(I am the night shift manager at a fast food restaurant. The corporate office had just started a new advertising campaign, and while not openly sexual, it is filled with innuendo. I get a phone call about 10 minutes before closing.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Restaurant]. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I AM REALLY PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW! My children were watching TV this afternoon when your commercial came on. I cannot believe you would expose my kids to sex like that. I want you to take the commercial down, RIGHT NOW!”

Me: “Sir, this is a local store, so it has no control over the TV ads. The corporate office in Southern California produces and purchase all the advertising time for all of [Restaurant]. I would be happy pass of your name and number; that way they can put you in touch with the appropriate person.”

Caller: “THAT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH! I want this ad taken off TV right now. You need to get on the phone and call the TV station and tell them to pull this filth off the TV, RIGHT NOW!”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, sir, but I’m just a shift manager at a local store. We are a franchise location with no direct link to the corporate office in Southern California. I simply do not have the authority to make anyone pull these ads, nor does anyone else at this location. The franchise office might be able to help you. Their number is [number], and they open at eight am. You can tell them how you feel in the morning.”

Caller: “HOW CAN YOU ALLOW MY CHILDREN TO BE EXPOSED TO THIS SMUT?! If you cared about your customers you wouldn’t hide behind “authority.” You would listen to your customers, do your job, and have this smut pulled from the TV, RIGHT NOW!”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, sir, but—”

Caller: “BUT NOTHING. GET IT PULLED RIGHT NOW!”

Me: “Sir, I’m a 19 year old college student working at a fast food joint. I agree with you that the new ad campaign is kind of inappropriate, but the TV networks simply aren’t going to allow me to call them up at 11:50 at night and have them pull advertisement paid for by someone else. If you give me your name and number I will ask the franchise office to contact you tomorrow, or you can call them at [number], or you can call the corporate office in Southern California at [a phone number I’m never supposed to give out], or you can even file a complaint with the Federal Communications Commission.”

Caller: “I WANT IT OFF THE AIR NOW! If you cared about my kids or your job, you would do it NOW! IF YOU DON’T DO IT NOW, I WILL GET YOU FIRED!”

Me: “Okay, sir, I will pass on your complaint.”

Caller: *all of a sudden he speaks in an almost hushed tone* “You know you’re going to Hell now, right…?” *click*

(I work in a restaurant at a popular ski resort. This story happens in the middle of the day during the week. A man walks up to me when we’re very slow.)

Customer: “Hi, are you guys open?”

(We are obviously open, even though we aren’t busy.)

Me: “Yep! Were you looking to sit down and eat?”

Customer: “No, I wanna sit at the bar.”

Me: “All right, I’ll go find the bartender.”

(I walked away and got one of the servers to help him, as I couldn’t find the bartender.)

Server: “What can I do for you?”

Customer: “Can I have a [Draft Beer]? It won’t be here long. ”

(The server turns around to ring him up. Once she turns around, the beer is gone. He pays and leaves quickly.)

Me: “…What just happened?”

Server: “I wish I knew.”

(We’re a sit-down restaurant with a specific take out procedure. People call the hostess stand, I get them a server to take their order, and then the manager has to come up front to take the money when they arrive to pick up their food. It’s something this restaurant has been doing for years and it isn’t going to change unless the owner croaks or sells the place. One woman calls in every weekend, at our busiest hour and here is what usually happens:)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Restaurant] in [Town]. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Get me a manager.”

Me: “Okay. Can I have your name?”

Customer: “Oh, my god, IT’S [Customer]. I JUST WANT TO ORDER MY FOOD!”

Me: “Okay, I’ll get him right on.”

(As I go to get the manager on the floor, she hangs up. The phone rings again.)

Me: “Thank you for calling the—”

Customer: “I JUST WANT TO ORDER MY FOOD. CAN I DO THAT? PLEASE? WHY DO YOU HAVE ALL THESE RULES? THEY MAKE EVERYTHING SO DIFFICULT!”

