Will Not Tip-Toe Around Mother

, , , , , , | Right | December 2, 2019

I’ve spent nearly ten years working at a popular gas station in my city, and I’ve gotten to know many customers in that time. One girl, only a few years younger than me, comes in several times a week and we always chat if I have the time. I learn that she is a waitress at my favorite restaurant, though I’ve never been in while she was working; she works evenings, and I only go in mornings or mid-afternoons.

She always laughs and tells me to come by when she is working and sit in her section so she can have one stress-free table for once, and I tell her that as soon as I feel like leaving my house at night, I will. 

A couple of months later, in January, we have our massive birthday celebration for the seven family members who have birthdays all within a couple of weeks of each other. We go to a restaurant that I’ve never been in before, and my mother proceeds to make a fuss over everything to the poor waitress.

The waitress gets our drinks but gives a few to the wrong people, and our food has to come out in waves because we are a table of nearly thirty. When my mom threatens to not tip if the waitress doesn’t “get her act together,” I slam my drink down, stand, throw my napkin onto her plate, and storm out, making her chase me down.

I explain to her that she’s ruined my portion of the celebration and I’m not going to speak to her for a long time after this. She understands she’s screwed up and offers to take me to my favorite restaurant that evening. It’s pretty expensive, but she promises to pay for everything and tip well. I accept.

We get seated, and when the waitress comes for our drink order, it’s my customer! She is thrilled to finally have me as a customer, and she goes above and beyond. It’s a good evening all around, much better than earlier, and when she comes to ask if we want dessert, I turn it down. As she begins to collect plates, it comes up that it’s my birthday. When she comes back with our ticket, there’s a takeout container that she gives to me. It’s a slice of my favorite dessert! She paid for it out of her tip money as a birthday present for me.

It really made up for earlier.

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There Is Mushroom For Improvement, Part 5  

, , , , , , | Working | December 2, 2019

While on a family vacation, we stop to see my cousin graduate from college and have dinner with the rest of our family before spending the night in Tallahassee, and then continuing to drive north. The restaurant we stop at is an Italian one, and has high praise from the local community, so we are pretty excited to go.

We’re seated and we order, and my mom specifies no mushrooms on her steak. She’s anaphylactic and her food even touching mushrooms could kill her. 

Within twenty minutes the food is here, and as per my mom’s request, there are extra mushrooms. The steak is covered in them, and she is having a hard time breathing with it on the table. We call the waiter over and explain once more, and he apologizes and brings it back to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, her steak is back, with the mushrooms shoddily scraped off. Some are still on the plate, and it’s clear that they don’t understand the meaning of “deathly allergic.”

It’s sent back again, and finally, they give her a new steak once everyone else is done and we’ve already paid. They try charging us for three steaks despite what seemed to be a failed murder attempt, but my mom won’t pay.

They do nothing about the incident until my cousin leaves a scathing review on Google and they are forced to retrain all of their staff on allergy management. I’m assuming someone got fired that night.

Related:
There Is Mushroom For Improvement, Part 4
There Is Mushroom For Improvement, Part 3
There Is Mushroom For Improvement, Part 2

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Making Italy Great Again  

, , , , | Right | December 2, 2019

Hostess: *in Italian* “Hello, sir, welcome to [Restaurant]!”

Customer: *in English* “Godd*** it, speak English, for God’s sake! Stop this barbaric dead language!”

Hostess: *switching to English* “I’m sorry, sir, but this is Rome, and most people here speak Italian.”

Customer: “Why? They should speak the good, proper language of English, not this freak stuff.”

Hostess: “But, sir, we are in Italy. Most everyone here speaks the language of our country.”

Customer: “Well, they shouldn’t. They’re just dumb to not learn our language as well as their own.”

Hostess: “Well, sir, how many languages do you know?”

Customer: “Just English. Good old English, like we all should.”

Hostess: “Well, I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot serve bigoted a**holes. Goodbye.”

