I worked at a restaurant ages ago. One coworker worked days and I worked nights but seemed like a nice guy. The thing about him is that he was morbidly obese. I say that not to mock him, but because it’s important to the story.

One weekend I picked up a day shift. My coworker was working, and he had the section next to me. We had over an hour wait for a table and we were in the weeds up to our eyeballs. Not far into our shift, the air conditioner went out. It was already a hot day so with all those people and with us rushing around, it warmed up quickly.

I was on my way to the kitchen when a table flagged me down. It was not my table, but I stopped anyway.

Customer: “Get me a manager. Now!”

Me: “Certainly, but can I first ask what the issue is?”

He pointed to the end of the table, where I could see it was wet. I grabbed the clean towel from the back of my apron, ready to wipe it up but he stopped me.

Customer: “Do you know what that is?”

Me: “Water? I—”

Customer: “No! It’s sweat. That … that tub o’ lard of a server has been dripping sweat on our table. When he delivered our food, he also delivered that!”

I had noticed that my coworker was sweating profusely as he ran around, more so than the rest of us. I myself was sweaty but it wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t hide it from my tables. My poor coworker wasn’t so lucky.

Customer: “This is disgusting!”

I had to agree but at the same time I felt bad for my coworker. It wasn’t his fault the air was out and it was super hot inside.

The manager looked like he wanted to cry when I told him about the table. He went to the table, hunkered down to their level, and talked quietly but the customers were not so kind. I could hear snippets of them yelling about germs, someone mentioned the health board, and it got to the point the bar manager joined them to see if he could help. The adjoining booths customers were listening in, and I knew that wasn’t good. My coworker stood at the top of the stairs, watching as his table loudly called him childish names about his weight.

Finally, they got up and left, their bill comped (they had not touched their food). The manager gave gift cards to the tables who had witnessed the chaos but made it seem as if they were because of the air going out, not the server.

At the end of our shift, my coworker went into a meeting with the managers. He handed in his stuff and quit, he was so mortified by what had happened. They begged him to stay, he’d been there years, but he was so embarrassed he simply refused and left without another word.

A year later, he returned to the restaurant. He had lost over 130 lbs and looked like a totally different man. He told us that day had been his wake-up call. He’d not only gone on a diet but he’d gone back to school and was on his way to doing something (I can’t recall what field of work he was studying) so he’d never have to wait tables again.

He even showed off a tattoo he had gotten on his arm. It was a pig wearing an apron, holding a heavy tray of food. The pig was struggling with the weight of it and was sweating. He said the tattoo reminded him of where he had been and where he’d never go again.

All these years later… I barely knew him, but I’ll surely never forget him.

CONTENT WARNING: Abusive Relationship

I had an abusive partner well over a year ago. We broke up. I got a restraining order and stopped hearing from him. The rumor was he’d gone to jail for something else. That part of my life was over and done with.

Until tonight, when he showed up at my restaurant.

He’s quite a bit older than me, so he had the advantage when I was in a vulnerable place. It took a long time to convince myself he was 100% at fault. He was the king of gaslighting and playing the victim.

He showed up right in the middle of the dinner rush. Of course, he had to pick a night when a large group of girls I know from school was at a centrally located table. And the place isn’t even that big, to begin with.

I spotted him right away. I think I saw him subconsciously before I even fully realized it because something felt chillingly off a few minutes before I first spotted him.

We’re still cutting back on staff to recoup lost income during the [global health crisis], so I was the only one out on the floor.

At first, I hoped maybe it was a coincidence — that he didn’t realize I worked there so he would just eat and leave. But no. He started drunkenly asking random patrons where to find me by name almost immediately.

I wanted so desperately to ignore it and have him just leave of his own accord because these girls from school were right there and I did not want to be part of a big scene. But it became evident that he was not lucid — maybe from something stronger than just the booze — and his behavior was escalating fast. It could not be ignored.

I went in back and let the owner know what was going on, but I just didn’t feel totally comfortable sharing the whole backstory with him. When things first turned sour in the relationship news got out to my family and friends before I was ready to discuss it and that fiasco is still an open sore.

Me: “A guy I used to know has shown up drunk and belligerent. I know him to be violent, so I’m going to call the police.”

Owner: “No problem. I’ll call the police for you. If you want, I can tag you out and handle your tables until he leaves.”

But I didn’t want to let this guy chase me out of my own job or stop me from living my life ever again, even just for a few minutes.

And our owner is a much older guy in not-so-great health. The restaurant is one of the only places his wife lets him go post-[health crisis] — he’s vaccinated, but she’s afraid of variants — and even still, he has to stay in his office when it’s busy.

I kept working, and the owner came and sat at the bar, keeping an eye on my ex. He was calling out my name and saying some pretty rude things and trying to get within arm’s reach.

The owner is pretty paternal towards me — I’ve worked in this place a long time and we’re a pretty small staff — so he wasted no time chesting up to the guy.

