Reader’s Idiots

January 29th, 2007 / Submitted by: Yvonne Whitaker
“I used to work in customer service at an electronics store. :/

One day I was standing at my little counter close to the entrance/exit of the store, when a lady walked in wearing a purple spandex…outfit…of sorts. So she proceeds to the movies, glances at one of the end caps, and after being in the store for all of maybe…45 seconds, walks up to me and says “This is the worst f**king store ever” and walks out.

Confused, I look out the door and did the only thing I knew to do and said (projecting a little so she would hear me), “Have a nice day.”

Maybe about 20 seconds later she walks back into the store and comes up to me again.

Lady: “What did you say to me?”
Me: “Erm…I told you to have a nice day.”
Lady: “That’s not what you said to me.”
Me: “Ma’am…I just told you to have a nice day.”

(This whole time I’m trying not to laugh at her…outfit.)

Lady: “No. That’s NOT what you said to me. Say it again. I dare you.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Lady: “Look, say what you said to me to them. You won’t do it, will you?”
(she points to a couple of people walking toward the exit)
Me: “Ya’ll have a nice day.”
Lady: “THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU SAID TO ME.”
Me: “Ma’am, would you like to speak with my supervisor?”
Lady: “Yes, I would like to spek to your supervisor.”
Me: “Ok, follow me and I’ll take you to him.”
Lady: “That’s not what you said to me.”

At this point she looks at the door, she looks at me and she looks at the door again.

Lady: “Have a nice day.”

Except she didn’t say it nicely. Then she walks out the door again.

Me: “We appreciate your business. Come back and see us again.”

January 2nd, 2007 / Submitted by: Matt Benwell
“As with having worked my first four ‘professional’ years in a low-level Italian/Pizza-Parlor/Seat yourself/Whatever the f*** it is ‘restaurant’, lord knows I’ve had my fair share of dumb ass customers all with their own stories. This however came on one of my few days off from a co-worker of mine.

Keep in mind – Italian restaurant.

As the story goes; A guy walks in on a not too crowded afternoon looking his raggedy self, grazes the menu, and decides he wants some tacos.

‘Sir… we don’t sell tacos’ … takes a minute then declares that he’ll then have some tacos. After a minute or two, the man wants the cashier to decide. He throws a couple slices of pizza on a plate, the man pays, and that’s that.

After he’s all done, the man swaggers up to the counter, proclaims a slurred “Man, I don’t know what you put in these tacos but they pack a wallop!”, and leaves.

December 11th, 2006 / Submitted by: Bobby Mace
“A little bit of backstory. In the restaurant in which I used to work, we had mainly booths. The big tables were only for parties of 5 or higher, and people were usually completely fine with this, since we needed these tables for the bigger parties. You always knew you were going to have a bitchy, high maintenance table, though, when a party of four or fewer came in and demanded a big table for their big hick asses.

Well, one night I got sat with a group of people like this, and they were high maintenance throughout the entire night. Whenever they wanted something, they wouldn’t tell me everything they needed, but would only tell me one more thing as I brought something else.

Here’s the real problem, though. Each and every time I brought them something else, I asked them if everything tasted alright, and if I could get them anything else. Well, of course they said everything tasted great…until the end of the meal. The guy rudely called out to me while I was helping another table, only to complain about his wife’s food. The conversation went something like this:

Him: “Um, excuse me, my wife’s steak was way too salty.”
Me: “Oh, well she’s already eaten all of it. If you would have told me when she got it that the cooks prepared it badly…”
Him: “No, she dumped too much salt on it, and I just don’t think I should have to pay for something that tasted bad.”
Rest of the family: “Dad, stop making a scene. It was mom’s fault. It’s fine.”
Him: “I’m not causing a scene. Look, the steak was bad. I don’t want to pay for it.”
Me: “Well I’m sorry, sir. Next time, ask me and I’ll salt your wife’s food for her. The bill, though, is yours to handle.”

On top of that, the douche left me a CONDOM as a tip. I guess that was his way of saying “screw you,” but judging from the look on his wife’s face, it’s not like he was going to use it anyway.”

November 22nd, 2006 / Submitted by: Will
I used to work at a grocery store in the produce department. It wasn’t a great job except that I got to give customers culenary and nutrition tips despite the fact that I was completely ignorant of cooking and nutrition.

One day, a soccer mom in her mid 30’s approached me bearing an apple and a small child.
She asked, “Sir, are these apples fresh?”
I said, “Yes, they are.”
She asked me, “But, what about these holes on either side? I don’t want to get a worm in my apples!”

Obviously, she didn’t realize that apples naturally posses stems and buds.

Nearly laughing my ass off, “Those ‘holes’ are completely natural, ma’am. That’s just the stem that hangs it on the tree and the spot where the flower connects to the apple.”
Her: “Well, i just didn’t want to bite into a gross worm.”
Me: “There are no worms in our apples. You see, apples grow on trees.”
Her: “Well, okay, but worms are gross. Are you sure there aren’t any worms?”

