A waiter will always get their revenge on you, so make sure you act nice and tip well when trying to impress a first date, fellas! Amanda Sayles, who was a waitress in college, remembers some particularly satisfying revenge she got one night:
"My last customers of the night were a couple, obviously out on a first date. They ordered, ate and then paid the bill. When I got to the table, I saw 50 cent tip. I picked it up and walked out to the parking lot where they were getting into his car. I handed him the change and said, "I'm sure you need this more than I do." I told the girl "any guy who's this cheap doesn't deserve a second date." She looked at him like he was a piece of gum on her shoe. It was the best night ever of waiting tables!"
Being a parent is such hard work, blah blah blah. Okay, now that we've gotten the obligatory "parents are heroes" rhetoric out, please enjoy this delicious story of one restaurant manager's revenge against a disgusting parent and their dirty diaper:
"I was covering a management shift one night when one of the hostesses walks up to me with a disgusted look on her face. She tells me that a couple with a baby had been changing their kid in the LOBBY (yes, we do have restrooms with changing tables), and then just tied up the diaper and left it under a lobby bench when they were called to sit at their table.
I asked her where they were seated, went into the kitchen, grabbed the longest pair of tongs I could find, went to the lobby, picked up the diaper, went to the table of the couple in question, dropped the diaper on their table and said, 'You forgot something in the lobby.' They were too mortified to complain."
When traveling, one should remember the following things: 1) Be prepared to spend money 2) Don't be a dick. Literally THAT'S it, but surprisingly some people have trouble with the most simple instructions. Like the guy described in Meghan Dandridge's story:
"Years ago, I worked at an Irish Pub in the East Village in NYC. We worked in a tip pool. So, it wasn't my table, but I cared. We would see it all the time; someone from the Midwest would announce, "I've got this!" and then get blindsided when the bill showed up. They thought they knew the prices, because that's what the price was in Iowa.
So one day, this happens. After spending FIVE hours in our bar (there were nine of them), the guy who announced he is picking up this tab starts to argue with the waitress a about the total. At one point, he announced that there are nine shots on this bill and we didn't have any shots. When she pointed out to him that the empty shot glasses were still sitting in front of them, he went back to insisting that they couldn't have possibly drank that much. She stood her ground. Eventually, he paid the $400 tab. He tipped $10.
Clearing the table, we learn that he left his wallet. The waitress asked me what to do (she was in tears at this point) and I told her to leave it to me. I took the man's Ohio driver's license out of his wallet, put it on the front, and rubber banded it. Then I dropped it in a mailbox. Government issued ID = free postage.
When he came back, I told him what I had done. He was so mad. He kept saying he would call the cops. To say what? That I had gone out of my way to get his belongings back to him? Then he started screaming a lot about how was he supposed to get into his hotel room? What was he supposed to do for money for the rest of the weekend?
By the time he left, I don't think it had yet occurred to him, "How was he getting on that plane?" He had no ID, no cash, and no cards. Welcome to NYC, ya cheap bastard!"
People, when someone is literally serving you, the very least you can do is not snap your fingers at them to get their attention. Or else you're going to end up like the idiot from this server's story:
"I was a cocktail waitress in a Mariott Lounge and I had one of those guys who wanted to show off in front of his family. The guy was evidently in town for a visit and was taking his wife's family out for a drink. You could tell he felt himself vastly superior to, and more successful than, his guests and wanted them to know it. His hosting of the event did not spring from a desire to be kind but more of a desire to lord over his lessers. You could tell he really thought he was impressing what he thought were a bunch of hicks. He also thought that ordering me around like a slave made him look worldly, like he was used to being served and knew how to handle the help. Nobody in his party was buying it though and I could tell they all thought he was a pompous ass. The guy was from Ohio and this was in West Virginia. Southerners do not like loud Northerners who show off. But they are polite to them.
There were eight or ten people in his party and he was also sending drinks to some others in the bar who knew people in his party. He was quite the big spender. Because he was such an asshole and because there were so many different people drinking different drinks I started padding his tab. I put the drinks of all my cash paying customers on his tab and collected their cash for myself.