Owner: “Hey, the police have already been called. Do yourself a favor and get out.”

But my ex took that as a challenge and shoved this brittle old man. Hard.

Patrons stepped in right away because it was so obviously not a fair fight between this big young guy and a little old man. But my ex can be scary and (understandably) no one was considering physically confronting him or getting between him and the owner or anything like that, so he was undeterred.

He started to scream obscenities, demanding I leave with him, and tried to run at me. He actually had me by the shirt for a split second, but I fled behind the bar. (There was no clear path back to the office, the only place with a locking door. The bathrooms are stalls that can be easily overcome.)

The line cooks heard the commotion going on and a couple came out to see what the trouble was.

Most of our cooks are scrappy but small, and I think, despite their egos, they knew from one look they’d need reinforcements.

It had only been about five or ten minutes since we’d called the police, and in this busy city area, it takes them twenty minutes minimum to respond to anything that isn’t imminently life-threatening. And all the owner had known to tell 911 at the time he called was that we had a drunk and belligerent patron who MIGHT become violent, so we were definitely low on the priorities list.

The line cooks went back and got one of my only real sort of “work friends,” coincidentally also the biggest guy on staff.

[Friend] moonlights with an industrial moving company, so he stays in superb shape, and he is also super heavy, so he’s become kind of our defacto security ever since everyone forgot how to act in a restaurant during the health crisis.

I really don’t know too much about where he comes from, but I know it’s very difficult to rattle him.

So, [Friend] came out and quickly assessed the situation. Someone told him what my ex had done to our poor sweet owner, and [Friend] wasted no time.

Friend: “You’re leaving. You leaving on your own or…?”

The silence implied what the alternative was.

At this point, all [Friend] knew was that some drunk guy showed up and shoved our boss, who we’re all fond of.

My ex told him some slurred drunken crap I couldn’t really understand, but it was clear from his tone that it was not complimentary.

[Friend] went up to “escort” him out, and my ex freaked and tried to break the nearest glass in reach to use as a weapon. Fortunately, the nearest glassware was a thick beer mug and he couldn’t break it. Ha!

[Friend] shrugged this off as a sloppy drunk overestimating himself and tried to go in and get him in some kind of armbar, but the owner warned him:

Owner: “Hold off. [My Name] says he gets violent. Be careful.”

[Friend] didn’t know who this was yet.

Friend: “This f****** guy put hands on her?”

And he was ready to charge my ex.

Owner: “No, no, it’s her old boyfriend.”

[Friend] didn’t know the whole story with my ex — no one at work does — but he knew more than anyone else there, so he instantly put together who he was dealing with.

Without even hesitating, [Friend] swung at my ex like a piñata and cracked him right in the skull. My ex’s lights were out. He dropped onto the floor.

A couple of patrons who’d wanted to get involved but didn’t see an opening were emboldened to step in now that my ex was unconscious and got on top of him to make sure he wouldn’t be able to leap back up when he regained consciousness — which is good because he was back almost immediately. He was still groggy, but he would’ve been more than able to get up and retaliate had these men not stepped in.

Someone else went behind the bar looking for something to tie him up with. He found a roll of packing tape — right in the nick of time because my ex was quickly getting his strength back and really fighting the guys restraining him.

[Friend] wanted to go launch back in on him, but [Owner] talked him down, insisting it wasn’t worth an assault charge. ([Friend] knows more about my history with this guy than the owner so had more reason to hate him, but still, I agree it’s not worth catching a charge.)

The good Samaritans tried to tie packing tape around my ex’s hands and feet, but the roll was nearly out so it wasn’t doing much.

I was watching the whole situation unfold from where I’d gone to hide behind the bar, just mesmerized and paralyzed with terror, almost like an out-of-body experience.

It sounds like a long time when describing it, but at real-life speed, this entire encounter from the time the owner came out to confront him couldn’t have been more than three to five minutes.

The police got there not too terribly long after they tried to tape him. It took three people to hold him down, one of whom got socked in the mouth in the process, but they kept him secured until cops got there.

The police arrested him — my restraining order expired a year after it was granted but I’m guessing they got him for the assaults or drunk and disorderly conduct or something — and as they were cuffing him and going through the whole process, he was screaming that someone had assaulted HIM and should be arrested as well.

His face was visibly injured and there was a little blood, so the cops couldn’t ignore that. They asked who assaulted him and he fingered [Friend].

One of the patrons who’d helped restrain my ex, [Patron #1], started to speak up about [Friend] acting in self-defense, but his buddy cut him off.

Patron #2: “This motherf***** was banged up when he walked in. I’ve been here the whole time and didn’t see anything.”

[Patron #1] realized the play and backtracked.

Patron #1: “Yeah, yeah. We restrained him to defend ourselves, but no one hit him. That other man just works here.”

This was a relief because [Friend] is a gentle giant, but he’s also kind of a mystery, so for all I know he has priors that would’ve made proving self-defense difficult.

