(I am out for lunch with a friend, and we have just finished ordering. Our waitress has been nothing but cheerful and friendly.)

Me: “Oh, I noticed a lot of your lunch specials have shrimp in them. Could you please make sure my food doesn’t come into contact with any shellfish?”

Waitress: “Oh, definitely!” *makes note* “So, are you just allergic to shrimp, or all shellfish?”

Me: “All shellfish.”

Waitress: “That sucks. I’m allergic to the iodine in shrimp, but I can eat crab legs and stuff. Anyway, I’ll get this right in for you!”

(As she walks away, I notice my friend is silently fuming.)

Me: “What’s wrong?”

My Friend: “What business is it of hers what you’re allergic to? She had no right to ask that!”

Me: “She was just making conversation; no big deal.”

My Friend: “No! She had no right! I’m going to talk to a manager about her behavior!”

Me: “Dude, just chill; she was just being friendly.”

(Ignoring me, my friend goes up to bar and demands to speak to a manager. The bartender promises to have one come to our table. My friend returns to the table. A couple of minutes later the manager appears.)

Manager: “I hear you wanted to speak to me. Is there anything I can help you with?”

My Friend: “Yes! Our stupid b**** waitress is rude and unprofessional! My friend here is allergic to shellfish, and when she asked that her food not touch any shellfish, your employee refused until she knew exactly what my friend was allergic to! She demanded to know! She has no right!”

(At this point I want to hide in my seat, but the manager turns to me.)

Manager: “Is this true? I sincerely apologize; I have never known her to do something like that!”

Me: “That’s because it didn’t happen. She was making conversation, and simply asked a question, after making the note about my allergy. She is a wonderful waitress; my friend here is blowing it all of proportion.”

My Friend: “No, don’t listen to her! That waitress is horrible and deserves to be fired! I demand that our bill be free!”

(The manager is looking a bit confused. Our waitress is standing nearby, looking like she’s going to cry. I’ve had enough, and turn to my friend.)

Me: “This has gone too far. I don’t know what you’re flipping out about, and if this is just some ploy to get free food, I want nothing to do with it. I’m not lying to get that poor girl in trouble, just because you’re cheap!”

(I turn to the manager.)

Me: “May I please be seated elsewhere?”

(The manager obliges and seats me across the restaurant, though he lets me keep the same waitress. My friend—who I no longer speak to—keeps making such a racket that he is removed. I have a delicious, shellfish-free lunch, and the manager even gives me a free dessert!)

(My boyfriend and I are regulars at this restaurant, and as such, our orders are fairly well known.)

Me: “I want a Number 1, with cheese, only ketchup and mayo, medium, with a pineapple smoothie.”

Cashier: “Okay, that’s a Number 1, with cheese, only ketchup and mayo, medium, with a pineapple smoothie. I should have this memorized by now!”

Me: “If we keep coming in here every weekend, you will!”

(While my boyfriend places his order, I go sit down and wait for our food.)

Cashier: *to the grillworker* “This sandwich is supposed to be only ketchup and mayo.”

Grillworker: “Okay, gotcha.”

(A few minutes later, I hear the cashier talking to the grillworker again.)

Cashier: “This isn’t what I asked for. Only ketchup, only mayo, cheese. This is that sandwich, without lettuce.”

Grillworker: “Right, that sandwich, without lettuce.”

Cashier: “No. Only ketchup, only mayo, with cheese.”

Grillworker: “Okay, I’ll fix it.”

(This goes on for awhile. Eventually, our order comes up, and my sandwich is correctly labeled. What did I find when I opened it? No lettuce, no mayo, ketchup, mustard, and pickles. I show it to the cashier.)

Cashier: “Why is it that they stick me with the idiots on Sundays?”

Me: “Your employer does that to you, too?”

(A woman orders a rack of ribs. The menu clearly states that it is a FULL rack. When they are ready, I immediately bring them to her table.)

Customer: “Oh, my God, this is too much! Why didn’t you tell me this was so big? Can you bring these back and ask the chef to cut them in half and put half of them in a box?”

Me: “Oh, sure. I’ll be right back.”

(I go to the kitchen and tell the chef the customer’s request.)

Chef: “Doesn’t she know what a FULL RACK of ribs is?”

Me: “Apparently not.”

(He is annoyed, but cuts the rack in half, and boxes half. I bring the box and the remaining ribs back out to the customer.)

Customer: “Um, miss! These are cold! Why are you serving me cold food?”

Me: “Well, I’m very sorry; they must have cooled down while I was bringing them back and having him cut them for you. I would be happy to—”

Customer: “Go tell him to heat them up in a microwave! I’m not eating cold food!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, right away.”

(I bring the ribs back. The chef looks like he wants to murder me.)

Chef: “What now?”

Me: “She says they’re cold.”

Chef: “Give me the ribs.”

(He puts them in the microwave for two minutes, and they are piping hot when they come out.)

Chef: “Here, this should make her happy.”

(I bring the ribs back to the table a third time. The woman obviously sees the steam rising from the plate, but immediately grabs the ribs. She drops them, crying out in pain.)

Customer: “Ow! Why are these so hot? Don’t you test the food before you bring it out to make sure it’s not too hot?”

Me: “Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t have any way to test it. It should be cool enough to eat in just a few seconds.”

Customer: “What do you mean you can’t test it? Just touch it!”

Me: “You want me to touch your food? With my hands?”

Customer: “Yes! I don’t see what’s so hard about that! You kids these days! Honestly!”

Me: “Enjoy your meal, ma’am.”

(My boyfriend has recently bought some lottery tickets. We are talking about what we would do with the money if he won.)

Boyfriend: “What would you do if I won the jackpot?”

Me: “Marry you.”

(I work at a fast food chain. I have just finished dealing with an absolutely horrendous customer, but I cannot take a break yet. My boss is sympathetic, but a little strict about breaks. I steel myself for the next customer.)

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “One second, sorry.”

(She is writing something on a slip of paper.)

Customer: “Okay, thanks for waiting. Can I get some sweet tea? Also, that last guy was a jerk. Here!”

(She hands me the piece of paper. It says: ‘notalwaysright.com’.)

Customer: “If you need to feel better, then go here!”

(Thank you so much, miss! I had never heard of this site before today, and I’m so glad you were kind to me!)