Archive for the ‘Dumb Customers’ Category

I worked at a cafeteria and got some pretty weird/gross requests. -ranch on fruit jello -regular chubby kids got (everytime) fried chicken, french fries, and mash potatoes with extra gravy they would peal the skin off the fried chicken and dip it in gravy. (I felt like I was handing them death) -saw a lady put sugar on her spaghetti


Last night I had a couple at my table. Our restaurant serves a Vodka Shrimp Pasta. She “snaps” her fingers to signal me over to the table, then she orders our Vodka Shrimp Pasta and says, “lemme upgrade to Goose in that pasta.” (the sauce is just called Vodka sauce there is no booze in it) I said “no problem” rang in a chilled double shot of Grey Goose and drank the shot in the back of the restaurant. This smug lady said she loved the pasta! haha I loved my free shot of Grey Goose!


Used to work at a quaint, family-owned seafood restaurant when I was a teenager. We sold fried corn, three pieces per order. If you wanted more, you better mention it and it’s gonna cost you extra.
Had a woman get a take out order and then drive back, screeching how she didn’t get all of her corn. I open her bag, there’s three pieces. I explain that it’s all there, no mistakes at all, and even offer to give her a free drink for her drive home. She proceeds to go batshit crazy inside the restaurant, demanding that we give her extra food for free because she thought the order came with more. Being extremely tiny and young, I was terrified.

My managers are willing to work with misunderstandings, but they threw that bitch out.


Tonight at work I was standing next to one of my 2 top tables asking if their food had come out alright. The guy at the table went to grab a napkin that had two ramekins of honey mustard dressing on top of it. He pulled the napkin out too quickly and at just the right angle for the dressing to fly off the table and splatter all over me and the floor. He watched the whole thing happen and still had the audacity to smile and say “We’ll just pretend like that wasn’t your fault.”


Whats the deal with people tearing up coasters/napkins/beer labels/ any thing they can get their creepy little OCD hands on? I hate this! One of my biggest pet peeves!


WTF is up with the cup shake. I see that your drink needs to be refilled and I will get to it if you just let me put down your food/menus for other table/etc. Do NOT shake your cup of ice at me! It fills me with an unbelievable rage. It’s even worse if they shake it as they’re asking for a refill. I get it!


Look I waited tables from the tender age of 18 to the ripe old age of 28. Your waiter is basically the middle man/woman who separates the person who cooks your fucking jalapeno poppers and you. If the sweaty cook took your order and went to the pit to cook your meal, 10 times out of 10 your attitude would dictate the amount of bodily fluids in your well done burger. The waitstaff is YOUR friend until YOU piss us off. Unlike the grill-slaves, we have a somewhat higher dickface tank, meaning it doesn’t get filled as fast. All the waitstaff of the whole fucking world asks is, just be nice and treat us like the wage slave you are too….With respect.

Yes I have thought about putting boogers in your food, Hugs


Two older couples came in. For the sake of clarity, I will call the two women Nice Wife and Bitch Wife.

Bitch wife proceeded to drink Dewars on the rocks until she was extremely intoxicated. When she ordered her steak she asked me to have it cooked “blue.” She flipped out when I told her we didn’t do blue steaks and she instead ordered a very rare steak. Her husband ordered salmon. I was given very specific instructions on how to cook both entrees. Nice Husband and Nice Wife look mortified. Bitch Wife gets her food and promptly flips out because it’s not “blue,” even though she was totally clear on the fact that we didn’t do that at the restaurant. My manager, an experienced chef, goes out of his way to make the woman a damned blue steak and serves it to her himself. It is the third steak we have cooked for her. Bitch Wife lectures me for 10 minutes (I am not exaggerating) on what a terrible server I am, how the restaurant is a piece of shit, etc. She eats all of her steak and half of her husband’s salmon and complains that their food was inedible. She demands that their entrees be taken off their bill.

I am fuming at this point, but the manager still comps their meals. I take the check to the table for Nice Wife and Nice Husband to pay. I am lectured again about what terrible service I offered. After another 10 minutes of being scolded, I calmly told her that I understood she was upset, but that I didn’t prepare her food and had served her exactly what she ordered. Bitch Wife demands to see the manager who cooked her food. She also lectures him and says that she is a professional chef and is appalled at our inability to prepare a blue steak. Manager offers her a job at the restaurant since we obviously don’t know what I’m doing. Bitch Wife flies off the handle and storms out. Her husband follows meekly in her wake.
Nice Wife and Nice Husband leave me an immense tip. They’re so embarrassed by their friend’s behavior that they can barely look me in the eye. They leave and I start cleaning their table. Nice Wife comes back, presses an additional $20 into my hand, and whispers “I’m so sorry about the way she acted. If I’d known she would be that way I would have just fed her at my home… but she’s a chef and I don’t know how to cook.” She gives me a hug and leaves.

A few weeks later, Bitch Wife came back and got super drunk on Dewars on the rocks again. She ended up standing on her tiptoes screaming into the manager’s face in the middle of a packed dining room because there wasn’t cottage cheese on the salad bar. She was banned from the restaurant.


When I was waitressing earlier this year I had a man tell me that his lamb “looked like it should have been on the kids’ menu” and asked me where I possibly found the gall to charge over $35 for such a “pathetic piece of meat”. He said every word as if he genuinely believed that I was the person responsible for the food on his plate.


When bringing a kid into a restaurant, try to pick up after it. Servers & hostesses don’t have time to pick up the Cheeto explosion your twerp left when we’re on a forty-five minute wait.