A great restauranteur opened a chain of cafés/relaxed dining restaurants. They were great. They served Italian cuisine — very simple, quality ingredients, shown at their best with simple presentation. It was a favourite of ours.

At some point, the chain was taken over by a ginormous global food conglomerate. This story takes place sometime after that, but we had many good meals there after the takeover.

This time, I order beef carpaccio as a starter: a simple dish of thinly-sliced raw beef with parmesan, olive oil, and some salad leaves. The dish arrives, and the beef is brown. It’s raw beef, and it’s brown. It is clear to me that it has been exposed to the air for hours and oxidised.

Me: “This shouldn’t be brown. Something is wrong.”

Waitress: *Picking up my plate* “I will ask the kitchen.”

A few minutes later, a manager comes to our table

Manager: “What’s the problem?”

Me: “The beef carpaccio had oxidised; it was brown.”

A few minutes later, he comes out, triumphant!

Manager: “Yes, you are right. It shouldn’t be brown!” 

I was a little stunned. He definitely seemed to think I should be pleased that he had validated my complaint. Was I the only person on the premises who knew that beef carpaccio was raw and that raw beef was red?

It was obvious to me that the dish had been prepared hours before and (presumably) inadequately covered in cling film. The waitress didn’t know the dish, which she should have; the menu wasn’t that long. But more worryingly, either there was no one in charge of the kitchen, or that person wasn’t watching the dishes leave, or they didn’t know what beef carpaccio looked like, or they didn’t care. None of the options filled us with confidence. We paid for our drinks and found somewhere else to eat.

The restaurant has been purchased by yet another corporation and is still trading ten years later. I haven’t bothered going back.

I have just sat a family down at their table and handed them their menus. They are parents, an adult daughter, and a teenage son. I am about to come by to take their drink orders when the adult daughter approaches me. She stuffs a twenty-dollar bill into my hand.

Daughter: “Here, take this. This is to say sorry for whatever is about to come. Wait a minute and then come back to the table.”

Confused, I oblige and check in on another table quickly before going back to theirs.

Me: “Are you guys ready for your drink orders?”

Mother: “We are not ‘you guys’. We are not your buddies, so don’t refer to us that way. And yes, I will have an Arnold Palmer.”

Me: “Certainly, ma’am.”

I take everyone else’s orders without issue and bring them out to them.

Me: “Hi! Are you… ready to order your meal?”

Mother: “The last time I was here, I ordered the chicken parmesan, and it was a complete disappointment.”

She lets the sentence hang in the air without any follow-up.

Me: “I… I am sorry to hear that. So, will you be ordering something else?”

Mother: “Are you stupid? I want that again, but I better not be disappointed this time!”

Me: “What was it about the meal last time that you found disappointing, ma’am?”

Mother: “Just… all of it.”

Me: “It’s just… it’s likely to be prepared the same way as it was before unless you wanted to make any changes?”

Mother: “Why are you still talking?”

Daughter: “Oh, my God, Mom! What the h*** are you doing?!”

Mother: “What? I’m just letting them know not to disappoint me.”

Daughter: “Mom, we all know that no matter what they do, you will be ‘disappointed’ and will find something to complain about, and you’ll ask for the manager and try to get some kind of discount. It happens every time with you.”

Mother: “It’s not my fault that their service is lacking.”

Daughter: “We could go and have tea with the freaking Queen in Buckingham Palace, and you’d find something about their service to complain about, Mom! It’s embarrassing. Stop it.” *To me* “Sorry about that. Bring her the chicken parmesan, as normal. She’ll find something to hate about it, but that’s on her, not you.”

Everyone else gives me their orders, looking slightly embarrassed and apprehensive of the mother, and things go smoothly for a while. I bring out their food and top up their waters, and I am especially attentive to the table, checking in and keeping on top of their needs so as not to give the mother any ammo.

When they appear to have finished their meals, mother included, I come back over.

Me: “Did you guys want to see the dessert menu?”

Before I realized I said it, Mom’s eyes go wide.

Mother: “That’s it! You called us ‘you guys’ again! I want to speak to the manager!”

Me: “Apologies, ma’am. It’s just a force of habit. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Mother: *Almost screeching* “Managerrrrrr!”

I’m about to turn and get the manager when the adult daughter speaks up again.

Daughter: “And say what, Mom? You’re offended because the waitress was friendly? Your life is so coddled and privileged that someone calling us ‘you guys’ is enough to set you off? Can you even hear yourself right now?”

Mother: “I’m only—”

Daughter: “—only being a b****! You’re never going to change! This is the last time any of us eat out with you, and you only have yourself to blame.” *To me* “Thanks so much for your amazing service. We’ll just take the check, please? No need to fetch your manager.”

I bring them the check without argument. The mother is seething but remaining silent. While they discuss the situation and who pays for what, I give the manager an update on everything that happened.

Manager: “You did good. Nothing is ever going to satisfy people like that, so don’t waste energy trying.”

They pay and start heading out of the door. My manager goes up to them as they’re exiting and shouts out with a beaming smile.

Manager: “Take care, you guys!“

The mother was about to go on a rampage, but her husband dragged her out silently, in a move that looked like it had been practiced.

The family has since been back to eat on several occasions. I’ve never seen the mother ever again.

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I work in a hotel lounge, and recently in my province, we’ve redone restrictions and we must now give last call at 10:00 pm. I swear, ever since this was put in place, I’ve had the thirstiest alcoholic sitting in my section at 9:30 pm having withdrawals just thinking of getting last-called. But I digress. This particular table is thirsty but very nice.

