Me: “I would like a five-piece chicken tenders, a chicken sandwich, and a double cheeseburger with just pickles.”

(Note: I should have ordered “chicken strips”, because at this restaurant, “chicken tenders” refer to what most other restaurants call nuggets.)

Server: “We only have a four-piece for tenders.”

Me:  ”Oh, sorry. I meant a five-piece strips.”

Server: “Make up your mind! Do you want strips or tenders?!”

Me: “I just said that I wanted the strips. Sorry again; I was a little confused when I first ordered.”

Server: “So you want a five-piece strips, a chicken sandwich, and a hamburger plain.”

Me:  ”Double cheeseburger with just pickles.”

Server: *condescendingly* “Sure… the customer is ALWAYS right.”

(When I got back to my co-workers, I discovered that I was 1) given a double cheeseburger with everything but pickles, 2) there were only three chicken strips and 3) the chicken sandwich was missing completely.)

(I’ve been working for only two weeks at a fast food restaurant, so I’m still a bit slow on the register and getting orders out.)

Me: “Hi, welcome to [restaurant]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hey, I’d like a [fairly complex meal with add-ons.]”

(I enter the order into the register, but just to check I’ve got it right, I begin to read it back to her. She nods as I list each add-on.)

Customer: “Yep, that sounds about—”

(Just then, my manager walks up and leans right in between the customer and me.)

Manager: “[My name], you need to get these orders out faster!” *to the customer* “I’m sorry; what was it that you wanted?”

(The customer repeats the order, which I’ve gotten down correctly. My manager then nods and then shouts the order back to the kitchen. He then turns back to me.)

Manager: “Always call right away! Corrections later.”

(He walks off. The customer gives me a sympathetic look.)

Customer: “I used to work in hospitality and I had a manager just like that.”

Me: “What, a bit loud?”

Customer: “No, a d***head. You’re doing fine.”

(I am visiting a fast food restaurant near my job. I’m there several times a week for lunch or dinner, and on this day there’s a new employee.)

Me: “I’d like the new [new sandwich that is being heavily advertised and is displayed on a huge banner behind the counter] with a Coke to go, please.”

Employee: “What the f*** is that?”

Me: “The [new sandwich]… it’s on the banner behind you.”

Employee: “Ain’t nobody told me about a new sandwich.”

(Eventually, with the help of a coworker, she rings me up. I wait a while for my food, and it doesn’t seem to be coming. I’m the only one in the restaurant, so clearly something has gone wrong.)

Me: “Hey, can you check and see if they forgot about my order in the back? I’ve been waiting a while.”

Employee: “I’m not in charge of making the food.”

Me: “Well, yeah, but can you just walk over there and ask them if they’re working on my order? I only have a short lunch.”

(The employee stares at me like I’ve asked her to go to the moon.)

Employee: “I just said, I’m not in charge of the food.”

Me: “All I’m asking is for you to walk over there, or just shout over, and see if they’ve forgotten about my order.”

Employee: “I don’t know anything about the food.”

(I decide to lean over the counter and shout back myself. They had indeed forgotten my food, so they quickly make it, bring it out, and apologize profusely. Thankfully, I never saw that employee again.)

Related:
Not Ever Working, Part 12
Not Ever Working, Part 11
Not Ever Working, Part 10
Not Ever Working, Part 9
Not Ever Working, Part 8
Not Ever Working, Part 7
Not Ever Working, Part 6
Not Ever Working, Part 5
Not Ever Working, Part 4
Not Ever Working, Part 3
Not Ever Working, Part 2
Not Ever Working

(I am from New Mexico and am on vacation on the East Coast. I’ve just ordered at a fast food restaurant and am paying with my credit card.)

Cashier: “Uh, I’m going to have to see some ID.”

(I show the cashier my New Mexico driver’s license.)

Cashier: “I’m sorry, but we can’t take foreign forms of identification.”

Me: “Wait, excuse me?”

Cashier: “We can’t take it; it’s foreign. Do you have another form of payment?”

Me: “I’m from New Mexico.”

Cashier: “Right. And I’m honestly surprised your English is so good.”

Me: “New Mexico is a state. Part of the United States.”

Cashier: “No, it’s not!”

Me: “Yes, it is. The 47th state to be precise. It joined the Union in 1912.”

Cashier: “I think you just made that up.”

Me: “Can I please talk to your manager?”

(Thankfully, the manager is a more knowledgeable than the cashier; he sends her to the back and gives me a discounted meal for my trouble.)

(I tend to be very accident prone. One very early morning, I’m working the front of the store by myself when I hurt myself and get a nasty gash in my hand.)

Me: “[Manager]! Get up here right now!”

(As I pack paper towels around the cut, my manager stomps up to me looking pissed.)

Manager: “What are you screaming at me for? I’m your boss! You can’t talk to me in that tone!”

Me: “But I—”

Manager: “No! I don’t want to hear any of your excuses! Don’t even bother apologizing. I’m writing you up right now.”

(He stomps back to the office and slams the office door behind him, leaving me standing there in shock. Fortunately, my only coworker finds the first aid kit and fixes me up. My manager eventually comes back out of his office, still angry.)

Manager: “I just finished writing you up. [Store Manager] is coming in this morning so she’ll get to hear all about your behavior problem.”

Me: “Okay. I’m sure she’ll love to see this too.” *holds up hand*

Manager: “Oh my God! What happened to your hand?!”

Me: “I sliced it open pretty bad. That’s why I was screaming for you, but [coworker] got me bandaged up so it’s all good.”

(Not only did I not get in trouble, but he sent me home early with a full day’s pay!)