The guy summoned me - snapping his fingers of course - for his bill. I stood beside him and didn't leave for a minute. When he saw the bill all of the blood drained out of his face then flushed back from the neck up. He wasn't about to dispute the bill in front of his family because he would rather have died than appear to not be able to afford to lavish freely upon his lessers. The guy paid his tab, and as anticipated, left a less than a 10% tip (I think he suspected but wasn't quite sure how I had gotten him). It was okay though. I got him for about fifty or sixty bucks."
"About 10 years ago, I was in New Orleans at a famous steak house, owned by a famous chef. It was the French Quarter on a Saturday, so wait time without a reservation was about an hour. Pretty average and expected for the restaurant and location.
As my party was waiting, we witnessed this couple come in. They were dressed nice, probably too nice for New Orleans, and he told the hostess he needed a table for two. When she explained it would be about an hour for a table without a reservation, he started to yell at her, "DO YOU KNOW WHO THE F*CK I AM?" Over and over again. This poor hostess was clearly mortified and left speechless, but what the man didn't notice was that he had not only gotten the attention of everyone in the waiting area, but also the 300+ pound security guard and what appeared to be a manager. When he was on his probably 12th, "DO YOU KNOW WHO THE F*CK I AM?" the manager tapped him on the shoulder and said, "You are out of here. Leave immediately."
Clearly the man didn't see the security guard, because again he unleashed another "DO YOU KNOW WHO THE F*CK I AM?" at the manager. Then the security guard grabbed him and as he was throwing him out the door, the manager yelled, "Sorry, we can't seat you, since YOU don't know who the f*ck YOU are." Everyone was dying laughing.
To this day, I wonder just who the f*ck that man was."
If you're homophobic in 2016, then your life must be really sad. It makes it extra wonderful that people like Jerry Barns exist to do what he did to get revenge:
"When I was a broke undergrad around 2004, I worked at a popcorn and candy shop near campus. At the time, my state's idiot lawmakers were threatening to invalidate the health care plans of companies who offered insurance to employees' same-sex partners. As a form of silent protest, LGBT folks took to carrying $2 bills and using them to pay for goods as a way to visibly demonstrate their contribution to the state economy””the message being, "If you want us gone, this is the money you're taking away from the state." I went to college in a pretty liberal town, so I saw quite a few $2 bills. I started hoarding them in my register because little kids are utterly delighted when you give them a $2 bill as part of their change.
One day, business at the store was slow, and I was waiting on a man who was in a conversational mood. As we chatted, he mentioned that he was seeing a lot of $2 bills in circulation and was wondering why. I explained the reason people were using $2 to make a political statement. He started to rant about the "sinful gays" and their "evil ways" and "something something AIDS" and other bigoted nonsense. Then he bought a $2 bag of popcorn and paid with a $20 bill.
With the world's sweetest smile, I handed him his change: nine $2 bills."
"These kids knew they were smart, and they knew there was NO SCENARIO in which they'd ever have to serve somebody food as a job, because they were bright little stars with the whole world waiting for them. They were some snobby little hicks.
One kid in a loud sweater vest and bowtie ordered a burger. I asked how he wanted it cooked. Legitimate question for everyone everywhere, but one in particular that Nebraskan children are taught how to answer as soon as they can chew beef. Bowtie stares at me, as though I was THE DUMBEST person he'd ever encountered and he was wondering how I managed to get as far as using whole sentences and dressing myself with an IQ so low. With exquisite disdain, touched with the slightest sense of pity, he answered 'On a grill.'
Smartypants bowtie requested that I cook his hamburger with the appliance used to cook hamburgers all around the world. 'On. A. Grill.'
I had the cook charbroil that sucker. It was barely edible. He was too young to know he could send bad food back (even though he was practically a genius!), and the party had auto-gratuity so idgaf. I watched him try to drown it in ketchup and then pick apart the bun for dinner, and I laughed and laughed and laughed..."
Fast food workers are the glue that holds this great country together. Unfortunately, some with inferiority complexes use them as a way to feel better about themselves, so it's nice to hear of stories when those people get put in their place. Like Sam Fiorino's co-worker's story:
"One day, however, a customer came up the front counter and referred to the girl working the register by a racial slur. Something must have snapped in her because she picked up one of our huge industrial sized metal buckets that we used to lug ice from the ice maker to the soda machine and launched it right at the guy's head.