This is a table of four men. At 9:00 pm, they inquire about last call, and I promise them I’ll stay on top of their drinks before we get there. I connect with the leader of the bunch; he says he likes me and praises me often. He orders a burger with three add-ons, and he also lets me know that he wants only one bill for the table for when the time comes. He likes to drink lots, seems to have a deep wallet, pays for the whole bill, and is amicable. This is the perfect table. Easy money. I love it.

Last call came and went without a fuss. Although I slightly overserved these folks, they never slurred, got aggressive, or even displayed any rude or entitled behavior. I just liked this table in general after a really crappy wedding I had to serve the day before — a story for another day.

I brought the one bill as promised: $350 for the table. I saw them argue about the bill a bit, and then someone else from the table signed it and then went outside to mingle on our patio. To my dismay, he had tipped only $45 on the $350 bill, below 15%. The payer had even asked me to deliver two shots to another table to be put on his bill, which I had done promptly. There was no reason to stiff my tip.

But here comes the twist: he didn’t put his room number on the bill, and I couldn’t find his name in our room system. I decided to go up to the table where he wasn’t anymore and lay the bill open in front of the leader I had been connecting with all night.

Me: ”Hey, your bud forgot to put down his room number. Do you mind getting that for me, please?”

There was a pause as the guy looked a the bill.

Leader: “Is that what he tipped you?!”

YES! VICTORY IS MINE! I just stayed pleasant.

Me: “Don’t worry about it. I had a good time serving you and your friends.”

Leader: “This is unacceptable!”

He stormed outside to his friend on the patio. I didn’t hear or see the interaction, but he came back with a room number and a tip fixed to $70.

Not only did I get good money, but I got to get one under-tipper schooled by a proper tipper! Priceless.

I was a server and bartender in an upscale Italian restaurant in the north suburbs of Chicago a few years ago. I remember one fairly busy night. We weren’t quite slammed but starting to run. My section was already full when I was given a party of about twenty people in a separate room. As one of the more experienced staff on that night, this wasn’t unusual; the manager knew I could handle it.

The group was a little rowdy, but they were having a good time. We had obviously not been their first stop of the night. It was no big deal as they were the only ones in the room, but there were a couple of other tables in there that likely would have been seated given the pace that things were moving. As I was getting their attention to introduce myself, one of the patrons interrupted.

Patron: “Can you move these other tables over for us to make some more room?”

I explained that I needed to check with the manager and host since I didn’t know if those tables were reserved for other guests. As I was walking out of the room but not yet out of earshot, I heard the same guy say:

Patron: “He’s just lazy. Let’s move them ourselves.”

I found the manager, explained what was up (and what I had heard), and brought him back with me. He DID let them take the additional tables, even though he was planning to fill them. Before he could leave again, I stepped up to the group and said:

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name] and I’ll be your lazy server tonight. Could I start anyone out with something from the bar?”

It was an uncharacteristic outburst for me, but I just lost it in the moment. My manager’s jaw dropped, the guy’s jaw dropped, and the whole group suddenly got really quiet. The manager took me aside and asked if another server should take the group. The moment had passed as soon as it came on, so I said I could handle it. I went back in and picked up right where I’d left off as if nothing had happened.

From that point forward, the entire group was polite, well-mannered, and complimentary while still having a good time together. As I recall, they left me 20% as a tip, which had to have been at least $100. On their way out, “rude guy” even apologized. The manager gave me a warning about controlling my temper, but he also agreed that the guy was being a d**k, so he let it slide.

Sometimes the customer is NOT right and it pays to stick up for yourself.

I work in a restaurant. I had a table today where a man was introducing his baby and the baby’s mother to his mother, sister, and aunt. He was military, and I guess he’d been busy during his time away. They ordered a big chicken nacho to start, which I promptly put in.

Mind you, I was overseeing a party of twenty-five and finishing them up, and the host had told the family that they may have a few minutes of wait at the table. They were cool… at first. Once the food came out, the complaints started.

I checked on them multiple times in passing and nobody asked for anything. They asked for water for the table and also each had a beer or mocktail. Nobody asked for refills or to order another drink. They didn’t have a single auto-refill drink, but… okay, maybe I wasn’t super attentive.

The aunt went to the front and had a hissy fit about having to wait for things. My manager dealt with her, but she pulled me aside.

Manager: “I’ve been watching you, and I know you did your best with them, even if the food was kind of late behind that party of twenty-five. I’m gonna comp four cheesecake slices. You shouldn’t worry about them.”

I went and dropped off the discounted check, and I heard the aunt say:

Aunt: “I’m gonna order cheesecake for us all and get the whole bill taken care of.”

The sister and mom both cringed and made eye contact with me. I dropped off the free fifty dollars’ worth of cheesecake and brought the fussy toddler a free milk just to show I cared.

The aunt stared at the check and then violently snatched it up. I watched the baby’s mother die internally. I could only imagine she’d been dealing with this woman for hours or days and was rapidly approaching her limit. She was super sweet whenever I came back to the table. She wasn’t a problem, and I imagine she’d served before.

Not five minutes after the forty-dollar check was dropped, my manager found me, and we went to a computer to look at ring times and such. She wanted to make sure I had done my best before she stuck up for me. Everything checked out, and she decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and comped the table’s entire bill.

They seemed satisfied and left… finally. On the way out, the aunt called me “slow and shiftless” and said I should work somewhere else. I laughed in response and wished them a lovely evening.

I knew I wasn’t gonna get tipped and just started to bus the table once they were out of view. I found a twenty by where the sister was sitting and a crisp fifty in the middle of the table. I’m betting the dude left that.

As I finished up, I saw the baby’s mother speaking to my manager, who gestured toward me, and I walked over. The woman smashed a crumpled hundred into my hand and whispered:

Baby’s Mother: “I’m so sorry. I know you did your best with them.”

I almost cried.

Me: *Nodding* “Thanks so much. I hope I see you and your baby again.”

She thanked me again and walked off.