I’m a flight attendant with over ten years of experience. Any issues that crop up during my workday, I’ll bend over backwards to accommodate people if I can. However, there are unfortunately a handful of passengers who are dishonest to try and get what they want: fake injuries to try and get upgraded, fake birthdays, you name it. People try to cheat the system because it makes them feel special or like they’ve “one-upped” me, I guess.

Let me tell you about a fake vegetarian I had on board.

He’s flying in economy, in the second-to-last row.

Passenger: “I’ll have the pasta option.”

Me: “I’m so sorry, sir, but due to popular demand, we’ve run out of the pasta option in this section of the cabin. I can offer you the chicken option instead, if you’d like.”

Passenger: “I’m a vegetarian. Last time, they brought me a meal from business class, so I’ll just wait for that.”

Now, I would have offered that anyway as a nicety (if available), I’m not a complete jerk. I genuinely like helping people if I can. But the way he expected it before I could even offer a solution left a bad taste in my mouth.

Also, I smelled a rat. I was 99% sure I’d cleared away an empty packet of smoky bacon crisps from him earlier on, and they weren’t a vegetarian brand. I was certain he was just being picky and wanted a higher-quality meal. Plus, any regular flyer would know that vegetarian options run out often, and to pre-order.

Me: “It’s unfortunate you didn’t pre-order a vegetarian meal, sir. I’ll see what I can do for you, though. Just give me five minutes to finish up here.”

I went up to business class. They’d also run out of the vegetarian option. So, I went up to first class to see if they could spare anything. We ended up putting a few leaves together with a bit of dressing. (First class passengers spend thousands more and can dine at any time, so they didn’t want to give up any of the hot vegetarian options in case someone wanted it later: fair enough.)

Then I thought… I could have some fun with this fake vegetarian.

I brought it back down on a silver tray, holding it above his eyeline so he couldn’t see it.

Me: “Unfortunately, the vegetarian business class option has run out—”

Passenger: “Well, that’s ridicu—”

Me: “—However… I managed to go one step further and get the last vegetarian meal from first class!”

I pulled the linen cloth off the top of the tray as I placed the salad down in front of him. It was a very basic but large salad, and his face said it all.

His smug expression turned to “WTF is that?!” in about two seconds flat.

Passenger: “I wanted something hot. I’ll just have the chicken, then.”

Me: *Mock shock.* “Oh, I couldn’t possibly give you that, sir. I would feel awful.”

Passenger: “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

I gave him a pointed “Are you sure you’re vegetarian?” look and brought him the chicken, by which point it had been sitting in the oven drying up a little longer. Bon appétit.

I’m on a solo all-inclusive holiday, mostly to avoid the hassle of finding restaurants while travelling alone. The hotel has “club-style” seating, tables of eight where guests are sat together to “encourage community.”

Last night, I was seated first and already enjoying a glass of wine when a family of five, two parents and three children, joined my table. 

The mother turns to me immediately:

Mother: “We do not wish to expose our children to alcohol.”

Me: *Smiling politely.* “Then perhaps you should ask to move tables. I’ll be finishing my wine.”

They sat down, clearly unhappy, and made a few passive-aggressive remarks about how “sad” it must be to travel alone.

I went up to get food. When I came back, my wine was gone. Shortly after, a waiter came over, looking concerned.

Waiter: “Can I see your wristband, please?”

I show it.

Waiter: “I’m so sorry. That family told us you were underage and had sneaked away from your parents.”

I blink.

Me: “…I’m thirty-three.”

The waiter’s eyes widen, and he quickly apologizes again, then goes off and returns, not just with a fresh glass of wine, but with a wink and impeccable timing.

Waiter: “Should I just bring the bottle?”

Me: “Actually, yes. And maybe a couple of shots of vodka too.”

The waiter returns with both, just as the family arrives back at the table with their food.

I clink the vodka glasses together, smile, and knock them back. 

