This happened about sixteen or seventeen years ago, when I was in my late twenties. One thing I know about myself is that I’m a babyface. Even now, at forty-four, I’m tall and I have an athletic build, so I get mistaken for a young twenty-something all the time, so you can imagine what I looked like at the age of twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Now, couple that with the fact that I’m a Black man, and you can just imagine what my life has been like! So, that’s my life in a nutshell: cursed to forever be the “young” Black man.

My team was having a retirement celebration for our manager, and we had a dinner party at a restaurant near our workplace after hours. The shindig ended up being about twenty-five to thirty people, mostly older — I think I was one of two or three people there under age forty — and it was nice. Our manager shed a tear or two, gave a nice speech, blah, blah, etc., etc. The restaurant was open for business, and there were other small parties, couples, etc., there, and they ignored us and we ignored them. But we weren’t segregated; we were seated toward the center of the seating area around a large table and a second smaller one.

Fast forward to the end of the dinner. We were all outside now, saying our final greetings and on the verge of dispersing, and I was among the group. A few people started to make their way home, and our group was now whittled down to about ten or twelve people. Other patrons and pedestrians were coming and going, like normal, and there we were just chatting amongst ourselves.

Notably, our manager was still there with his plaque, a relatively large picture frame, and a couple of gift bags, so it should have been evident to anybody who was in the restaurant for the last hour who we were. You would think.

And then it happened. A woman approached me.

Woman: “Excuse me?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am?”

Woman: “Here are my keys.”

Me: “For?”

Woman: “For you to get my car.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t work here, ma’am”

Woman: “I don’t have time for games! Here are my keys.”

As she was saying this, she tried to stuff her keys into my hand. Now, I was pissed.

Me: “If you put your keys in my hand, I’m going to throw them across the street and into the gutter.”

Woman: “Then why do you have a badge on?”

As she said this, she reached out to grab my work badge — WTF? — which was on a lanyard hanging around my neck down around my midsection. But before she could, I snatched it away.

Me: “If you touch me again, I will consider it assault and call the police. I don’t work here.”

She withdrew her hand, and I released my badge, which she proceeded to study for the two or so seconds it would take to figure out it was not a restaurant or valet badge.

I believe the restaurant contracted out their valet service, and having done valet work during college, I am fairly certain my business attire did not in any way resemble the uniforms — think tacky vest with logo and matching pants — of the two or three companies that were in my area. And furthermore, none of them did badges on lanyards.

Then, she looked me up and down, came back to lock eyes with me, and while starting to turn away, uttered that word (you know which one) under her breath.

Not gonna lie, it caught me off guard, and in the fifteen years since, I’ve thought of the perfect comeback more times than I care to admit. (That’s the other story of my life, sigh… But on the bright side, I’m prepared now!) But in that moment, I simply couldn’t force words to come out of my mouth. I just turned around and tried to shake off my shock and anger and proceed as if everything was fine.

Most of my remaining coworker group (a mix of Black and white) was aware of what had just transpired, but there was nothing to be said or done really, so we just kind of started small-talking again.

I work at a high-end restaurant. Due to how crazy the world has been over the last few years, getting staff in and staying has been a struggle. Tonight, we have three new staff on the floor, I’m stuck manning the bar (as we can’t find a trained bartender at present), and my boss is running the door and floating. No biggie, things flow great.

We have a table of twelve dining. They’re high-maintenance but well-behaved enough, but they’re being served by one of our more trained “new” staff, being a month “older” than her colleagues.

As the night rolls along, a woman from the large table pulls that particular server aside and asks to speak to the owner. My boss, unfortunately, just had to duck out early due to an emergency. Of course, this leaves me running the floor while still stuck rush-closing the bar to cover his absence.

Server: “Oh, I’m so sorry, he just left! But our manager [My Name, which is very feminine] is in the bar. I can get her if you like?”

Before the server can run and fetch me, who has no knowledge of the interaction, the woman stands from the table and walks INTO the bar. Of course, I am confused about why this woman is in my bar but want to stay professional and friendly.

Me: “Hi, is everything all right? Can I help you with something?”

She completely ignores me and brushes past me to the young male staff member I’ve just pulled off the floor to help polish a few glasses.

Customer: “Hi. You’re the manager, I presume?”