(I get her a server to take her order over the phone, and they tell her the food will be ready in twenty minutes since we’re so busy. Once it’s done, the server brings her meal up to the front desk — where it sits and waits for her to come, fifteen minutes after it’s been made. Finally she arrives.)

Me: “Good morning, miss—”

Customer: “Can I pay you?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I’m sorry. I can’t touch the money. I don’t even have a key to the register.”

Customer: “WELL, THIS IS RIDICULOUS! I’M STANDING UP HERE AND I CAN’T PAY YOU AND MY FOOD’S GETTING COLD! THESE RULES ARE HORRIBLE AND RIDICULOUS AND AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO COMPLAINS ABOUT THIS BECAUSE THIS IS THE DUMBEST—” *the manager arrives* “Hiiiiii, how ya doing? You know, these procedures are just stupid. You have too many rules. You should just—”

Manager: “Thank you for waiting. Here’s your food, and have a nice day.”

(Later that evening, we have a promotional sale so the restaurant is packed and hectic. Servers who were supposed to be cut aren’t; servers who are coming in don’t know where to take tables. Since the other hostess hasn’t come in yet, I’m rushing to seat people and tell servers who’s got what. Our problem customer then stumbles back in the door, and walks past me, sits herself in an empty table in a section with no server, and then starts waving at me.)

Customer: “Hey, can you get me a sundae?”

Me: “Hold on, I’ll get you a server—”

Customer: “I JUST WANT A SUNDAE. CAN YOU GET ME AN ICE CREAM SUNDAE?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m not a server. I don’t handle the food. I have to get one for you. Just give me a minute and I’ll—”

Customer: “I JUST WANT AN ICE CREAM SUNDAE! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE THINGS SO DIFFICULT! ALL OF THESE RULES ARE SO—”

(At this point I just walk away; I have too many people to sit. Fortunately, the other hostess walks in and manages to get the customer a server as I am seating someone else, but later that customer works her way back up to the register.)

Customer: “Can I pay you?”

Me: “Ma’am, you pay your server at the table—”

Customer: “Oh, my god. ALL OF THESE RULES ARE SO RIDICULOUS! HOW DO YOU EVEN STAY IN BUSINESS? ALL OF THESE RULES ARE TERRIBLE FOR BUSINESS AND TURN PEOPLE AWAY! I JUST WANT TO PAY FOR MY SUNDAE AND YOU’RE MAKING EVERYTHING SO HARD!

(The manager comes up and tries to explain things.)

Manager: “Miss, we use server-banking here. You pay them at the table, not me.”

Customer: “But these rules are so horrible! You have too many, all of this waiting and waiting. Can I just pay you, please? I JUST WANT TO PAY FOR MY ICE CREAM!”

(The manager rang her up at the front and she whined the whole time until she left. I feel bad for her server, because I’m pretty sure she didn’t leave a tip. It just floors me that this woman would go to a restaurant and think that PAYING THE SERVER is “too much protocol.”)

(I am an employee at a burger place.)

Customer: “Hi, do you have any vegan beef patties?”

Me: “Well, we offer a veggie burger and a tofu burger.”

Customer: “No, I want beef.”

Me: “Yes, we have beef patties…”

Customer: “Okay, but do you have vegan beef patties?”

Me: “No…”

Customer: “Ugh, why is it so hard to find?!”

This story is part of our Vegan Roundup!

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(I am at an Easter brunch with my family. Our waiter is a Hispanic man who introduces himself as David. A few minutes later, this happens:)

Uncle: “Okay, José, we’re ready to order!”

Mother: “I thought he said his name was David.”

Uncle: “Oh, they all just give out American names so people won’t be racist. He knows who I mean.”

David: “Well, my name is actually David, but what can I get you?”

Uncle: “Sure it is!” *winks*

(When David brings the food.)

Uncle: “Thanks, José!”

Me: *cringing* “His name is David.”

Uncle: “He doesn’t mind, right, José?”

David: *mostly to me and my mother* “It’s fine.”

(After the meal, I went back and left an extra $20 as a tip. Wherever you are, David, I’m sorry that my uncle is a racist jerk.)