She got fired for assaulting the customer (even though we all agreed that asshole totally deserved it), but she also became a legend at our store. We watched the security camera videos of her throw over and over again for weeks."
"I am a lawyer now, but in my many many years before becoming a lawyer, I worked as a server and bartender. Mostly, I worked in high-end restaurants that often served lawyers. Unbeknownst to my clientele, my father was a judge on our state's highest court.
See my dad had come from very humble beginnings, his father was a truck driver, and thus my father's philosophy was that I needed to work in order to learn the value of a dollar. When I turned 14 and could legally work, my papa drove me down to his high school friend's restaurant and got me a job bussing tables. After having been there for about two years I had convinced management that I was able to serve. That summer I ended up with a table of eight men, all lawyers, all very prominent, all knew my father, none knew I was his daughter. The evening of service started off without much to remark upon, they ordered apps, dinner, and drink after drink after drink.
Then when I was delivering their lobsters and prime rib one of these respected lawyers decided to put his hand up my skirt, grab my ass and tell me I was a "good girl." I poured his jus in his lap, grabbed his hand, pulled it up and asked in the sweetest most condescending voice I could muster "do you know judge X of the highest court in Y state?" He replied, somewhat caught off guard, "uh, yeah..." To which I responded, "he's my father, motherf**ker...enjoy your dinner!" The entire table turned insanely red.
I told my boss what happened so that I didn't have to go back to the table, and they left me a 100% tip. Flash forward years later and I see this hack in court often, to this day he runs the other direction when he sees me."
In the food service industry, it's basically a given that you're going to have to deal with rude jerks. Luckily for Mike DeMancio's boss, he knew the best way to get revenge on that jerk:
"I worked at a catering outfit in college that did jobs for FBO's (private jets, etc), and this one client kept my boss pissed of all the time. Always complaining about the price, the quality, whatever, the guy had to complain.
So this one time, he calls up with an emergency order, pizzas for a G-5 coming in immediately. The boss tells him it's extra because of the rush, and the guy says fine. We drop everything and jam out the pizzas, but the boss is working on a separate pizza and keeping to himself.
We (me and the boss) race to the airport where the guy is waiting just as the G pulls up. The guy says he's not paying the extra, thinking he's got us over a barrel. What are we going to do, throw out the pizzas, not get paid? My boss glares at him and reaches into the van for the pies and hands them over. We get a check from the clown.
As we're pulling out the boss has a big smile on his face, and I know he did something. I ask, and he tells me he'd had enough of that guy's crap and he had switched one of the pies with his special. He'd made a pie with some five-year-old white chocolate that he'd shaved like mozzarella. He cashed the check on the way back."
11. You Probably Shouldn't Piss Off the Kitchen Staff
If you don't want your food messed with then you should probably be a nice person. Take it fromStacey Grenville:
"Several years ago, I worked as a bartender/waitress in a slightly upscale pub with a slightly upscale dining room/restaurant. One night, after the kitchen had closed (but the pub remained open) a wealthy-looking, very inebriated man in his fifties came in and demanded a steak dinner. The staff explained that the kitchen was sadly closed, and he would have to go elsewhere or settle for bar snacks. This was utterly unacceptable to him, and he began to get increasingly upset with staff insistence that we couldn't serve him food. I was never very good at being kind to a-holes, so I wandered off to find our most experienced and most customer service-oriented bartender to calm the dude down. All she had to offer was a slightly friendlier version of the same line we'd all had. Instead of admitting sad steak defeat and moving on with his life, he began grabbing bags of potato chips off a large display stand and throwing them at our prized bartender while belligerently shouting that someone needed to make him a steak.
The manager was called in, I believed to throw this douche out on his ridiculous ass. Infuriatingly, our manager instead apologized for OUR behavior, explaining to us that this giant manbaby was some sort of important local and instructing us to have the chefs reopen the kitchen to cook him a steak. I worked in service for years, and it's the only time I ever saw kitchen staff mess with someone's food for being a wank stain. Justice was literally served."
