I work at a small local sushi restaurant as a waiter. A woman came in, took around ten minutes to decide on her order, then said:

Customer: “I want the fresh tuna and avocado medium roll and [a few other items] for take away.” 

As fresh tuna is fairly uncommon for customers around our area, I checked it with her twice. Both times she replied yes, even giving me the eye roll when I was confirming it with her the second time.

Anyhow, she comes back with her little son later to pick up her order, and I read the items again before handing over her rolls following her confirmation. All was well until about thirty minutes later she came back:

Customer: “I never ordered fresh tuna! I ordered cooked tuna! My son doesn’t eat raw.”

Me: “Ma’am, with all due respect, I remember clearly how you said ‘fresh’ tuna, not cooked. I even checked it with you three times, twice when you were ordering and once before you left.”

Before I even complete my sentence, she starts to go off.

Customer: “No, I ordered cooked. I would never order fresh. Are you talking back to me? Do you want an argument? Are you really about to lose a customer for this ridiculous reason?”

I was so lost for words, as I was actually planning on offering her a free replacement roll with cooked tuna, as this was for her little son. Anyways, after listening to her rant, I told her:

Me: “Ma’am, I am more than happy to replace the roll for you. I was just pointing out I checked it with you three times with YOUR confirmation.”

Customer: “Well, are you trying to point the blame on me? That is an unacceptable behaviour, and you should never treat your customer that way.”

She and her son left.

Although that encounter just ruined my day’s mood, there was one table of two ladies dining in whilst this happened, and when the takeaway lady left, they both turned to me saying, “It’s not your fault, she’s just an entitled b****,” which sort of made me feel better.

I’m the idiot customer here. I’m in Edinburgh for the Arts Festival and Fringe, and many of the Fringe shows are in student union buildings, so I decided to take advantage of student union food prices and have dinner while I’m there.

This particular building has a QR code that lets you order from your phone; just enter the table number on the website. So, I do that, pay, and get a drink while I’m waiting, and start reading NAR on my phone (really!)

It occurs to me that it’s been a while. I look up, and there’s a waitress two tables away asking if they ordered anything. I can’t make out if it’s what I ordered, but it looks like it might be. I consider making myself known, but my anxiety kicks in, and I decide to wait. She’ll probably approach me next anyway.

She doesn’t. She disappears, possibly to the lower level of the seating area. I’m perplexed. Did I put the right table number in? Must have, right? It’s right in front of me. Yes, it’s upside-down from where I’m sitting, but even a dyscalculic like me can read a three-figure number upside down, especially when it’s as straightforward as 211…

…Wait. I surely didn’t…?

I go back into my emails and check the confirmation. Yep, I looked at the upside-down number and turned each digit round in my head individually. She’s looking for table 112.

After a bit more anxiety, I try to find her again. I can’t. I see the serving hatch and force myself to go there and explain that I’m an idiot. The nice woman there says she’ll try to get it sorted. A security guard then stops me on the way back to my table, double-checks my story, and goes off to find her. Eventually, the security guard, the nice woman from the serving hatch, and the waitress all converge, and I get my food. I thank everyone and apologise again.

And then I realise that I missed that it comes with fries when I ordered an extra serving of fries. I don’t care. I’m not making things any more complicated by bringing this up, and after all that, I feel like I need extra fries anyway.

I approached a group of diners at a table and placed cutlery down.

Me: “Hey guys! How are we doing today?”

I tried to make eye contact with everyone. My eyes met this man’s, maybe fifty years old.

Like slow motion, his grubby man-child fingers started to rise, towards my nose in a pinching formation. I didn’t realize at first what he was doing, until his hand was near my chin. I RECOILED, unable to hide the utter confusion, disgust, and genuine horror on my face.

This man, his eyes locked on mine, asks, regarding my septum ring.

Customer: “What’s that? Something to pull on?”

Utter and visceral shock. I work in a sports bar. I’ve had weird comments, gross stares, and uncomfortably rejected people. Never has a grown man tried to pull on my facial piercings in front of his wife and children.

I had no words that wouldn’t have gotten me fired. I turned and walked out back, the pale horror on my face. [Coworker] asked what happened, and my ranting started, because what else do I do? We all had a solid laugh about it, and I went back out, said something like:

Me: “Anyways! What can I get you?”

And served them like it never happened. His poor daughter was mortified. Makes me have a crazy theory this wasn’t the first time.

I didn’t tell management, but I’m fairly certain if I’d gone to them, they’d have kicked him out. I have a good relationship with one manager, and she actually didn’t even know it happened until a few months later, because I just never brought it up. 

If it happened now, I 100% would not tolerate it. They’re actually pretty good for banning people. We have quite the roster of people who are just told “OUT!” when they enter.

I was training a new server. He asked me not once, not twice, but three times:

New Server: “What’s the difference between honey mustard and regular mustard?”

I did my best to explain to him, then he asked me his follow-up question:

New Server: “So… what’s the difference between honey mustard and ranch?”

Me: “Ranch is buttermilk, salt, garlic, onion, black pepper, chives, parsley, and dill. Honey mustard is honey… mustard… mayonnaise.”

New Server: “Why can’t we just have one sauce?”

Me: “If you’re struggling to remember the sauces and what goes in them, I can make up a cheat sheet for you. You can have it under your notepad. It helps to remember all the flavor profiles for the customers.”

New Server: “That’s the problem I’m having.”

Me: “What problem? Customers?”

New Server: “No, flavors. I don’t really do flavors. I like chicken nuggets and sweet chili dip. That’s it. I don’t really eat anything else.”

Me: “Then why are you working in a restaurant if you don’t ‘do flavor’?”

New Server: “This place serves the best chicken nuggets!”

A restaurant I worked at used to have two-hour breaks on some days, and it would confuse customers all the time. This was despite a huge sign with all the times on the front door 

Sometimes I’d stay behind for those two hours and take a nap. For those two hours, all the lights would be off, and the blinds and curtains would be closed. It’s basically pitch black inside. The door would always be closed for those two hours, and there would be the occasional door-pulling sounds from customers who are blind and can’t see that the restaurant is pitch black and closed, but nothing too crazy. 

One time, a coworker came in and forgot to lock it back up during the break. This resulted in a customer walking inside the PITCH BLACK restaurant, across to me, and aggressively tugging my shoulder to WAKE ME UP!

Customer: “Excuse me!”

Me: “What the h***?! You just woke me up!”

Customer: “Are… you… open?!”

Me: “You just had to wake me up in a pitch-black room; what do you think?!”

Customer: “Well, your generation is always so lazy, so I was thinking maybe—”

Me: “—Get… out!”

I have never kicked someone out faster in my life. They did not come back when we reopened.