(I’m picking up a sandwich at what looks like the start of the evening’s dinner rush – there’s a fairly consistent line going, but the place is still understaffed, with only two workers behind the counter. The guy on breads and meats is jumping around like a jackalope in between customers, restocking and cleaning things where he can and rushing to the end of the line to ring people up. The girl on vegetables is methodically zipping through sandwich orders with the robotic patience of someone who’s been doing what they’re doing for way too long. My sandwich makes it to the vegetable section.)

Me: “…and can I get some dijon mustard on that as well, please?”

(The vegetable worker picks up the large bottle of mustard, squirts some on the sandwich, and goes to put the bottle down with the other sauces. Very nondescriptly, the bottle hits the counter and slips straight back, shooting directly into the trash can. She freezes. I freeze.)

Vegetable Worker: “…um. [Bread Worker?]”

(The guy zips around, out of breath.)

Bread Worker: “What’s up? More parmesan? Lettuce? Avocado’s looking a little low—“

Vegetable Worker: “No.”

(She points. He looks. They both stare at each other. He looks at the pantry, then back at the trash can, his expression defeated.)

Bread Worker: “…Well, s***.”

Vegetable Worker: “Yeah. Um… I’m going to go on break now.”

(I have just finished my meal at an old, family-run sandwich shop and have just walked back home, when I realize that I haven’t paid for my meal. I run back to the restaurant and open the door, and the cashier looks up from her conversation with another customer, smiles, and says…)

Cashier: “Hello again! Did you need a refill?”

(I notice that I still had my drink in my hand from my meal ten minutes before! Best restaurant ever. And yes, I paid for it.)

(I’m getting lunch at a sandwich shop on my way home from work. It’s a little busy and I’m behind a group of four construction workers. The server is chatting up and flirting with one of the construction workers. When she’s done putting the meat on the bread for him, it’s my turn and she instantly goes from smiling to having a nasty look on her face.)

Server #1: “What do you want?”

Me: “Hi. I’d like an oven-roasted chicken chopped salad, please.”

(The server sighs and rolls her eyes. She says nothing, puts the chicken in the microwave, and passes the salad bowl down the line, saying nothing else to me. After the construction workers get past the topping section and move on to paying, it’s my turn for the next server.)

Server #2: “Hi. Um… what type of salad was this?”

Me: “It’s a—“

Server #1: *cutting me off* “He got a veggie-only salad, nothing else.”

Me: “No, the chicken is still in the microwave. I had an oven-roasted chicken chopped salad.”

Server #2: *smiles and grabs the chicken out of the microwave*

(Then, I give the remaining toppings I want to [Server #2], one at a time. As I’m about to pay:)

Server #1: *with a loud and snotty attitude* “How was I supposed to know you had chicken for your salad?!”

Me: “Because you put it in the microwave?”

Related:

Not So Tender About The Chicken

I have just gotten my first job. It’s at a sandwich shop located inside a convenience store. Most people only work one or the other, but because I can only work during the summer, I need the extra hours, so I ask to work both.

Our “register” at the sandwich shop is really just a computer that prints out a ticket of what the customer orders. The customer then has to pay up front at the convenience store.

I have just finished printing out the order ticket for a woman who easily has a hundred dollars’ worth of food and I don’t have a line, so my boss has me come up front to get some register training.

I am not the only high-schooler there, but I’m the youngest and most recent hire. My boss notices a couple of people purposely get in my line and try to pull the “I paid in the back” trick before they realize it’s me. He is getting madder and madder at customers obviously just trying to take advantage of the youngest and newest employee when a woman with several sandwiches walks up to my register.

She places several items on the counter but refuses to hand me an order ticket. She vehemently argues that she doesn’t have a sandwich ticket and even leans on the counter so she can get in my face and scream at me when she starts cursing.

My boss steps up, physically moves me back from her, and gets in her face.

I have no idea what he whispered to her but she immediately turned around and searched the entire store until she found the order ticket she had crumpled up and thrown on the floor.

(I am working at a sandwich shop when a customer comes in, looking like he’s on drugs.)
Customer:  ”I want a…  a…”
Me: *sighs*
Customer:  “I want an abortion for my dolphin, man.”
Me:  “Well, you’d have to go to the veterinarian for that, sir.  I’m sorry.”
Customer:  “Thanks anyway.”
(He slowly walked out the door.  After he was gone my coworker and I cracked up.)