My coworker gawks in confusion and looks at me for help.

Me: “No, ma’am. I’m the manager. Is there something I can help you with?”

She turns around and stares for a moment like she’s just seen me.

Customer: “Oh! Uh, I just wanted to say… Umm, I just wanted to tell you [Server] was… very good.”

Me: “Wonderful, thank you. Yes, [Server] is amazing and absolutely one of our best. I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to the owner. I really do appreciate the feedback.”

Customer: “Right… Yes… Thank you.”

Do I really have to be a six-foot male to manage a restaurant?

A tornado has recently destroyed a large part of my city. When the tornado warning goes off, servers and the back-of-house staff gather up everyone. The staff goes into the walk-in coolers, and the patrons go into the bathrooms.

Chaos erupts outside, but thankfully, the building stands strong. The warning is eventually over and we all come out. An inventory of people is made: everyone is safe and accounted for. No one is hurt.

Outside, part of the parking lot is a mess. Vehicles are no longer neatly parked but have been tossed around like an upended box of Matchbox cars. Across the street… there’s destruction. The tornado plowed through the town literally across the street. We, obviously, have no power.

Then, a lady pipes up.

Customer: “So, why haven’t we gotten our food yet?”

Seriously?!

Me: “Ma’am, you were in the bathroom. The staff were in the fridge. Were you not aware that the reason for this was a tornado?”

Customer: “Well, we ordered over thirty minutes ago!”

Me: “Yes. And everyone was preparing for the storm. No one was going to continue making food and risking their lives.”

Customer: “Yes, and now it’s over. I expect my meal to be comped.”

Manager: “Well, since we have no power, you’re not going to GET your order. No one is. As of right now, we’re closed. I suggest you go see if your home is even still there.”

Customer: “You are being very rude!”

Manager: “And you’re being an idiot. Now get out of my restaurant.”

Male Voice: *From the crowd* “[Customer], let’s go see if we even have a car to take us home.”

Customer: *Storming out* “My car had better be there, or I’ll sue the s*** out of [Restaurant]!”

Male Voice: “Shut up, [Customer] just… shut the h*** up.”

The crowd slowly began to sort themselves out. I think most were in shock from seeing the mess outside, but at least everyone else had their heads screwed on straight. Even though the manager promised that meals were comped today, most people paid with cash and left impressive tips.

We got a phone call later with an angry woman’s voice screeching about how rude the staff was. The manager was the same, so she didn’t get very far.

Sometime later, higher-ups got in contact with us, not to hand down punishments, but to basically point and laugh at a series of complaints. There were several complaints about the restaurant not answering phones DURING THE TORNADO and demanding that the staff be reprimanded for job abandonment. The highlight of the list was a complaint about the restaurant refusing to serve food after the power went out and the rudeness of the manager.

It just goes to show you: nothing will stop an entitled customer from throwing a tantrum, not even a tornado.

I am visiting Texas and staying at a nice hotel. I’m brown and I’m an IT executive.

I order takeout from a local BBQ place, and I am going back to my hotel with my food in a large paper bag with the name of the restaurant written in large letters on the side.

There is a group of people outside the hotel, and as I approach the hotel entrance, this woman rushes over and grabs my bag of food. I yank it back.

Woman: “I’ve been waiting for this!”

It hits me that she thinks I’m her food delivery driver here with her food.

Me: *Politely* “I’m not your delivery driver, ma’am.”

Woman: *Looking confused* “Are sure? You look like one.”

At this point, I just want her to let go of my bag. A few of her guy friends come over and tell me to stop giving her a hard time and to hand over her food. I spell it out for them.

Me: “I am not your food delivery driver. This is my food. I’m a guest at this hotel.”

I yank the bag away from her, and as I enter the hotel, I see her pulling out her phone.

Woman: “I’m calling [Delivery Service] and telling them what an a**hole you are… and I want my money back!”

Go right ahead, lady. Go right ahead.

In hindsight, I was actually not upset over the whole thing but simply amused by it. Sometimes, you just have to laugh your way through an uncomfortable situation.

I had a client who wanted a menu designed for their restaurant. They asked me to take inspiration from some menus that Jamie Oliver used while giving it an identity all its own. I did some work I was pretty happy with, but then…  

Client: “I need this designed in Word so I can edit it whenever I want.”