"The worst one was a very pretty and very awful woman I'll call Joan. I have met many awful human beings in my day, but this lady blew them all out of the water. She would order wings, then look at me while putting her disgusting pile of chewed-up bones on the table for me to clean up ”” shit like that.
One night, she drank more than even her prodigious tolerance could handle. I noticed that her table, which had about a dozen drunk wannabe bankers sitting at it five minutes earlier, was empty, and there were hoots and hollers coming from the ladies room.
When I went in, I found Joan making out with a female colleague while every boorish dude she worked with filmed it. I broke it up and told the guys not to be dicks...I was not rewarded. Joan looked at me and said, "If you had just gone to college, this might not be your life."
I did go to college, bitch. And you did leave your wallet in the bathroom, post-makeout sesh. And it did have a baggie of blow in it. And I did turn it in to the cops."
Delivery drivers have a pretty rough life, so the least you can do is tip them more than rounding up to the nearest dollar. Take it fromSandra Worthington:
"I spent a summer delivering pizzas that was unusually hot and humid, days that were around 100 degrees with at least 80% humidity. There was a guy who lived at the far edge of our large delivery area. It would take at least 20-25 minutes to get to his apartment in good traffic. He would always order every Friday at around 5:30, so traffic was terrible and he always ordered the same thing: a personal pepperoni pizza, a side salad and a can of Pepsi. He lived on the 4th floor and there was no elevator and the stairs were outside. The guy would leave a tip that would only round up to the next dollar, so the tip was like 65 cents and he was always very rude about how the order took too long, his food was cold, it tasted like shit the week before, ect.
I was the newest driver so I always ended up being the one who had to take the delivery because he would stiff everyone. After about 6 weeks of this, I was fed up. I tried everything: joking, being really polite, being really enthusiastic, I even tried to flirt with the guy. Nothing could make him not be a dick. I had been having a really bad night so far, so when his order came, I snatched it up and stormed out the door. As soon as I got to my car and got on the road, I started to shake the absolute shit out of his can of Pepsi and I shook it all the way to his door. As per usual, he left his 65 cent tip. I thanked him, told him to have a great night and lingered for a few seconds. Just long enough to hear him open his can of Pepsi, scream, and drop it on the floor.
"I was working at a fast food place, and one night this guy comes through the drive thru to the order menu while I'm mopping the lobby (part of the night shift job is cleaning the store). I pinged on my headset that I would be with him in just a moment (as I needed to get to a cash register to take his order) which instantly inspired him to yell "Jesus Christ, hurry up!"
I get to the register and take his order, in which he asks for a lot of stuff we don't have (because of course he does). Once I take his order, he drives around to the pick-up window and starts knocking on the glass. He wants to know what's taking so long. I just ignore him. Meanwhile, a cop car pulls into the drive thru and I take his order while I wait for part of the douchebag's order to toast and I prep the cop's coffee and donut.
I finally take the guy's money and hand him his food while he whines about how long it took me. when I hand him his food, I see he has an open beer in his lap. As he prepares to drive off, he informs me that "Lazy people like you never last."
When the cop pulls up to the take out window, I hand him his food and tell him that he can come back later to pay as the guy just pulling around the building is drunk and has an open beer. The cop did come back about an hour later and told me the guy actually tried to take a swing at him when he was being arrested for drunk driving."
Tipping is not an option, it's a requirement if you want to eat out. 15% bare minimum, 20% if you're a good person. But don't worry, food service workers like John Creighton will find a way to get their revenge:
"I worked as a bartender/server at the only decent restaurant in a college town in Wyoming. I never was comfortable charging automatic gratuity to large parties and it had worked out for me in the past, so when my table of 15 sorority sisters showed up, I figured I would be OK.
After asking me to split the check, they all paid together””14 with cash, one with a credit card. Their check was $300, and as I counted the cash before running the card, I remarked at how many of them had provided exact change with no tip. I was in line to make less than 10% of the check after they had occupied my entire section for nearly three hours. My host was walking by, listening to me grumble about it as I swiped the credit card for the last woman. He snatched the credit card out of my hand, stuck it down the front of his pants and pulled it out the back, and placed it on the card holder. I've never been so pleased to make less than minimum wage for a night."
