I was working in a restaurant a few years ago. It was pretty late after closing, and I was waiting for the last table to finish eating so I could clean up. It wasn’t my table, but I couldn’t clean around it until they left and my coworker had already tried to hurry them along and pretty much failed. (We had a dumb policy about not directly telling customers that we were closed and that they needed to leave.)

In the meantime, I was doing some other closing work on the other side of the restaurant, talking to another coworker and glancing occasionally over my shoulder to see if they had left yet.

The lady at the table came up to me, demanding to see the manager. I said okay, not really grasping how angry she was, and went to get him. She began to rant about how my coworker and I were laughing about how she and her friends were “dogs”.

In actual fact, my coworker and I were talking about how he was looking after another coworker’s pets while they were out of town and the antics the pets got up to.

In the empty restaurant, they had overheard a few random words and pieced together their own little story about how my coworker and I had nothing better to do than insult them. (It says volumes about their self-image I suppose.)

She unloaded on our manager, who didn’t believe for a second that my coworker and I would even think, much less say anything like that about these women. Knowing there had obviously been some misunderstanding, he called us over to hear our side, and I proceeded to explain how we were having a conversation about a coworker’s pets. I even shared the story that had made us laugh: the family had tried clicker training the dog, and so now the dog would search for the clicker, bring it to someone, step on it, and whine for a treat because that’s what happened when the clicker clicked. Now the clicker had to be hidden in a spot that could be locked.

I swear I saw a look of embarrassment go through her eyes, but she just decided to continue flipping out because admitting she was wrong was out of the question. My coworker and I left the scene so the manager could cool her down. But after she called us rude names for the better part of five minutes, the manager informed her that she was just making a bigger idiot of herself the longer she went. She finally stormed out after paying, and her friends followed soon after.

I am waiting on a large group of about twenty people. Everything is going smoothly while I take the order and deliver the food. After giving them a few minutes, I go back to the table and ask how everything is. Most of the table murmurs pleasantly and nods their heads, but one woman raises her hand and I walk closer to where she is sitting.

Me: “Is there a problem with your food, or something I can get for you?”

Woman: “My and my husband’s steaks are cold in the center. Could you put them back on the grill to heat them up more? I think they sat too long with such a big group.”

Me: “I’m sorry about that. The health department won’t let us put them back on the grill, but I will get new orders made for you. The steaks are medium rare, correct?”

Man: “That’s right. Thanks.”

I take their plates, too, and ask the cooks to remake the food.

Grill Cook: “Those didn’t sit at all other than letting them rest for a minute. Are you sure they wanted them medium rare?”

Me: “I double-checked before coming back. I’ll take them right from the grill. Maybe they just don’t usually rest their steaks, so they are used to being warmer.”

The food is remade, and I have the steaks on the table less than a minute from being taken off the grill. The couple thanks me. I get refill orders from the table and check back in with the couple.

Me: “How are the steaks?”

Woman: “They are still cold in the center; we would like them remade again.”

Me: “I’m sorry about that. I will go get that going for you.”

Back in the kitchen, I order the third set of steaks.

Cook: “It’s not possible to get them any hotter and still be medium rare.”

Me: “I know. Will you make them medium instead? Maybe that will work.”

I bring out the food, and this time I wait for them to check it. They immediately send it back for being cold.

Cook: “If they want another steak, I’m going to make it well done.”

Me: “That’s fine. Honestly, I don’t think they know what they are ordering.”

I bring the fourth set of steaks straight from the grill, cooked well done. I get a few dessert orders from the group while the couple checks their steaks. Before I go back to the kitchen, I check with the couple.

Man: “These steaks are still too cold! Do I need to go back there and show your cook how to get a hot steak?”

Throughout the whole process, the couple has been very polite. This slightly frustrated outburst is pretty mild compared to how most people get after sending their food back even once.

Me: “I’m sorry. I will get them made again.”

To the kitchen!

Me: “[Cook], I’m sorry.”

Cook: “How are they still complaining that they’re cold? I’m not wasting another steak on them. Did they bite them at all?”

Me: “No, they just cut into them and touched the center.”

Cook: “Good, give them back.”

I hand her the plates, and she takes the steaks and drops them into the deep fryer. I get the dessert order rung in, and as the desserts are finishing up, the cook pulls the steaks out of the deep fryer. They no longer look like food.

Cook: “Here. If they still are not happy, tell them that’s too bad. I am not going to make anything else for them.”

I don’t want to bring out the burnt hockey pucks, but I already told the couple I would bring them out new food, so I do so reluctantly. I set down the steaks first and then distribute the desserts to the rest of the table.

