(I’ve worked at this restaurant for over a year. A family with an autistic girl lives nearby and comes in at least once a week. The little girl doesn’t like the texture of soggy chips, so I prepare them differently whenever she comes in. On this day, a new coworker is serving them.)

Girl’s Mom: “Could you please put the chips and toppings in separate containers?”

New Coworker: “It’s against company policy.”

Girl’s Mom: “It’s against policy to separate chips and toppings?”

New Coworker: “Yeah, it’s not a big deal.”

Girl’s Mom: “She won’t eat the chips if they get soggy. It upsets her. Please just separate it. I’ll pay extra.”

New Coworker: “Just make her eat them faster. We don’t have the time for all your ridiculous requests!”

(At this point the little girl is visibly upset and trying to get her mom to leave. Thankfully I’m able to come forward and take the order. The kicker? They were the only customers and the cashier wasn’t even in charge of making the food.)

(My mom is allergic to peppers (not black pepper the spice, but actual peppers: jalapeno, bell etc). I am too, but my allergy is mild. As such, I’ve become good at tasting pepper, and serve as a taste tester for Mom.)

My Mom: “Pardon me, but are there peppers in this dish?”

Waitress: “No, ma’am.”

My Mom: “All right, I’d like to order it, then.”

Me: “I’ll have one, too.”

(However, the instant the plate lands on the table, I can faintly smell peppers, but since the others don’t have the same cautions, I think maybe I’m just smelling everyone else’s. But there are also distinctive green chunks chopped into it, and when I take a tiny bite, the taste of bell pepper hits my tongue like a slap to the mouth.)

Me: “Mom, don’t touch it! It’s LOADED!”

(We flag down the waitress and ask to send it back, asking to also have it removed from the bill since it’s completely inedible to both of us.)

Waitress: “But it’s not spicy!”

Me: “Ma’am, that’s not the trouble. We’re not allergic to spiciness.”

Waitress: “But they’re not hot at all. They’re actually sweet.”

Me: “We’re allergic to peppers, as in all peppers.”

Waitress: “Oh, for heavens’ sake! Just pick the pieces out, then!”

Me: “Look, lady: the juices are already cooked into the meat. We can’t eat any of this. Now, please take it back and remove it from our bill.”

(The waitress grabs our plate and stomps off in a huff. A few minutes later, a manager shows up.)

Manager: “Hi folks! I heard that you wanted your plates taken off your bill? Is there any way I can make your experience better for you tonight?”

(I explain my mother’s allergy and my own, and tell him the situation that the waitress had argued with us about. The man goes dead white  and simply gets more pale as the explanation wears on.)

Manager: “I’m… I’m very sorry, folks. This should NEVER have happened. If you like, I can have one of our chefs specially clean his workspace and prepare [another dish] for you”.

(We agreed. The manager saved the evening and fired the waitress on the spot.)

(I’m four years old. I’m at a bank with my dad, where they give out free candy to kids.)

Teller: “Here’s a lollipop for you.”

Me: “No, thanks. I don’t eat lollipops.”

Teller: “Why, that’s sad. Are you diabetic?”

Me: “Am I… what? I just don’t like candy.”

My Dad: “No, she isn’t diabetic. She just doesn’t like candy.”

Teller: “What kid doesn’t like candy?”

Dad & Me: *simultaneously* “Me.”

Teller: *to my dad* “You’re not a kid.”

My Dad: “I was one.”

Teller: “Well, just because your parents were so poor they didn’t buy you candy, doesn’t mean you have to deprive your kid of candy! This is free anyway if you’re so stingy!”

Me: “Please, I just don’t want candy. You can give it to someone else.”

My Dad: “What’s the matter with not wanting candy? FYI, my parents weren’t poor either. I simply didn’t want candy just like my daughter here doesn’t. I guess it runs in the family.”

Teller: “Kids should like candy! If she doesn’t then she has a mental problem. And so do you!”

(At this moment, the manager goes behind the teller.)

Manager: “What’s the problem here? If she doesn’t want candy, she doesn’t. There’s no mental issues to it. They like to be healthy. Leave them alone.”

(The manager waves a banana at us.)

Manager: “Sorry guys. How about a banana instead?”

(From then on, every time we went back and the manager saw us, I was given fresh fruit!)

(My husband and I are at the local theater. I grab a bag of pre-boxed popcorn from the display case, take a bite, and realize I’ve grabbed the wrong kind. Note: an employee is working the popcorn concession and watches me the whole time, as we’re the only customers there.)

Me: “I’m so sorry but I grabbed the wrong popcorn. I didn’t want the sweet kind. Unfortunately I’ve ready eaten some. Can you please throw it away for me? I’ll pay for it, of course, but I’d like to order the regular popcorn.”

Employee #1: “No problem! Here’s your regular popcorn. And there’s no charge for the other one. It was a mistake. Don’t worry about it.”

(She takes my already-eaten popcorn and sets it on the counter behind her. At this point, her coworker sees the eaten popcorn sitting on the counter.)

Employee #2: “Did the customer not want this? Should I put it back in the display?”

Employee #1: “Oh yeah, put it back.”

(They put my old popcorn—the one with my mouth germs on it—back in the display case for sale!)

Me: “Hi, I’d like the eggplant parmesan sandwich, please.”

Employee: “We outta eggs.”

Me: “Oh, no, not egg; I’d like the EGGPLANT sandwich.”

Employee: “WE OUTTA EGGS.”

Me: “But… eggs and eggplant are two different things. Eggplant is a big purple vegetable.”

(The employee shrugs at me, and then turns to his manager.)

Employee: “Hey, we got any eggplant?”

Manager: “Nah, we outta eggs.”

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Egg-xtraordinarily Flip-Plant