(I am serving at a very busy restaurant downtown with a very large patio. Outside the patio entrance, there is a big red stop sign that reads, “Please wait to be seated.” Two customers in their late twenties walk past the sign and rudely ignore the hostess’s calls to stop. They sit down at a dirty table. I walk up to the table and start stacking the empty glasses from previous guests.)
Me: “Hello—”
Customer: “REAL NICE! We came here for a nice lunch and have to sit at a dirty table?! Unbelievable!”
Me: “Sorry about that, folks. We’re really busy and the guests from this table just left less than a minute ago. Let me take care of that for—”
Customer: “Is that supposed to be some kind of excuse?! How hard is your job, really?! What a joke! You’d think you people would have some kind of system to address these things!”
Me: “Again, I’m very sorry. Normally, we clean a table before the next guest is seated by our hostess, but you seem to have seated yourself, so let me take care of that for—“
Customer: “Who?! That rude little girl that yelled at us on the way in?!”
(At this point, I’m holding a stack four or five pint glasses in one hand, a billfold from the last table in the other, and four menus under my arm, and I’m trying to keep table 44’s apps and drink order in my head.)
Me: “Ma’am, she didn’t yell at you. She plainly said, ‘Excuse me,’ to try and get your attention.”
Customer: *scoffs and YANKS the menus out from under my arm*
Me: “Ma’am, it’s not exactly polite walk past the sign, ignore the host, and be upset that YOU sat yourself at a dirty table.”
Customer: “Sign? What sign?!”
Me: “The big one at the front that says, ‘Please wait to be seated.'”
Customer: “Yeah, well, what if I told you I can’t read? Huh? Then what?!”
Me: “Well, that’s why it’s red and shaped like an octagon so you’ll associate it with ‘Stop.'”
Customer: *smugly* “Yeah?! Well, maybe I’m color blind, too!”
Me: “Well then, sweetie, it sounds like you’re gonna have a really tough time with our menu.”
(I walk away before she has a chance to respond. I eventually circle back to their table with two kiddie paper coloring menus and crayons. A few minutes later, they are gone but have scrawled a note on the back of the kiddie menu. This is exactly what it says:)
Customer’s Note: “YOUR A A**HOLL WERER NEVER COMMING BACK AGAN”
(It was also followed by a very crude scribble that a coworker and I later concluded had to be an attempt to draw male genitalia.)
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