(This story occurs when I live abroad and work at a restaurant with a VERY abrasive manager. It’s the night before I have a relatively easy shift, but I’ve been given some terribly sad news from back home. In between crying in the night, stressing out over how I can’t get home quickly as I’ve just paid a large sum of bills for the month, I’ve barely gotten much sleep. However, again I’m reminded that I have an easy shift ahead of me tomorrow. I fall asleep eventually at around 5:00 am but wake at 8:00 am. I’m exhausted, dreary, and still stressed out. My mobile phone rings about half an hour later after I wake up. It’s from my abrasive manager’s manager.)

Manager #2: “Hey, [My Name], can you start earlier today? Like, within the hour?”

(I’ve always had respect for [Manager #2] as she sees people’s emotions, unlike my manager. But, despite her asking me to work essentially a double shift after last night’s news, I decide to decline.)

Me: “I’m sorry, [Manager #2]. I can’t today.”

Manager #2: “Oh… all right, thank you.” *click*

(I go to make myself a coffee and to try at least calm myself down a bit. For what it’s worth, I told my abrasive manager the evening before about what had happened. And of course, true to his form, he rolled out the usual “don’t forget you’re working tomorrow” spiel, as if I needed to be reminded. Not five minutes later, the phone rings again. This time it’s from my manager.)

Me: “Hello?”

Manager #1: “Buddy. You have to work earlier today.”

Me: “Sorry, [Manager #1]. I’ve already told [Manager #2]—”

Manager #1: “I do not f****** care what you told [Manager #2]. You come to work, buddy. Everyone has problems in this world; you’re just going to have to deal with it, understand?

(My patience with this manager has already grown exceptionally thin up to this point. This is normally the conversation that occurs with any of his staff if they try to put up any resistance to working more hours just because he said so. Under any normal circumstance, I would fold and just accept; hey, it’s more money. But because this time he’s shown no regard whatsoever for how much stress, anguish, and emotion I have right now, I decide to put my foot down for good.)

Me: “No.”

Manager #1: “What?! No, you come into work.”

Me: “No. Law states that an employer cannot force their employees—”

Manager #1: “I do not f****** care—”

(Tired of being cut off whenever I try to make my point, I just continue to explain to my manager that he cannot force me to work longer hours if it’s not already been agreed to on the rota, which it hasn’t. I also suggest to the manager that what he is doing is illegal, but I’m still met with the same response. But most importantly, I do NOT back down. Eventually, he goes silent.)

Manager #1: “Buddy. You listen to me now. You can either come in within the next hour and work all day, or you leave [Restaurant] for good. You have five minutes to decide.” *click*

(My stress, anguish, and emotions are all swapped out with seething anger at this point. Knowing my manager will do whatever it takes to force me into work earlier, I decide to cover my tracks as best as possible. I screen grab the rota as it appears on our restaurant’s website, I use an app on my phone that records the previous telephone conversation just in case I need to prove that he did, in fact, suggest I’d be fired if I didn’t come in early, and I also get in touch with a union rep whilst I wait for the manager to call back. Ten minutes on the dot later, he does.)

Manager #1: “So, when are you coming today, buddy?”

Me: “I’m not.”

Manager #1: “Excuse me?”

Me: “If firing me means you get your own way and I get the day off to deal with my very serious personal issues properly, then be my guest.”

Manager #1: “So, then, you have to work thirty days and then you go.”

Me: “Actually, you made no reference to that in the previous conversation.”

Manager #1: “Do you think I f****** care? Listen, you will—”

Me: “Sorry, I don’t think you fully understand what I’m trying to explain to you. I will not be coming in today. You know that I have a very serious personal matter that needs to be addressed but still, you decided the best course of action was to give me an ultimatum to either work longer or be fired. No referral at all to the 30-days notice period there. Oh, and I should also let you know a few things. First, that phone conversation has been recorded and this one will be, too. Second, I have time-stamped and screen-grabbed the rota for today’s shift just in case you want to change it. Finally, all this evidence will be submitted to my union rep once we are done here.”

Manager #1: “You are not allowed to record me. It’s illegal.”

Me: “Law states that as long as one person in a phone call is aware of the recording taking place then it is, in fact, legal. Good day, [Manager].” *click*

(I didn’t actually follow through with threatening union involvement. As much of a pig he was, my manager had a family who depended on his paycheck to get by. This still didn’t stop him from calling me all day that week, telling me to come in. I was even asked by [Manager #2] what I wanted from them in order to make the issue go away. But I refused to give in; the damage was already done with those phone calls and to return to working there would have essentially been an admittance of defeat for me.)

(I am a waitress and two older women are seated in my section.)

