I can deal with it.

However, on the day when this story takes place, there were a couple of mitigating factors.

1. I had forgotten to wear my knee braces.
2. The air conditioning was broken, so the door was propped open, letting ALLLL the humidity inside.
3. My allergy pill wasn’t working, so my eyes and throat had been burning all day.
4. I hadn’t had a chance to eat other than cramming a piece of bread down my gullet because we had an all-day rush.

These factors made me far less amenable to late arrivals, so when a party of three (dad, mom, teenage daughter) walked in at 6:40 PM, and the mom said their order was to go, I wilted a bit with relief.

However, then the teenage daughter piped up.

Teenage Daughter: “Mom, no! We can eat here!”

Mom: “I have stuff to do.”

The daughter, back turned to me, insisted again on staying. The mom seemed pretty set on a to-go order, but I didn’t want to take any chances. After checking that my boss was busy, I turned back to them with a smile on my face.

Me: “Please consider, we do close at seven. So, if it takes twenty minutes to make your food, and an average of fifteen minutes to half an hour for you to eat it…”

Immediately, the dad and daughter checked their phones. The dad nodded and put it back; the daughter turned pink and dropped eye contact. The mom, vindicated, said:

Mom: “To go, thank you.”

Sweet, sweet victory! I got to go home on time that day.

Was it mean to directly address the daughter? Having once been a teenage girl myself, I knew well how embarrassing my actions would be to her. But in the end, it was a mere sting to her pride, and hopefully she’ll remember it in the future, so she arrives and orders at restaurants at considerate times.