(I work in a relatively pricey restaurant popular with foreigners and expats. We are a street-level venue in a very tall building with a five-star hotel occupying the top floors. I am serving a regular woman who is well-known among the staff for being demanding.)

Customer: “Yes, I will have my usual lunch plate, with—“

(Suddenly, the whole room starts shaking. Manila is being rocked by what I will later discover is a 7.1 earthquake. Earthquakes aren’t entirely uncommon in The Philippines, but this is the strongest Manila has had in a long while. The lights are shaking, some people are screaming, and some plates and cutlery fall to the ground, some smashing. Astonishingly, while I am holding on to the table to stop from falling over, this customer is continuing her order as if nothing is happening.)

Customer: “—with orange juice, and an extra side of ham.”

(She notices my blank look.)

Customer: “Well? Aren’t you going to get my order?”

Me: “Ma’am, we are experiencing a severe earthquake! In these circumstances, we will have to evacuate the building.”

(The customer looks around with disinterest and only then seems to notice the ensuing chaos. She sniffs.)

Customer: “Hmm, yes. Anyway, my lunch?”

Me: *noticing that an evacuation of the restaurant has started in earnest* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we will all have to evacuate the building.”

Customer: “Why?!”

Me: “Because of the earthquake!”

Customer: “Oh, it’ll stop in a minute! Stop fussing.” *shows off her crucifix necklace* “Earthquakes are the last sign of the apocalypse, not the first. Let me know when there’s a great flood, and then you can skip my lunch!”

(At that exact moment, with God-given perfect timing — pun intended — the earthquake has shaken the rooftop infinity pool on the luxury hotel so much that a dramatic amount of the water had cascaded over the side of the building. With what can only be described as a cacophonous splash, we both look outside to see Noah’s Flood in miniature playing out on the street outside while bystanders run away in a panic. I stare pointedly at the woman.)

Customer: “Fine. I’ll take it to go.”

(My family goes to an Italian restaurant for my 14th birthday. I am really excited to have an arrabiata dish, since I had it once on holiday and loved it, but haven’t had it since then. Unfortunately, it was on an outdated menu but is not on their current one.)

Me: “I’ll just pick something else.”

Dad: “I could ask the waiter.”

Me: “No, it’s okay. It’s not on the menu; we can’t ask them.”

(The waiter comes over and the rest of my family places their orders.)

Dad: “I don’t suppose you do any other items that aren’t on the menu?” *explains*

Waiter: “I could always try asking.”

(The waiter disappears into the kitchen. I’m feeling a little embarrassed at the idea of causing a fuss. The waiter comes back, and I fully expect him to say that they can’t make it.)

Waiter: “Our head chef says he can make it and says it would be [standard price for pasta meal].”

Me: “Oh, thank you so much!”

(I still felt bad that they had to go out of their way for me, but the meal was absolutely delicious! My dad gave them a big tip and we even met the head chef, who gave my brother – an aspiring chef – some advice. To this day, that is the best restaurant I’ve ever eaten at. No wonder business is still good there!)

My family and I were sitting down to eat at a pretty popular barbecue joint.

In a booth a few feet away was a middle-aged couple talking to a friend of theirs over the walkie-talkie function of the gentleman’s cellphone at max volume.

The rest of the diners and staff were clearly annoyed, but the couple was so engrossed in their conversation they had no idea how ticked off everyone was getting.

Finally, my father got up and sat down right behind them, leaning over the man’s shoulder.

The man said, “Excuse me?”

My dad said, “Sorry, but I just couldn’t quite make out what you guys were saying, but since you wanted us all to hear I just had to come over.”

The couple practically ran out of there while the dining room cheered.

(My teacher’s wife works at an Italian restaurant. One day, a woman comes and orders gluten-free bowtie pasta. She is shocked when she receives her order.)

Woman: “What is this?”

Wife: “I’m sorry, miss, but we were out of gluten-free bowtie pasta, so we had to substitute gluten-free penne. We hope that’s not a problem. Everything in your dish is the same except the shape of the noodles.”

Woman: “But I wanted bowtie.”

Wife: “I understand that. We’ll stock up on it as soon as we can, and we’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

Woman: “You’re discriminating against me because I have celiac disease.”

Wife: “I assure you, we’re not.”

Woman: “This is unfair.”

Wife: *annoyed* “Okay, try putting things in perspective. It’s bowtie pasta. Please try to deal with it.”

(I am a hostess at a popular breakfast restaurant in town. We have a beautiful patio with a huge tree over the top. Unfortunately, a large, vindictive crow has made a nest right above a table and has started pooping on people sitting at that table in order to assert its territory. We also, unfortunately, have a very abusive regular our boss won’t let us not serve. Yes, all of what he says here is roughly true, as far as I can remember it.)

Me: “Welcome to [Restaurant]. Would you like to sit inside or on our patio today?”

Abusive Regular: “Where do you think I’d like to sit? God, you people are idiots.”

Me: “Ooookay. I’ll get you on the list for the patio right away, sir.”

Abusive Regular: “NO. YOU WILL SIT ME NOW. I’VE GIVEN THIS RESTAURANT A LOT OF BUSINESS, SO YOU WON’T PUT ME ON A LIST. YOU WILL SEAT ME OUTSIDE NOW.”

Boss: “Just seat him. Don’t put him on the list. I think #4 is free.”

(#4 is not the nicest table outside. That table is reserved for directly under the bird. I go to seat him elsewhere.)

Abusive Regular: “THE F*** ARE YOU DOING SEATING ME HERE? THIS TABLE SUCKS! I WANT THAT TABLE!” *points to the Bird Table* “Why do I keep coming back if they keep hiring morons like you?”

Me: “Right away, sir.”

(I quietly seated him at the Bird Table. Five minutes later, he came in screaming because the crow had just pooped on him. We never saw him again, and I got double tip-out for a week. Don’t piss off the hosting staff at a restaurant. We might give you exactly what you asked for.)