(I’ve ordered a chocolate shake, but when I receive it, it’s clearly vanilla. I don’t much like vanilla, so I take it back to the counter.)
Me: “Hi, I wanted chocolate? I think this is vanilla.”
Cashier: “Oh, it actually is chocolate; it just looks and tastes like vanilla.”
(I didn’t really know what to say to that!)
(Part of my job as a hostess is to stand out front and try to convince tourists to eat at our restaurant. Most nights a server or two will hang out there with me. Across the street we have metered parking, but that’s free after 6pm. A server and I are watching a man put change in the meter at 8pm.)
Server: “Sir! You don’t need to feed that; it’s free after six.”
Patron: “You don’t know that.”
Server: “Well, yes sir, I do. You don’t need to bother with that anymore.”
Patron: “No! I have to go to dinner, so I’m sure to be gone for the next hour and a half! I don’t want a ticket!”
(The server gives up.)
Server: “Understandable. Have a good meal, sir.”
(About two hours later, rotation has me standing back outside. This time I’m alone. The same man returns to his car.)
Patron: “I just found out there was no need for me to pay this meter after six. That would have been nice to know two hours ago!”
Me: “Sir, I was outside when my coworker told you there was no need to feed the meter.”
Patron: “That’s just not true. I wouldn’t have paid if someone told me not to. You should really inform people of that.”
Me: “I’m very sorry, sir. Have a good night.”
Patron: “Would’ve been better if I hadn’t stuffed all my change into this stupid meter!”
(I am working the weekend shift in a popular fast food sandwich chain with an older gentleman of Middle-Eastern decent. He is the nicest guy you’ll ever meet. A customer and his buddies come into the store. I am busy in the back prepping bread and cookies, so my coworker goes out to help them. When I come out I hear shouting.)
Customer: “I SAID, AIN’T THERE ANYBODY ELSE BACK THERE THAT CAN HELP ME?! I DON’T WANT TO BE SERVED BY THIS SAND-N*****!”
Me: “I’m sorry, sir. What seems to be the problem?”
Customer: “The problem is this d*** sand-n*****! I ain’t gonna stand here and let him touch my food!”
Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir. However, I can’t stand here and let you speak to a fellow employee that way. [Coworker] is a stand-up guy, and doesn’t deserve to be treated the way you are treating him. Please calm down and let us do our job.”
Customer: “Well I don’t give a d*** what you think! I don’t want him serving me, so you’re gonna.”
Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I will not. I have the right to refuse service to those that I feel are being abusive. I’d like you to leave the store right now.”
Customer: “I WANT TO SEE A MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”
Me: “Well, my manager is off at another store right now. If you’d like to go across town to the other store, you are more than welcome to speak with her. I’m sure you’ll find, though, that she’ll agree with me. Please leave right now, and never come back.”
Customer: “I don’t want your stupid food anyway. F*** you guys!”
(About 20 minutes later, my manager calls me from the other store. She tells me about an irate customer who came in and complained that he was kicked out from my store. When he explained why, she told me she kicked him out of there, too. Thankfully, I never saw him in the store again.)
Me: “May I offer you a basket of bread?”
Customer: “Yeah, do you think I can have a basket of just the rolls?”
Me: “Absolutely! I’ll be right back—”
Customer: “You know I bet 99.9% of people who walk in here only want the rolls. Am I right? Why do you even bother carrying the other bread?”
Me: “Well, sir, actually a lot of people like the other bread. Some people even request baskets with no rolls!”
(The customer is all of a sudden very worked up.)
Customer: “Well, I bet those people are people who voted for Obama!”
Me: “I really wouldn’t know, sir.”
Customer: “Well you could probably just tell by looking at them!”
Me: “Sir, I really have no idea what people’s political leanings are based on their bread preferences.”
Customer: “Whatever…”
(My husband and I are grabbing a quick lunch at a local cafe. I unwrap my sandwich and find a bunch of long, black hairs sticking out. I go and see about getting a new sandwich made.)
Cashier: “Welcome to [cafe name]. What can I get you?”
Me: “Actually, I just ordered a sandwich less than five minutes ago and I found a bunch of hairs in my sandwich.”
(I show the cashier the sandwich, hair and all.)
Cashier: “Ma’am, it’s only your hair. The sandwich is still good; just take them off and you’ll be fine.”
Me: “Um… no. First off, the hair on the sandwich is not mine. If you look, you’ll see that my hair is neither long or black. Secondly, I am not fine with it. I find it rather nasty that someone else’s hair is on my food, so I would appreciate it if you would remake it. If that is going to be too much trouble, then I just want a refund for the sandwich.”
Cashier: “Lady, chill out. It’s only hair. You’re acting as if it is contaminated or something. I promise you that we’re all clean here, so there aren’t any germs on your sandwich.”
(At this point, I’m seriously pissed off and about to demand a manager when one comes up and taps the cashier on the shoulder.)
Manager: *to cashier* “Seriously?! My office, right now. Not at the end of your shift, not in ten minutes… now. Get up there and wait for me.” *to me* “Ma’am, I am so sorry about that. Of course we’ll remake that for you. What did you have again?”
(The manager personally remade my food and I walked away with a free, freshly-baked cookie as well.)
