In The Navy, His Fate is Sealed

, , , | Right | November 21, 2010

(The restaurant is near a Navy base and therefore, sometimes, sailors and officers off-duty come to eat. A man and his girlfriend come in. They haven’t reserved a table, are rude and snotty with my coworkers, complain a lot about the food, talk loudly, and sometimes mock the other customers. My manager decides that enough is enough when the man lights a cigarette after requesting his bill.)

Manager: “Sir, you can’t smoke here.”

Customer: “Yes, I can.”

Manager: “Sir, you’re in a smoke-free zone. Either go away or put out this cigarette.”

(The customer gets up. He’s clearly taller and larger than the manager and glances at him.)

Customer: “Buddy, listen. I’m a Navy’s lieutenant, so I’m not going to take crap from civvies. Just shut up and let me smoke.”

(At this point, I decide to call the police when I notice another customer with his family getting up and going straight to the troublemaker.)

Customer #2: “Did I hear you’re in the Navy?”

Customer: “Yeah, so?”

Customer #2: “You work at the base here?”

Customer: “What? Get the f*** out, you d*** civvie!”

Customer #2: “You know [Name]?”

Customer: “Who the f*** are you and what the f*** do you want?”

Customer #2: “Do you know [Name]?”

Customer: “[Name] is my superior!”

Customer #2: “Well, I’m HIS superior, and as soon as I’m out of here, I’ll make sure he lights your a** up.”

(The second customer pulls out a military ID and shows it to him. The troublemaking customer goes white, apologizes profusely to the manager and the customer, pays his bill, and storms off with his girl WHILE SOBBING. Turns out the man showed him his military ID, and he’s a Navy’s rear-admiral. Needless to say, we gave a huge discount to the officer.)

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Intelligence Levels Are Falling

| Adirondacks, New York, USA | Right | November 16, 2010

(It is the peak of foliage in the fall. We’ve just had a few massive rain storms and lost a lot of the leaves that had already changed.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [lodge], how can I help you?”

Customer: “We wanted to come up and stay to check out the foliage. About how far would you say you are from peak?”

Me: “Well, we were probably about a week away, but after recent storms we lost a lot of the leaves.”

Customer: “About how many would you say you lost?”

Me:”Um, I would say maybe half?”

Customer: “Do you think you’ll be getting any more?”

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A Large Can Of Whoop-A** And A Side Of Just Desserts

, , , | Australia | Right | November 11, 2010

(Around my restaurant area a lot of kids hang out, most of whom are the unfavorable type. This day in particular, one of them decides to open the door and swear at everyone inside.)

Kid: “All of you are f***ing b****es!”

(We ignore it and try to continue work as if nothing happened.)

Kid: “F*** you, f***ing pigs!”

(We ignore it again and this repeats for another two times. I am getting very annoyed.)

Kid: “Girls should stay in the kitchen!”

Me: “Hey, stop that or I’ll call security.”

Kid: *looks at me up and down* “Whatever! I bet you want to do me, don’t you?”

(The kid continues to talk dirty and make gestures to me, so I cut it off there.)

Me: “Get out of here before I start breaking your legs.”

(The kid looks shocked, probably because he didn’t expect anyone to snap back at him. He runs away. My co-worker, boss, and everyone else in the restaurant applaud and we get back into business. About 20 minutes later, the kid comes back with his mother.)

Mother: “Look, my son told me you threatened to break his legs! I’m reporting you to the police!”

Me: “Did he also tell you he was harassing us?”

Mother: “He told me he was talking to people when you–” *pushes index finger into my chest* “–threatened to break his legs!”

Me: “I can tell you, now, ma’am. He was harassing me and the customers.”

Mother: “Lies! I’ll charge you for threatening a child!”

Me: “Yes, then I’ll sue him for harassment, sexual harassment, and disturbing the peace.”

(The mother looks at the kid with horror on her face but doesn’t give up just yet.)

Mother: “You have no proof my son did that! I’ll charge you for psychological damages!”

Me: “I have plenty of proof on our cameras.” *I point to camera in the back corner, and then to the one at the front* “I also have a room full of witnesses who can give testimony on what he said and did.”

Mother: *stands on her spot stunned*

Me: “So, do you want your can of whoop-a** here, or shall I serve it to you in court?”

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In Real Hot Sauce Now

| London, UK | Right | November 9, 2010

(I walk in and stand in a line. I’ve been there for all of five seconds before a man runs in, elbows his way to the front of the queue and slams a burger in front of the cashier. She is a young teenager.)

Customer: "You f***ing b****! How many f***ing times do I have to tell you no f***ing sauce?!"

Cashier: *smiling all the way through the exchange* "I’m sorry sir, what seems to be the problem?"

Customer: "You f***ing up my burger! I want a refund now!"

Cashier: "Certainly, sir! Do you remember what time you came in at?"

Customer: "How am I supposed to f***ing know? You’re the one who took the d*** order!"

Cashier: "I’ll have a look, sir, if you give me one moment."

(She taps her screen, all the while being yelled abuse at by the customer. All the other customers have since cleared out, except for me. I motion to the cashier that I’ve called the police.)

Cashier: "Hm…oh, is this your order?” *rattles off a few items*

Customer: "Yes, that’s my d*** order! Now give me my f***ing refund!"

Cashier: "Certainly, sir, let me just authorise that for you."

(She taps on her screen some more and swipes a card a few times.)

Customer: "F***ing hurry up, you b****! My f***ing dinner’s getting cold!"

Cashier: "My apologies sir, give me one moment. Would you like me to give you a fresh order?"

Customer: "You’d better, you b****!”

Cashier: *hands customer his refunded money* "Okay, it’ll be three minutes to cook your order so if you’d like to sit down-"

(At this point the man throws the money he’s just been given at the cashier and screams abuse at her. She picks up the change and counts it.)

Cashier: "Your change comes up to £3.71, which is just enough for another meal. Which one would you like?"

Customer: "Would you just hurry up and give me my d*** food! Are you f***ing simple or something?”

Cashier: "No, just distracting you ’till the police get here."

(Two uniformed police officers walk in and take the man away, who is still cursing. The manager walks out of a side room which he has been hiding in–he’s about thirty and male–and offers her a promotion on the spot. She promptly tells him that she’d rather die than be spineless like him and quits. She then pockets the change, grabs most of the food on display and leaves, but not before thanking me and sharing half the food with me.)

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Take It Away, Uncle Sam

| New Zealand | Right | November 2, 2010

(Fast food places are often referred to as takeaway stores in New Zealand.)

Me: “Hello and welcome to [fast food]. May I take your order?”

Customer: “So, what is a tar… key… ah… way…?”

Me: “Um, takeaways. As in food you can take away.”

Customer: “Oh, is it a Maori word?”

Me: “No sir. It’s an English word. May I ask, are you from out of New Zealand?”

Customer: “Yes, I’m from America, but you’re lying about takeaways being an English word. I’ve been to Canada and they don’t use it there!”

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