"I worked at a pizza joint for a summer in 94. On a typical Friday night with the 4 phone lines ringing off the hook, I mostly said, 'Thank you for calling ______, can you please hold?' The manager's policy was not to wait for a response if more than one line is ringing because customers will abuse that time and weasel ahead of the phone line. As I am going down the lines saying the phrase, I hear a guy say NO as I hit the hold button. He gets pissed and hangs up and calls back 3 times. Each time I hear him yell 'NO!' before putting him back on hold.
He decides to show up, and throws the most epic fit I have ever seen. The typical don't you know who I am, etc. etc. Without making this longer, we finally get his order and he says he WILL be waiting in the car. It takes about 20 minutes to make his pizza, and he keeps coming back in, yelling about if his pizza was done. Every 5 min up until the 15 min mark we say 'No, sir, it will be ready in a few minutes.' The last time he asked, it was actually done and being carried over to the holder. So he walks in, asks, the girl checks the rack and doesn't see it, and says no. As soon as she says no I say sir (I had the pizza) but he's in such a huff, he slams the door before I could get his attention. I have no time to go chase him and I know he will be back in 5 minutes. Meanwhile the guy who placed his order right after him walks in and walks out with the pizza he ordered.
Well, him seeing that must have unleashed the power of 3,000 strokes because he came flying in in a rage talking about how he ordered before the last guy. I told him that we tried to catch him but he left in a hurry. We gave him his pizza on the house. The guy is yelling and cussing and making a huge scene as he walks out and to his car and places the pizza on top of his car all the while yelling and pointing at us all as we stand watching through the huge window to the parking lot. He gets in his car, starts to tear out of the parking lot...and the pizza he left on the top of his car slides off the roof, slides down the back of the trunk, and splats face down on the pavement. As this was happening, my manager is like 'WAIT FOR ITTTT' and then we all jump for joy and yell and laugh. At that point, the guy sits there for 5 seconds, and then just speeds off.
At that moment, I knew there was a God, and he was vengeful."
"I was managing a bar in Norfolk, Virginia that was located in the middle of a busy strip of bars and restaurants. I'd only been working there for a few weeks when it came time for the annual Halloween party, which I was told required a doorman/bouncer (something we didn't normally have). The night of the party, the place was packed; it turns out we needed the bouncer to make sure we didn't exceed our legal seating capacity. All of the servers and bartenders are running like crazy, working their asses off, when I notice a group of four squids (young Navy sailors) who look like they're getting pretty wasted. Good for them, I think.
Five minutes later, a bartender named Angie comes up to me crying, saying that they left without paying. I ask her how high their tab was; $200. The bartender is crying because she knows that she will be forced to pay the bill (sidenote: this practice always seemed seriously illegal to me), essentially taking all of the tips she'd earned that night. I was young, and the only male working in the FOH, and seriously can't stand seeing a woman cry; not knowing what else to do, I pulled out my own debit card and paid the tab, joking that she wouldn't be getting 20% from me. She hugged me and thanked me and dutifully went back to work. I smiled and began pondering how I was going to pay rent next month (back then, that was almost half of a week's paycheck after taxes).
A few weeks later, I'm working the bar when Angie comes running in yelling for me. I tell her to calm down and ask what's gotten her so excited, and she just keeps saying something about the Halloween guys. It turns out that she saw them eating at a place about a half a block down the street, and they're still there. I immediately abandoned the restaurant to go with Angie to find these guys. Sure enough, we walk in the restaurant and it's the same 4 guys, sitting with what look like their dates. Angie & I approach them at their table, wearing our work uniforms, and mention that they had forgotten to pay for their drinks on Halloween. After initially denying it, I mention that we have them on tape, and I could call the military base police and see if they could sort it out for us. They immediately ask how much the tab was, head over to the ATM, and hand over the $200. Angie then says 'That's great, you've paid him back...now how about my tip?' The guys look mortified at this point, and their dates are all staring directly into their food. They pony up another forty bucks for Angie, and truth and justice were finally restored in our bar."