This went on for ten minutes. I explained thoroughly it four times because I’m obsess.

Me: “Would you like some bananas instead?”
Her: “Okay! Thank you so much for your help.”

November 17th, 2006 / Submitted by: Kibian Chavarria
“So this story is short and simple: One time I had a customer who was pissed because he had a problem with his salad. He was yelling and swearing left right and center and demanded to see a manager. The problem? “My crouttons are hard and stale.”

Well I really didn’t know what to say. I try to explain to him that indeed, that is what croutons are supposed to be: stale, hard bread. He wouldn’t listen. obviously all the other packets of crouttons we had were the same, so he just left pissed insisting he was going to write a letter of complaint to Head Office – he did, but got told the same thing.

How stubborn can somebody be to not accept he is wrong?”

November 1st, 2006 / Submitted by: Nicole Greenberg
“I used to waitress for over 2 years at TGIFriday’s. I have some great stories but the DUMBEST person I’ve ever waited on was an older black gentleman. This is what happened:

We are required to card everyone at my job – even if they look like they are my great grandparents and were around when liquor was invented – we still had to do it.

So after this guy that is probably in his late 40’s asks for a beer, I ask if he has is ID on him. I knew he was far old enough, and usually get my share of bitching at this point, but I’m glad I did verify that he wasn’t just some 17 year old kid in an old guy suit or something because he said the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

I asked him what kind of beer he wanted and after looking confused for a while he finally decided on Bud Light as if it was the only beer he could come up with on the spot. I then asked if he wanted it bottled or on draft, which we always ask, and he literally just stared at me for a good minute as if I was speaking French and finally asked: “What’s the difference?”

Um…I had no clue how to explain this to him without treating him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world so somehow I tried to say that bottled was in a bottle and draft, well comes out of a big round thing into our bar and then idiots like you can drink it, but I dumbed this down a bit for him.

The guy still looked completely lost and I was searching for a more specific answer, he said: “So is draft free refills?”

Dude, I’ve heard cheap assholes be concerned about whether Dr Pepper is free refills…but BEER? Have you never eaten out somewhere in your LIFE? I really wanted to ask him for his ID one more time to be sure he hadn’t been banned from liquor forever.”

October 26th, 2006 / Submitted by: J. Haller
“I’m not sure if this story qualifies since it doesnt involve serving someone at a table but…

I used to work at a pizza place in the suburbs of Chicago.  We did take out and delivery, and one day we get a call from a woman (lets call her The Bitch) who wants her pizza delivered.  I ask her for her address, and she gives me two streets that I had not heard before.  After looking at the map, I realize that she is out of our delivery zone.  So the conversation went like this:

Me: “I’m sorry ma’am, that area is out of our delivery zone, would you like to pick up the order?”
Her: “What do you mean you don’t deliver to me?!  It’s not a far drive at all.”
Me: “Actually, miss, that area is about 20 minutes away from us, and there’s also rush hour traffic now, so chances are even if we did deliver to that area, it would take at least 40 minutes.”
Her: “NO YOU IDIOT, It only takes me 10 minutes to get to where you are, I want to talk to your damn supervisor NOW!”

I put my manager on the phone, and after 10 minutes of my manager telling her exactly what I told her, she hangs up on him.  So about an hour later we get a call from the corporate office.  This bitch called them, and lied to them about her location, claiming that we refused to serve her. Also, this bitch’s husband was apparently “buddies” with one of the guys in corporate, so when my manager tried to say that she was out of the delivery zone and lying about her location, they basically ignored him. So at that point we were required to deliver to that one location out of delivery zone just because she’s too lazy to get in her car and pick up a pizza.  Oh and I’m not a delivery driver, but word among them was that the bitch is a terrible tipper.  First you lie and complain to get us to drive 20 minutes to your place, and when we make that effort to do so, you don’t properly compensate the drivers?  What’s wrong with some of you people?” 

October 14th, 2006 / Submitted by: David Page
“So I’m actually writting on here after reading it a while.  Black people tip poorly, it’s the way of the world. And I also won’t tip less than 15 percent unless I’m pissed. (And its hard to piss off someone who has been a waiter). Either way what I wanted to add was this:

At the restaurant I worked at (a good one, a lot of entrees were over 20 bucks) we always had a policy of “Bingo”. Whenever you are sat with an all black section you say “Bingo” and out of sympathy all other waiters (about 10 on a shift) give you a buck.  This adds up for you but it won’t break the bank for them.  It just lifts your spirits as opposed to the usual coup de gras that being in “Bingo” can be the deciding moment in your night. Just an idea…spread it, it’s a good policy.” 

October 4th, 2006 / Submitted by: Monika
“I worked in a diner, and we never did anything for birthdays either. This one woman told the waitress that it was her sons birthday and if they had anything like a cake to give him. When she said no, the woman FLIPPED out about how her child is autistic and wants to have a birthday cake.

Sorry ma’am, this is a breakfast diner. We don’t have cake. Ever.”

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