When They Wear Their Sunday Best Expect The Sunday Worst

I was working at a fast food restaurant during the Sunday after-church rush, and we had a line so long that people were waiting outside the store. A family of three made it to the counter.

Despite the fact that they’d had plenty of time to look at the menu board, the parents didn’t know what kid’s meal to get their three-year-old. Their options were a hard-shell taco, a soft-shell taco, or a bean burrito.

It was far too difficult for them to decide. They would choose one, I would ring it up, and then they would change their mind and ask me to delete it and ring them up for the new choice. To the surprise of no one, once the second was rung in, they’d switch to the third, only to change yet again to a previous option.

My manager wasn’t right there next to me, but I could see her working just as hard as the rest of us on another station and very definitely getting annoyed. We still had a mass of people waiting. She drew a line across her throat at me and shook her head. That was the signal to end the nonsense.

Me: “If you don’t know what to order, then please step to the side and let me know when you have decided. I can’t have you holding up the line.”

That went over about as well as an anvil on a coyote. The father, dressed in his Sunday best, started tearing me a new one in front of the entire crowd. He started calling me a low-life degenerate, a college dropout who probably couldn’t make change, etc., etc., etc. And he wasn’t saying this quietly; he was bellowing at the top of his voice, and the whole place had gone silent as people were staring at the scene.

I was done by this point. I proceeded to wipe his order.

Me: “I can help the next customer since I am now refusing this guy service.”

Rage Mode Level Two Activated.

The father proceeded to knock over our cup display. He shoved his face into my face.

Father: “Now, listen here, you piece of s***. You’re going to get me the manager, and I will ensure that your worthless a** is fired!”

My manager saw the cups go and was already coming over, though the layout meant she had to navigate past a few things, so her approach was a smidge delayed.

Manager: “I will not be firing my employee. You need to get out of my store or I will be calling the cops!”

Father: *Laughing and sneering* “Oh, yeah? What are the cops going to do?”

The best moment of working in fast food was my manager turning to the crowd and saying:

Manager: “Show of hands: who here just witnessed this guy verbally assaulting my employee?”

Every single customer raised their hand.

Manager: “With all these witnesses, charges will be filed. And that’s just the start. I bet there’s a whole book I can throw at you thanks to the video cameras. Get out of my restaurant and don’t come back.”

The man stormed out, followed by the rest of his family. Thirty minutes later, guess who placed the exact same order in our drive-through? (Yes, he did finally pick one thing for the kid’s meal.)

He got to the window, and there stood my manager.

Manager: “Not going to happen. Keep driving, jacka**.”

The man cursed, condemned us all to Hell for the sin of… something… and sped off.

My manager was awesome.