The mother gasps. The father’s jaw clenches. The parents are about to complain to a waiter again, right in front of me. I’ve had enough and lean in close and whisper to the parents.

Me: “Lady, I am this close to telling your kids this is extra-yummy special juice their parents won’t order for them and letting them do my damage for me. Do not get between a woman and her wine on her holiday.”

They did the sensible thing, basically what I suggested at the beginning. They changed tables.

I ended up having some other tourists sit with me at my table, and we all had a great time, making loud toasts, and drawing the delicious glares of that family, now sitting at a table way in the back.

I work in a popular bar in a fancy hotel/casino on the Las Vegas strip. We’re known for crazy and elaborate cocktails, so the price tag matches.

Customer: *Slapping the bill on the bar.* “Twenty-five dollars? For a cocktail? Are you kidding me?”

Me: “No, sir, that’s the menu price.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous! Back home, I can get a drink for five bucks!”

Me: “And back home, you don’t have the Bellagio fountains behind you.”

Customer: “It’s robbery!”

Me: “Well, sir, it’s Vegas. You’re not paying for the drink, you’re paying for something much more priceless; plausible deniability for the rest of the night.”

The customer grumbles but still tips a few bucks, because, well… the drink IS very strong.

We have a group of fourteen Americans in for a pre-booked menu fixe: a set menu. Same dishes for everyone, price agreed in advance. It includes the wine pairing, water, and service. All confirmed by email weeks ago.

They seem nice enough… until…

Customer: “Uh, yeah, so, I’m not paying for the wine.”

Me: “The wine is included in the menu price, monsieur. It is the same cost whether you drink it or not.”

Customer: “But I’m not drinking it. I’ll have a Diet Coke. So, obviously, I’m not paying the wine surcharge.”

Me: “It is not a surcharge, monsieur. The price is for the menu as a whole; all courses, drinks, and service. It is the same for everyone.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous. I’m not subsidizing their drinking. Just charge me for the food.”

Me: “I’m afraid that is not possible, monsieur. It is a set menu for the entire group.”

We serve dinner. He eats every course. He drinks his Coke. He sulks. When the bill comes, he starts again.

Customer: “And I’m not paying the service charge either. That’s just a forced tip!”

Me: “It is not a tip, monsieur. It is the service. It is how we pay the staff. In France, it is included in the price.”

Customer: “Then take it out of the price!”

Me: “This is not possible.”

Customer: “In America, we tip for good service.”

Me: “In France, we include it for surviving you.”

Customer: “For what?!”

Me: “Sorry, my English, maybe I mistranslated.”

Customer: “I’m not paying it!”

Me: “Then you will not be paying at all, monsieur, because it is part of the total. It is all or nothing, not divisible.”

There’s a tense pause. His friends, who have clearly endured this before, start digging in their wallets.

Friend #1: “Jerry, just pay. We agreed to this. Weeks ago.”

Friend #2: “Yeah, man. You’re embarrassing us.”

He finally hands over his share, service, and all. As they leave, one of his friends lingers behind.

Friend #2: “Sorry about him. He thinks ‘service compris’ is French for ‘optional.'”

It’s a sunny afternoon, and I’m manning the rental hut, handing out paddles and life vests to tourists. A couple strolls up, looking a bit too polished for river mud.

Woman: “Hi, we’d like to rent one of the… boats. The quiet ones.”

Me: “…you mean canoes?”

Woman: “Sure, but no paddles. We just want to float and relax.”

Me: “Okay, but without paddles you won’t be able to steer.”

Man: “That’s fine. It’s a round trip, right? Like the current brings us back?”

Me: “…That’s not how rivers work.”

Woman: “But the guy at the resort said this was a loop.”

Me: “He meant the hiking trail. The river has, uh, a strong preference for downstream.”

They stare at me like I’m trying to upsell basic physics.

Woman: “So if we go, we have to… paddle back?”

Me: “Yes, otherwise, your vacation ends in Manitoba.”