Me: “How are the steaks this time?”

Man: “Absolutely wonderful! This is the best steak I have ever had.”

Woman: “Yes! Why couldn’t they have done this the first time?”

Me: “I’m not sure, but I’m so glad we were able to get that figured out for you.”

Woman: “Please send our compliments to the chef. I’m sure it was a difficult process, but at least now they know how to make a decent steak. I’m sure it will be a valuable lesson going forward. Since everyone else is eating dessert already, can we order ours to go?”

I am working at a small Mexican-inspired restaurant in the business building on my college campus. We are currently taking orders from a kiosk or an app. Two older gentlemen come straight up to the counter and try to order.

Coworker: “Hi, guys. I’m sorry, but we’re only taking orders from the kiosk right now!”

Customer: “Oh, we don’t believe in kiosks. We believe in people.”

Turns out these guys were “special friends” of our boss. He ended up coming over and telling us to let them order at the counter and skip the giant line at the kiosk and the huge list of mobile orders.

I work in a restaurant. We have this family that always comes in late — I’m talking six people seven minutes before closing — and they take their sweet time, sipping water, not opening the menu, etc. Whatever. I have to serve them, so I do. It’s part of the job, albeit one of the worse parts.

It’s a small restaurant, so come the end of the day, there are NO side tasks. I’m literally sitting on my phone waiting for them to finish.

I collect dishes often and frequently. The second I hear a fork hit a plate, I’m getting it. I don’t offer refills. If a glass is empty, I take it. I even shout the orders as they give them because my line cook has creeped out of his hole so he can get the orders faster because he wants to leave, as well. It’s pretty funny.

One lady can’t decide, so I tell her I’ll get the drinks — three different drinks per person! — while she decides because I have to get the ready orders in.

You come in late, you get service, but I’m not fawning over you. I’m not enabling that.

After they finally leave, my boss comes up and says:

Boss: “Oh, thank God they’re finally gone.”

Me: “Yeah. They always come so late…”

Then, he pops off. Apparently, he’s allowed to be grateful they’re gone, but I’m not. He’s allowed to be inconvenienced, but I’m not.

Boss: “You know what? If you ever went into her store after hours, she’d serve you! Happily! Because she has a good work ethic!”

Me: “I guess the difference between her and me is that I’d never be that a**hole customer who puts a business owner in a position to stay late because of me. If that’s a poor work ethic, I’m okay with that.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

I’m seventeen, and I recently got a job bussing tables at a small mom-and-pop restaurant near my house. The job is awesome. I get paid amazingly, and everyone there treats me with dignity and respect. When I applied, I was told my responsibilities included bussing tables, bringing guests drinks, and checking that the bathrooms were clean once or twice a shift. This includes cleaning the mirror, making sure toilet paper is stocked, checking soap levels, cleaning wet floors, etc.

Three days ago, a mother and father with two boys, one aged around five and the other ten, came in to eat. They were very respectful and polite to the waitstaff and didn’t seem to be a problem at all.

Halfway through their visit, my manager requested I check the bathrooms, and as I entered, I saw the ten-year-old straight-up s***ting in the urinal. To be honest, I was flabbergasted and had no idea what to do at the moment. I just kind of made eye contact with him, turned around, and walked right out. I went directly to my manager in the kitchen and told him what I had seen.

My manager was less than amused and told me to go clean it. I protested that I didn’t want to.

Manager: “It’s your responsibility to clean.”

And he handed me some cleaning supplies. As I walked back to the dining area, I saw the little s***ter walking back to his family. He made direct eye contact with me and had a sly grin on his face. This was it for me.

I was like, “F*** this. I’m not cleaning this mess. I’m telling this kid’s parents what he did.”

I started walking to his family’s table, and his grin turned to absolute mortification. I reached his mom.

Me: “Your son just pooped in the urinal, and my manager is telling me to go clean it. Would it be possible for him to do it himself?”

The kid literally burst into tears, but his mother had none of it.

His parents were outright humiliated, and their faces turned bright red. His mother yanked him up by the arm, and I led her to the bathroom, where she made him clean the s*** on his own. She apologized profoundly, and they left a huge tip on their bill.

I heard that she called the restaurant later to apologize again. A different manager picked up the phone and then called me, absolutely livid that I would make a guest clean the urinal. She told the boss, and today, I got a message telling me to not bother coming back.

I responded:

Me: “Okay. I’ll be sure to visit soon and take a nice big s*** in the urinal. Have fun cleaning it up! [Smiley Face]”

No matter how tempting, I’m obviously not going to do that. I just thought it would be a funny retaliation.