Unfiltered Story #186880

, , , | Unfiltered | February 14, 2020

My manager has just seated a table in my section, an older woman, her husband, their adult daughter and her toddler. I guess prior to being put in my section, they tried to sit somewhere else but my manager told them that server was just triple sat so she could not put them there. I take their drink order and as I’m preparing it, another server is restocking our salad station where we make toss salads for customers who order them. This is very close to the aforementioned table, raw onion was one of the things that were just filled. I barely get close to the table.

Older Lady: “I smell a gas leak.”

Me: “Oh no, that’s just the onion we have for toss salads in the waitress station, it was just filled.”

Older Lady: “No. I smell gas.”

Me: (I’ll admit that I was short with her when I said this as I found it ridiculous that someone who just came into the building assumed they knew more about the surroundings than someone who was working there) “I assure you, we do not have a gas leak, it’s just onion you smell.”

The rest of their meal went fine, I was pleasant with the rest of our interactions. After leaving them the bill, the older man goes up to pay but I can hear the older lady complaining about something, I’m not close enough to hear her exact words. After they left, I asked my manager what she said and he told me she said that the other manager, the one who sat them, and I were “snippy” with her. He also told me while she was complaining her husband snuck me a tip on the credit card receipt, making sure she didn’t notice.

Sadly, She’s Not Scone Anywhere

, , , , , , | Right | February 14, 2020

When I was a young teen, I worked at a fifties-themed restaurant in our heavily tourist-oriented downtown. I was just the dishwasher and prep cook, and the real star of our little restaurant was our elderly cook.

She made all our fabulous baked goods, soups, desserts, and sauces, and she had “signature” items that drew in a lot of people. She had been a sous-chef at some high-end, fancy restaurant before her age made her look for something less demanding. She was in her 70s, a tough, plainspoken, chain-smoking kitchen genius. One of the things she made better than anyone else was scones.

One busy Sunday morning, she had already worked her hours and gone home. I was alone in the kitchen, since the fry cook had left for a bathroom break and the restaurant’s owner was up front handling the cash register.

Suddenly, a very large, loud woman in a vividly red dress barged into the kitchen and started yelling at me that she wanted the cook’s scone recipe. She forced me into a corner and kept screaming in my face about how she came to Stratford every year and how the cook always refused to share her recipe.

I was only fourteen and a rather timid, shy fourteen at that, and the woman’s yelling, flailing arms, and intrusion into my physical space had me scared, flustered, and close to tears.

The business’s owner heard the woman yelling even over the din of a full restaurant and ran into the kitchen. Seeing what was going on, she grabbed the screeching woman by the neck of her dress and bodily hauled her out of the restaurant. As she frog-marched the woman out, she yelled into her ear, “I will not have anyone coming into my restaurant, barging into my kitchen, and abusing my staff! Get out! If I ever see you back here again, I’ll have you charged with trespassing!”

The owner then came back into the kitchen and calmed me down. She told me that this woman was an American tourist who came every summer and always tried some ugly tactic to attempt to get the cook to part with the recipe. She had already tried bribing her, waiting until the end of her shift and following her to her home, and even threatening her. The cook had always managed to send her packing with her typical snarkiness.

She also told me that the only reason the cook wouldn’t give her the recipe is that it required steps to be done in perfect order, with exact timing, and with a very light touch, and she doubted the screaming, overly-entitled tourist nutbar could manage it… and she was just the type to sue her if her attempts at the recipe failed.

We never saw the insane tourist harpy again, thankfully.

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Unfiltered Story #186868

, , | Unfiltered | February 13, 2020

(I work in a cross between a diner and a fast food place. We make everything as the order is taken, which means that if we’re busy there is a huge line of tickets up. One night there are 15 or 20 up, along with a huge line.)
Customer: “Excuse me, ma’am?”
Me: “Yes, can I help you?”
Customer: “That sandwich you’ve got up there-”
Me: “Uh, what sandwich?”
Customer: “The hamburger. Don’t put lettuce and tomato on it.”
*she leaves*
Me: “Right, well, if I see a hamburger and it says lettuce and tomato, it’s getting lettuce and tomato.

When Online Doesn’t Give You A Hint

, , , , | Right | February 12, 2020

(I host at a restaurant that closes in the middle of the day for a kitchen shift change. Sometimes we have beverage service, but other times we have private events. One Saturday afternoon, we have a large bridal shower that can easily be seen from outside. I watch a customer read the sign that says we have a private event and the sign that says our hours. He walks in anyway.)

Customer: *loudly* “Table for two, please.”

Me: *attempting to usher him out of the party’s way* “I’m sorry, but we’re actually closed right now for a private event. We reopen at [time] for dinner service.”

Customer: “So, I can’t be seated?”

Me: “No, sir.”

Customer: “Can I get something to go?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, the kitchen is closed.”

Customer: “But they have food!”

Me: “That is because they’re a part of a private bridal shower.”

Customer: “Oh… This is why I couldn’t make an online reservation, right?”

Me: “Yes, sir. Thanks for stopping by.”

(This happens EVERY weekend!)

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The Manager Sounds Like A Broken Record-ing

, , , , , , , | Working | February 12, 2020

(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.)

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