A Buffet Of Entitlement

, , , , | Right | February 16, 2021

It is the middle of quarantine. Most restaurants are closed, but mine is open with limited seating. I work at a pizza restaurant that typically has a buffet but is shut down at the moment for health reasons.

Customer: “I need six for the buffet.” 

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Due to the health crisis, we aren’t currently having the buffet.”

Customer: “What?! Well, then what are we supposed to do?”

Me: “You can still order pizzas and dine in; we just don’t have the buffet.”

Customer: “So we’re just supposed to order and share? What are we supposed to do if everyone wants a different kind?”

Me: “We can do half and half or personal sizes.”

Customer: “No, that won’t do. This is ridiculous that you expect us to come and share like that. You should have your buffet open!”

Me: “Well, like I said, this is because we are in the middle of a health crisis and it is unsafe for us to have it open.”

Customer’s Friend: *Throws their hands up* “Well, we’re going to [Competitor]!” 

They all stormed out. I’m still wondering how those people order pizza at places that don’t have buffets.

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This Meal Has Kicked The Bucket

, , , , , | Right | February 15, 2021

I’m eating at a local restaurant that has a metal bucket with a roll of paper towels and condiments on every table. While we are enjoying our meal, I notice a woman moving quickly through the crowd toward the restrooms, dragging a small child by the hand. Just past my table, the kid puts on the brakes, looks up, and starts doing that thing people do when they are trying not to puke but are going to fail.

The man at the next table over shoves a bucket into the kid’s hands just in time. I didn’t even see him move, but judging by the condiments scattered around his table, he must have dumped his bucket and handed it to the kid, and just kept on eating like nothing had happened.

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A Porch Choice Of Seating

, , , , , , , | Right | February 15, 2021

There are a few outside tables spread out for social distancing. A customer wanders indoors.

Waiter: “Ma’am, I’m afraid we don’t have any indoor seating.”

Customer: “Oh, I know, but no one came by to give us menus, so I wanted to see if we’re supposed to order inside or something.”

Waiter: “I’m sorry about that; I’ll bring your menus right out. Which table are you at?”

Customer: “The one on the porch.”

Waiter: “The one… Can you point it out to me?”

Customer: “Yeah, but I can’t see it from here. On the porch, around to the left?”

Waiter: “Around to the left… Ma’am, that’s not part of [Restaurant]. I’m pretty sure that’s just someone’s house.”

Customer: “Oh, God! The waitress said we could sit anywhere, and I guess we just… we might have taken that too literally.”

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Ms. Snobby Salsa

, , | Right | February 11, 2021

I work at a popular Mexican restaurant that has you build your meal as you go. I’m at the salsa station when this occurs.

Me: “Hello, ma’am. Would you like mild, medium, or hot salsa?”

Customer: “You know those aren’t even real salsas, right?”

I have a slight chuckle as this is not the first time I’ve heard this.

Me: “Well, it’s pico de gallo for sure, but the medium and hot are pretty close.”

Customer: “Pico isn’t real salsa, either; it’s just a topping. Those aren’t even real red and green salsas made with chilies. Why would [Restaurant] lie to their customers?”

Me: *Now feeling anxious* “We try to be as real as possible. So, mild, medium, or hot salsa?”

Customer: “You know I could just go to the supermarket around the corner and get a salsa more real than these and just put it on my food, right?”

Me: *Getting fed up* “Yes. Yes, you can, ma’am. There’s nothing stopping you. Now, would you like any salsa on your meal?”

Customer: “No, I don’t think I want any of your fake salsa. Just give me lettuce and cheese, and I’m done with you.”

She stuck her snobby nose up and walked towards the register while I finished her meal. After paying, she just walked away, glaring at me the whole time.

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Yes, I Would Ducking Eat That

, , , | Right | February 10, 2021

I work in a very upscale Michelin-starred restaurant in wine country. A guest orders the duck, medium-rare. It is my table, but, I’ll admit, I stand aside and watch this happen, laughing. Our food runner is maybe twenty-one years old.

Customer: “This is raw. Would you want this?!”

Food Runner:  “Um… I don’t know.”

Customer: “You’d eat this? You’d f****** eat this?”

The customer slaps the slice of duck on his bread plate.

Customer: “You’d f****** eat this?!”

Food Runner: “No…?”

The customer throws the duck on the tablecloth.

Customer: “This is disgusting!”

At this point, his wife is hiding her head in her hands, I’m laughing out of sight, and my manager has emerged, looking sad.

The manager escorts the duck man into the lobby and speaks to him for about ten minutes; I can’t hear what’s said, but I can hear yelling. Angry Ducky sits back down quietly, poking morosely at his food, which we did temp up to medium-well. Then, a guest on the table next to him speaks up.

Polite Customer: “Well, my duck was delicious.”

Day. Made. Yelly McGee stormed out shortly after; his wife apologized and tipped well.

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