When Online Reviews Equal Fake News

I work at a well-known chain of Australian steakhouses in my town. It isn’t very busy, and I get sat a table of three: a husband and wife and their son who looks to be ten to twelve years old.

Son:
“Can I get the quesadilla with no onions?”

Me:
“I’m sorry, those are premade and I can’t take anything off. All I can offer is a different dipping sauce.”

This is completely true; we make them fresh every morning, so there’s no way I can just take out an ingredient.

Wife:
“Are you sure you can’t?”

I think, “Of course, I can’t. I’m not going to lie to you, crazy lady!” but I just smile and nod.

Me:
“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nothing I can do.”

Wife:
“Are your fries gluten-free?”

Me:
“They are, but if you’re looking for a gluten-free option, I would suggest something else as a side. We can’t always guarantee no cross-contamination with the fryers.”

We have three fryers — one specifically for fries — but I can’t guarantee the kitchen changes gloves between appetizers if there isn’t a need, and something else might have been fried there by accident.

Me:
“The fryer that we use also gets used at the end of the night for everything while we clean the other two, so I can’t guarantee that it will be clean.”

At the end of the night, we break down two fryers to be cleaned and use just the fry one, but at this point, it’s 6:00 pm and we’re far from closed.

The wife is fuming, I can tell already. I just put on my fake waitress smile and take the rest of their order. The kid gets some fries and the parents both get a steak.

Me:
“Everything okay over here?”

The wife speaks in a tone that suggests she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.

Wife:
“Oh, everything is fine. Thank you.”

Every time I check on them, all the responses I get are that things are fine, everything’s great, etc. I assume everything is fine. Towards the end of the meal, when I drop off the check, I notice that the husband still has half of his steak left.

Me:
“Would you like me to box that for you?”

Husband:
“Oh, no, it’s fine. Thanks.”

This is not uncommon since some people don’t want to take leftovers home. We usually just put the meat people leave behind in a bag for another waitress to take home for her cats.

Me:
“All right, well, I’ll be your cashier whenever you’re ready.”

By the time I got back to the table, they were gone. No tip, but I wasn’t really expecting one. What I didn’t expect was the review they posted online. They didn’t mention me by name, and I’m sure they didn’t remember it even after introducing myself at the start, but I showed my boss and she said it was hilarious.

They started out by saying that the waitress — me! — was horrible. Then, they went on about a coconut allergy and how we throw everything in the same fryer as the day goes on. She never said anything about a coconut allergy to me the whole time she was eating her fried food. We have coconut shrimp on our menu, so there’s always a chance of cross-contamination, especially if you don’t tell me about your f****** allergy in the first place. And I in no way said that we throw everything in the same fryer, only that we break the other two down at the end of the night, like the last hour of business or so.

Then, her husband’s steak was so dry and tough he could barely eat it. But they never said a word to me when I asked how everything was. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me something’s wrong; I’m not a mind reader! So, thank you, b****y woman with a coconut allergy, now I have a review about myself I can talk about with my fellow servers.