You came into the restaurant today, mother and daughter, and you sat in my booth. You ordered steaks, one medium-well and the other well done. You both wanted broccoli and mashed potatoes, and I was happy to oblige.
I got a little busy, so my manager ran the steaks to your table. I ran by a minute later as you were eating and made sure that everything was okay. You said it was. Great, everyone’s happy.
I run the bill, you say everything was fine.
I come back to collect the bill and you stop me before I open it, though I see the corner of a dollar bill, so I know you’re paying in cash. “Do you want any change?” I asked, and you smiled and shook your head.
“No thank you,” you said. “But you should know, you switched our steaks.” You pointed at the single, bite-sized piece of steak left and scowled. It had the slightest hint of pink. “That is raw. I know there’s nothing to be done about it now, just thought you should know.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” What else could I say? You had cut into your steaks when I checked on you earlier. You were eating them. You were too stupid to switch your plates. “Can I do anything for you?”
“No thank you. Have a nice day!”
“You, too.”
So I walked away and went back to process your payment as you walked out the door.
You left me fifteen cents on $25 because you were too stupid to switch your plates.
You left me fifteen cents. I paid to wait on your stupid asses.
I thought that I had hit the low for customers, but this industry never ceases to shock and amaze.
-Hanna
Break Room Stories 