Lunch shift today, table is going well until after this guy and his wife (I'm assuming) cash out. He angrily explains that he's never been ANYWHERE that it costs $72 for a soup and salad.
I explained to him that he also ordered two cosmos, grilled salmon for his salad, his wife ordered two glasses of wine, a shot of whiskey, and two more food items.
"Well I've never been anywhere where it costs $72 for lunch. Also this dressing was bad."
I respond, "Again, you got more than that, but I'd be happy to take that .75 cents off for that extra dressing you asked for."
We went back and forth with the same dialogue like two or three more times and i finally just said, ok thanks, have a great day! He calls me back over 5 minutes later and says he's ready to pay so I kindly remind him that he already paid and to have a great day. This is one of the weirder incidents I've had serving and I was so confused.
He didn't tip me of course.
This will be a quick(ish) story. It happened 5+ years ago at this particular Waffle House.
For those of you not blessed to living in the Southeastern USA, we have a chain of 24hour diners called “Waffle House”. They serve all day breakfast, lunch, and most importantly solid no frills coffee. They are also the unofficial sanctuary of the southern states. They are not a religious affiliation; they just provide shelter, warmth, counter service and zero judgement regardless of who comes into their establishments. Almost every highway exit that is worth their salt has one, and their Waffle House neon yellow and black sign is legendary.
So naturally, when we moved back to my home state, we made the pilgrimage to our friendly neighborhood Waffle House. My mistake was Toddler Tina (TT) was in tow.
Now, the important thing to remember is TT has rewatched “When Harry Met Sally” (a romcom from 1989 with young Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan) too many times and idolizes Meg Ryan. This did NOT result in a recreation of the famous “I’ll have what she’s having line” (sorry to disappoint), but it does mean that TT will obsessively order strange variations of menu items at every eating establishment with a toothy grin (a la Sally Albright, AKA Meg Ryan). Examples include:
Waitress: Hello, whatcanIgetcha?
TT: Well, what are you known for?
Waitress: We are known for ((insert local dish)) but a lot of people prefer ((insert other option))
TT: (Clearly not listening) I’d like your apple pie BUT WAIT (smile) I’d like the pie heated, and I don’t want the ice cream on top. I want it on the side, and do you have strawberry instead of vanilla? Because if you don’t, then I’ll pass on the ice cream, and you can add just whipped cream, but only if it’s real. If it’s out of the can, then nothing.
Waitress: (I do not get paid enough for this)
So, making our first pilgrimage to our new neighborhood Waffle House and bringing TT was clearly not my best move. But it is the most accepting space I’ve ever been to, and I reassured myself that I would tip well- so it would be fine.
Morgan Freeman: It was most certainly not fine.
When we walked in, TT was automatically defensive. I just guided her to an open booth in the back with the help of our server. The server then put down two laminated menus and asked if we wanted coffee. As the normal cadence of a Waffle House visit began, I perused the menu without any real interest (I’ve had the same order since I was 16 and hungover from my fi... keep reading on reddit ➡
Many many years ago, I worked at a bakery that also served a lot of other things besides pastries in the main storefront. One of these things was salads. So, being young and resentful, I quickly came up with systems for how I enacted petty vengeance on rude customers, or silently rewarded nice customers. One such system revolved around how I charged for salads. You see, we measured salad costs by weight, but the employee was the only person who could actually see the number on the scale. So if a customer was particularly rude, I would round their salad charge up to the nearest fifty cents. If a customer was truly exceptionally toxic, I would round up to the nearest dollar. I live in a wealthy/expensive area, so no one ever thought to challenge the numbers I gave. I would balance the moral scales/my guilt by rounding down via the same system for particularly nice customers. Neutral customers received the price given by the scale. Was I a terrible employee? 100%
Obligatory this happened 4 years ago.
I used to be a waitress at an Uzbek restaurant in the US. A lot of our clientele was Russian/Eastern European. I’m fluent in Russian, so I would usually service the tables that didn’t speak much English.
Well one Saturday night, I’m working the dinner rush. This is usually 4-5 hours of constant, nonstop work. It was a small restaurant with limited staff, so on busy nights, I’d also bus the tables. About 3 hours into the shift, I get a table of about 10 young Russian thuggish intimidating men- gopniks, if you will. They sat down, I took their orders, poured their vodka shots, and moved on to my next table. Let it be known that they brought their own vodka, about 4-5 bottles. Anyways, I eventually bring out their food, pour more shots, and keep working. About 30 minutes later, I look across the restaurant and see that the Squad has left. They didn’t pay the bill, but the owner of the restaurant was Russian, so I assumed they knew the owner and had a tab (this was not entirely uncommon). I start bussing their table and notice they left a salad completely untouched. Now, anyone that has worked in the restaurant business before knows that on really busy nights where you’re moving nonstop, you get hungry, and you gotta take any opportunity for food that you can get. This was my favorite salad. I was exhausted and starving, and still had about 2 hours left in my shift. So, before busing the table, I swipe the salad, take it into the back, and quickly shovel it down my gullet before getting back out onto the floor. I’m about to go finish busing the table when a different table calls me over, and so I go and help that table. A few minutes later, I start heading back towards the Squad’s table, when to my horror, I see that the Squad had returned.
Y’all, they went out for a smoke. Because OF COURSE THEY DID. I feel all the blood drain from my face as my heart poops it’s pants. I’m panicking about what to do- I can’t place an order with the kitchen for another salad just because. Will the Squad notice? What will they say? How will I explain?! I calmly walk over and pour another round of shots. I’m waiting for them to ask about the salad, trying to prepare some BS excuse in my head. But they don’t ask. Because thank god, they’re hammered. They don’t notice the missing salad. The evening goes on, the Squad hangs around for a couple more hours, downing shots and taking smoke breaks. So far, so good. Now, time to bring the bill. T... keep reading on reddit ➡