This Guy Sure Is Putting Up A Racket

In 1981, I worked in a very small family-owned sandwich shop/deli in central Texas. (Real) Texans don’t do ketchup; it’s mayo or mustard, period. Even good barbecue does not get sauced. I was working by myself one afternoon when a “gentleman” came in and ordered a hamburger. With ketchup. Adamantly, with ketchup.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have any ketchup.”

Customer: “Fine. Then make a trip to the grocery store to get some. I’ll wait.”

Me: “That’s not going to happen.”

Customer: “Do you know who I am?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “I’m [Customer]! I’m a famous tennis player!”

Me: “Okay. I still don’t have ketchup, and I’m still not going to the grocery store to get some.”

I let him throw his little tantrum until he finally realized this young girl was neither intimidated nor impressed by his antics.

He left without a burger with ketchup.

One of my previous jobs was as a bouncer in a biker bar. No, he did not scare me.