The Steaks Are So Not High Enough For A Tantrum Like This

I’m a manager in a restaurant. A customer with two children orders a meal with steak and a salad. It comes with guacamole; I even tell her it does when she orders it.

I bring the food to the customer.

Customer: “Ugh, I don’t like guacamole! Take this back and get rid of that stuff!”

I take it back to the cook to fix it, which is as simple as removing the salad and remaking it without guac, so the plate I take back to her is the same plate as before, sans guac.

Customer: “You’ve given me less meat! This is ridiculous! I want a new plate with more steak, or I want my money back!”

She’s being really rude, so I decide to just nip this in the bud and take the food and give her a refund.

Customer: “No, I don’t want the refund! I want more steak!”

Me: “Then I’m afraid you need to leave, ma’am.”

Customer: “I want to talk to the cook about this!”

Because, of course, HE must be in charge — not me, the manager.

Me: “Ma’am, that’s not going to happen.”

The cook doesn’t speak English and this woman does.

She walks outside with her children and goes around to the back door trying to talk to the cook, and he’s just looking at her like, “What is this crazy lady saying?”

I call the police because at this point she won’t leave. The cook shuts and locks the door at my request, and the lady starts banging on the windows.

Customer: “I’ll take that refund! I WANT MY MONEY BACK NOW!”

But she’s getting aggressive and I’m not opening the window for that crap. Meanwhile, I talk to the dispatcher, who says the officer is a couple of minutes out.

The woman is now SLAMMING on the window. I’m talking to the dispatcher on my phone, and the cook is on his own phone with our boss, telling him what’s happening. And the police arrive.

The officer talks with the woman first and I’m fine with that. I have a bad response to conflict because of past trauma, and there’s no way in h*** I’m getting into that, let alone stepping foot outside of the safety of the kitchen.

The officer then talks to me with a tired smile on his face.

Officer: “How are you?”

Me: “I’ll be better once that woman leaves.”

Officer: *Laughs* “What do you want to do?”

He had her trespassed rather quickly, and she flipped me off on her way out — all this in front of her two children. I probably shouldn’t have, but I was feeling a little braver with the officer there, so I waved at her as she left.