The police dragged my ex out and took him in. I went home at that point, but I learned from the owner at the end of service that they also impounded the motorcycle he showed up on. That was a nice bonus.

It was all very scary. I’m glad to know my coworkers and customers have my back, but I still think I’ll take a couple of days off. Ultimately, I’m just feeling grateful that I’m finally in a place where the good people in my life far outnumber the bad!

This story is part of our Not Always Working Most-Epic Stories roundup!

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I’m a manager at a restaurant. We have been in lockdown for a few months (you all know why) and we are just beginning to reopen but with a lot of social distancing rules.

A party of six comes in headed by a soccer mom type.

Customer: “I want those two four-person tables pushed together.

Host: “We can’t do that due to social distancing; you’ll be too close to the other table next to you.”

Customer: “Let me speak to the manager.”

She’s calm, just insistent and it’s obvious she’s played the card before.

Me: “How can I help?”

Customer: “Can we push those two tables together?”

Me: “No, can’t; social distancing. You’d be too close to the next table. You can have that table that’s for six in the corner, you can have that booth for six after we clean it, or you can have that table for six outside after they get up in I’m guessing about ten minutes.”

All the while I’m pointing to each table like I’m showing them emergency exits on an airplane.

Customer: “You can’t push those tables togeth—”

Me: “No, we will not be moving tables. You can have…” *And I point out the tables again.*

Customer: “You know what I think?” *She begins turning to her friend.* “You know what I think?”

Both Of Them Together: “We go somewhere else?”

At this point I clap my hands together and say:

Me: “Thank you and have a great night.”

With that, I immediately turn around and walk away. The best part is she stares at the back of my head for a solid two seconds before she shuffled out. I didn’t realize this until I watched the video of the exchange.

It felt so good that they are starting to realize some of the dynamics have changed since we reopened.

I am serving a table of – for lack of a better term – a bunch of obnoxious businessmen who have time-warped in from the 1960s. They’re loud, sexist, creepy, and only insist on eating the manly things like steak (I know this because they mocked the salad section of the menu and called it “gay.”)

The leader of the obnoxious group, whom I call Mr. ObNox has summoned me with a click of his fingers.

Mr. ObNox: “Why are there only the standard whiskeys on this menu?”

Me: “That’s just the standard drinks menu, sir. We have an extended drinks menu that has more top-shelf—”

Mr. ObNox: “Stop, you’re already talking too much. We’ll take six of your top whiskeys! We’re celebrating tonight!”

Me: “Sir, our top whiskey is the Macallan f—”

Mr. ObNox: “Yes! Macallan! Whatever! Bring us six!”

Me: “To confirm, sir, you want six of our top Macallan?”

Mr. ObNox: “Did I stutter?”

Me: “No, sir, you most certainly did not.”

I am sure you know where this is going. I didn’t get a chance to tell him that our most expensive whiskey is fifty years old, and it was definitely going to stand out on the bill. 

When it came to bill time:

Mr. ObNox: “What the f*** is this? Why is my bill [thousands of dollars]?!”

Me: “Most of that comes from the fifty-year-old Macallan that you ordered six of, sir.”

Mr. ObNox: *Going pale.* “You… you never told me it was that much!”

Me: “Do you recall me confirming that you wanted to order the top Macallan we have, sir?”

Mr. ObNox: “Well, yes, but—”

Me: “And did I stutter?”

Mr. ObNox looks like he’s about to go into a rage, but his (slightly less drunk) coworkers start insisting that he not make a scene. The manager is called and facts are confirmed, and my manager stands by my version of events.

Manager: “I’m going to insist that you stand by your bill, sir.”

Mr. ObNox: “But… I can’t afford it.”

Manager: “Then we will have to call the police.”

Mr. ObNox: “Nooo! Don’t do that! This meal was meant to be a company expense but we were given a budget of [one-quarter of what was eventually spent].”

Manager: *Trying to help him.* “That’s a very generous budget for a business dinner! How about I put the food on a separate bill for your business card, and you can split the cost of the whiskeys amongst the six of you.”

This suggestion resulted in protests from the other guys, claiming they can’t afford it, and that they were told the meal would be paid for by the business.

Eventually, Mr. ObNox had to put the whole meal on his business card to avoid getting arrested. We never saw him again, but we would have loved to have been a fly on wall in his office when he had to explain THAT expenses bill!

I work as a cashier in a takeout restaurant. A customer comes in and tries to open the door to the occupied one-person bathroom. She comes up to my cash register in a rage.

Customer: “THE BATHROOM IS LOCKED!”

Me: “The bathroom is locked because another customer is using it.”

Customer: “BUT THE SIGN ON THE DOOR SAYS, ‘FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY’!”

Me: “So then a customer is using it.”

Customer: “But I am a customer!”

Me: “We often have more than one customer at a time.”

The customer just stares at me in a rage as her eyes slowly come to terms with this mind-blowing truth that she’s just realized for the first time… as an adult.

Customer: “Well… you… should have fewer customers!”