Me: “Hi, can I start you off with anything to drink?”

Customer #1: “I would love a diet Coke.”

Customer #2: “Oh, yes, that sounds great. I will have one, too, but no ice.”

Me: “No problem. Can I get you anything else?”

([Customer #1] starts asking a few questions about our menu. After about a minute, she seems done with her questions.)

Me: “Can I get you anything else right now?”

Customer #2: “Yes, can I change my mind about my drink?”

Me: “Of course.”

Customer #2: *starts yelling* “Don’t you patronize me with all that ‘of course’ nonsense. Next time I want to tell you that I have changed my mind, you’d better tell me to get over myself and live with my decisions. Got it?”

Me: “Um, yes, ma’am.”

Customer #2: “Good. Now I would like a hot chocolate with only a little whipped cream.”

Me: “Okay, is there anything else you need?”

Customer #1: *not reacting to anything that just happened* “I am ready to order if that’s all right.”

Me: “Sure.”

Customer #2: *calm* “Oh, good, I would like blueberry pancakes.”

(I’m at an ethnic food restaurant; the menu doesn’t have any sort of descriptions of the items.)

Me: *to waitress* “What is an [item]?”

Waitress: “It’s a [slightly different pronunciation].” *stares at me*

Me: *stares back for several seconds* “What is it?”

Waitress: “It’s an [item]!”

Me: “I have no idea what that is.”

Waitress: *explains it to me like I’m three years old instead of just telling me it’s a type of pasta*

A few years ago, I took a trip to NYC with my mom and my cousin. It was a girls’ weekend to celebrate my cousin’s upcoming wedding. We spent the morning shopping and stopped in a family-owned Italian restaurant that was recommended to us. The woman who greeted us was the chef, and her elderly mother who’d started the restaurant was behind the register. There were only five tables in the whole restaurant and we were currently the only customers. 

We’d been seated and were chatting about what we wanted to do that night when my cousin suddenly stood and pointed behind my mom and me. Black smoke had started pouring from a staircase in the hallway that lead to the businesses above that one. Thinking the floor above us must be on fire, my mom ran to the back to grab the chef, while we tried to convince the elderly Italian woman, who it turned out spoke no English, to come outside. She couldn’t see the smoke from her place behind the register and kept swatting us away and scolding us in Italian. 

Finally, my cousin physically picked the lady up. Yes, it was as awkward as it sounds, but thankfully, she was a tiny lady and my cousin was strong. We got her outside and she finally saw the smoke, which was now also streaming out of the windows of the floor above her restaurant. My mom and the chef made it outside right behind us, and the mother and daughter began speaking rapidly in Italian. 

My mom took her phone out to call the fire department, but someone else must have already done that because we heard the sirens coming our way. The fire truck rounded the corner, crushing the front end of a cab in the process. That was something else to see on its own. The passengers in the back of the cab started screaming in panic, and the driver just sat there looking bored, like this happened every day.  

Thankfully, no one was hurt. We didn’t find out what had caused the fire, but at least it didn’t spread beyond the second floor. The chef thanked us for helping them, and her mother kept hugging my cousin and kissing both of her cheeks. The rest of the weekend was uneventful compared to that afternoon, and I’ve always wanted to go back and see if that restaurant was still there.

(When I am younger, and before my doctor orders me not to, I occasionally treat myself to comfort food at the nearby McKing-in-the-Box, Jr. This particular location has a low-priced combo that allows me to get it and a newspaper for an even dollar amount. They also have hired an energetic man with special needs to bus the trash when people leave. On the day in question, I leave my tray with the still-wrapped burger, full bag of fries, pristine LA Times, and my reading glasses on a table and go to fill my drink cup. When I turn around, I see my untouched food and newspaper going into the trash. I yell and am able to save the paper but not the food. The worker is able to comprehend what he did; I am not upset with him as his prime directive is to clear tables when no one is sitting there. What becomes a problem is when I go back to the counter to get replacement food.)

Me: “I need to get my combo meal replaced. Your worker threw mine away before I’d had a bite.”

Worker #2: “That will be [total].”

Me: “No, you don’t understand. I got up to get my drink and your cleaner threw my food away before I’d eaten any of it.”

Worker #2: “Right. That will be [total].”

Me: “GET YOUR MANAGER!”

Manager: “Nice try. People pull that scam all the time. You need to pay.”

Me: “Call him over and ask him. Or better yet, check the trash bin and you’ll see an uneaten and wrapped burger near the top. Come and look.”

(I nearly had to drag him but finally got him to come with me to check, just before someone emptied that trash bin. I did get my replacement food but it was a struggle.)