Waiter: “Are you ready to order?”

Me: “I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger, but without the onions, please.”

Waiter: “You should eat the onions. They’re a vegetable; they’re good for you.”

Me: “I’m sure they are, but I’m allergic to onions. I would like them taken off, please.”

Waiter: “You shouldn’t be such a picky eater!”

Me: “Again, I’m allergic to them. If I eat them, I will get sick. No onions on the burger.”

Waiter: “You’re not allergic! You just want an excuse to not eat vegetables!”

Me: “I don’t think it’s part of your job to tell me what I do or don’t want to eat. Now, can I get a burger without onions or should I leave?”

Waiter: “Fine, stupid brat! One f***ing bacon cheeseburger with no onions!”

(Before I left, I was able to speak to the manager and tell her that I did not appreciate having the waiter tell me what to eat. She apologized and gave a small discount. Thankfully, I haven’t seen that waiter since.)

(My aunt has lost her hair because of chemo treatments. This happens while she, my uncle and my parents are waiting on a table while out to dinner.)

Little Kid: “I hate going to school! I hate the bus! The driver is mean!”

Aunt: “You know, I’m a bus driver. It’s hard having to deal with all those kids.”

Little Kid: “Really?”

Aunt: *whips off her hat* “Look what they did to me!”

Little Kid: *shrieks and runs away*

Aunt: *readjusting her hat* “Totally worth it.”

Regular: *pulls out two dollars and looks around* “You know, I’ve never seen a tip jar. Where is it?”

Me: “We aren’t supposed to have one. It would be taxed out of our paychecks.”

Regular: “But [coffee shop next door] has one! And what if you guys do a good job and I want to tip you?”

Me: “Then we still aren’t supposed to accept it.”

Regular: “Well, that sucks!” *drops the dollars on the counter* “Oh no! I accidentally dropped my money and now I’m leaving because I totally forgot it bye!” *runs out the door*

(There are three customers outside on the patio: three men, one with long hair. The other two customers are friends and start volleying increasingly homophobic insults at him. I, as the hostess am closest and move to intervene.)

Me: “Gentlemen, please return to your meal. Abuse of the other patrons will not be tolerated and I do not want to have you thrown out.”

Customer #1: “What the h*** are you talking about, are you dumb? That guy’s a f***ing f**. Look at his f***ing hair!”

Me: “You cannot discern another person’s sexuality from a hairstyle, sir, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I already told you that I cannot allow you to insult the other patrons. I do not want to retrieve security.”

Customer #2: “Screw that, b****! We’re not going anywhere. I’m in the middle of eating.”

(Surprisingly, a police man still in uniform walks up to us.)

Customer #1: “Hey, police man! This dumb f***ing c*** wants to throw us out instead of that d*** gay over there. Can you f***ing believe that?”

Policeman: “What I believe is that I should be very grateful to have a wonderful boyfriend who waited for me even though I was late and two idiots were heckling him. I believe that this young lady is quite commendable for standing up to those two idiots. I also believe you two want to pay for you lunches and leave.”

(There’s a bit of a stand off before the two get up and simply leave two twenty dollar bills. I turn to the remaining customer.)

Me: “I’m very, very sorry, sir. I’ll tell your waiter that lunch for you and your partner is free.”

Customer #3: “No need, miss.”

(He pulls a ten dollar bill out of his wallet.)

Customer #3: “Hostesses don’t get tipped, do they?”

Me: “That’s really not necessary, sir. It’s all just part of my job. I was happy to help.”

Policeman: “And for that miss, I think it is necessary.”

(He sits down across from his boyfriend and also hands me a ten. One of the men returned to complain to my manager ten minutes later and was summarily banned from the restaurant when the policeman and his partner explained what happened. I went to their wedding eight months later.)

(We are always packed out during lunch. The drive-thru is slammed. A woman in a black SUV pulls out of the parking lot—as opposed to the line that everyone else is using—around the cones intended to keep cutters out, and is a good 9 feet away from the order box, very crooked. She is cutting in line in front of at least 10 people.)

Me: “Excuse me, black SUV, is there something we can help you with?”

Lady: “Yeah! I wanna order!”

Me: “Out of courtesy for our other guests, would you mind pulling around the building and using the line?”

Lady: “It says lane 2 is open, but these cones are in the way!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, that’s because there’s one line that diverges right before the cones and then after the box, merges back tog—”

Lady: “Gimme a number 1 with lemonade and 8 nuggets.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, out of courtesy for the other guests in li—”

Lady: “GIMMEA NUMBER 1 WITH LEMONADE AND 8 NUGGETS!”

Me: “Ma’am, please pull—”

Lady: “NUMBER 1 WITH LEMONADE AND 8 NUGGETS!”

Driver behind Lady: “Lady! Get in line with the rest of us!”

Lady: “NUMBER 1 WITH LEMONADE AND 8 NUGGETS! YOU CAN HEAR ME, SO YOU HAVE TO TAKE MY ORDER!”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

Lady: “You know what? I’m coming to the window.”

(She pulls forward, and the driver behind her gets to the box.)

Driver behind Lady: “That lady was a total b****! I can’t believe you have to put up with that kinda stuff!”

Me: “Sometimes I just really don’t understand people. But what can I get for you, sir?”

Driver behind Lady: *laughs* “I just want a chicken sandwich with honey.”

Me: “No problem! Anything else for you today?”

Driver behind Lady: “That’s it! And good luck!”

Me: “Thanks! I’ll need it!”