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Not Thankful They Are Four Hours Late

, , , , , | Right | November 28, 2019

(It is 4:00 pm and I am managing at a restaurant on Thanksgiving, but it is so busy that I have to take over seating. We have been completely booked for over a week, but guests can wait two hours for an opening. As I’m talking to a guest, a very rude lady pushes her way through a huge line of about nine people.)

Me: “Hello. I’ll be happy to help you, but you’ll have to wait your turn.”

Old Lady: “No. I have a reservation. My family is now here. Seat us now.”

Me: “Ma’am, most of these people here have reservations, so if you could please wai—“

Old Lady: *cursing in Spanish at me* “No! Seat me now!”

Me: *rolls my eyes and agrees with the thought of giving her the worst table possible* “What name is it under?”

Old Lady: *gives first and last name*

Me: “Ma’am, there is no reservation under that name. Was it under someone else’s?”

Old Lady: “Are you not listening to me? Are you r******d?!”

Me: *cringes at that word* “What time did you make the reservation for?”

Old Lady: “Noon, but it was for eight, and now we’re ten.”

Me: “Ma’am, that was four hours ago. Not only did we try to call you and then wait twenty minutes, but we gave your table to the next group waiting.”

Old Lady: *looking completely shocked* “What?! Why would you do something like that?! It’s my table! I can come whatever time I want!”

Me: “Ma’am, you made it for 12:00 pm. We only allow a two-hour time frame for a party of eight.”

Old Lady: “That’s ridiculous! Who eats Thanksgiving dinner at 12:00 pm? That’s not even a normal time!”

Me: “It’s the time you requested.”

Old Lady: “Yes, but that’s because it was the only slots you had left. This is the hostess’s fault!”

(After looking up who made the reservation, I see it was me. Thanksgiving is a huge holiday so no screw-ups are allowed because of not checking a simple thing.)

Me: “Ma’am, I can put your name down, but you may have to wait up to two hours.”

Old Lady: “No… you obviously don’t know what you’re doing. I want to talk to the manager.”

Me: “I am the manager on the floor today. You set your time at 12:00 pm. You didn’t show, you didn’t answer our calls, nor did you call to confirm the reservation. So, unfortunately, all I can do is put you on a wait list.”

Old Lady: “Fine. But this is certainly not my fault. I expect free appetizers and dessert. I also want that room with the Pope’s head on the round table.”

Me: “Ma’am, none of those is a possibility. This was your mistake and your mistake only. I’ll see if I can have your family of ten sit together, but again, it may be over two hours.”

Old Lady: “You’d better do as I say, or I’ll call corporate.”

Me: *pretty tired of the back and forth* “Great. Tell them I said hi. I have you down on the waitlist. Now, if you could please move so I can take the people who were here before you, who actually decided to show up to the reservation they made weeks prior so they could eat Thanksgiving at a ‘normal’ time…” *I talk to the person behind her* “Hello, sir! Name?”

(I should mention I was pregnant, as well. I had no patience after working from 10:00 am to 11:00 pm, on my feet after closing the night before. I honestly didn’t care if I lost my job, but my GM heard the whole thing and thought it was hilarious.)

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Giving Voice To Stupid Complaints

, , , , | Right | November 27, 2019

(I work at a fast food sandwich shop. I come out of the back room and hear an irate customer talking to my coworker. I decide to watch, because she can get rather sassy with rude customers.)

Coworker: “Would you like anything else on this?”

Customer: “Could you not talk like that?”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, I’m recovering from a cold, so my voice is a little hoarse.”

Customer: “Your voice is really annoying me.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, I can’t speak any differently until my cold is completely gone.”

Customer: “Your voice is getting really d*** annoying!” *points at me* “You, finish my sandwich. I’m done with her.”

(The customer immediately became very polite once my coworker went into the back room. I finished up the sandwich and rang her up.)

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