Working as a waiter for many years, I have more than my share of horror stories about idiotic patrons doing idiotic things, but this is one of my favorites (and I'm sure I've related this here before):
It's a busy Saturday night, and I have a large party that just left; my boss decides to convert the space into a table of 4, a table of 8, a table of 5, and about 8 tables of 2. Further, she decides to sit them all at the same time (joy!). So I get a rush of about 11 tables at once, which is a pain in the ass, since you have to get the menus, introduce yourself, tell the specials, get drink orders etc. to each table separately. So I'm pretty friggin' stressed-- it didn't help that on busy nights you could barely move in the place where I worked, and the bar area was hell to work near in order to pick up or make your drinks.
Anyway, long story short, I'm telling this table of two-- a couple of about age 35-- the evening's specials, and one of them happened to be a 34-oz Porterhouse steak grilled and sliced with porcini mushrooms and roasted peppers in a barolo wine demi glace. We also have a steak on our regular dinner menu, which is the same cut of meat, but has sauteed onions and mushrooms with no sauce.
So I tell them the specials, go to pick up their drinks, and return several minutes later; the gentleman asks me to explain the difference between the menu steak and the special steak-- I tell him again that the special has porcini mushrooms, roasted peppers, and is prepared in a barolo wine demi glace, while the one on the menu has only sauteed onions and shitake mushrooms, but no sauce. He says "thanks", and that he'll need a couple of minutes. Me being quite busy, I oblige, and return about 5 minutes later, asking if they're all set to order. "I'm sorry, but could you just tell me again the difference between the menu steak and the special steak?" Again I did so, and went on my way.
This time I returned only a couple of minutes later, since the chef hates to have too many orders come in at the same time, and inquired as to their dinner selection. The man asks me
yet again about the difference between the two (I couldn't make this up if I tried), and proceeds to order the menu steak, medium-rare (for those following, that's the steak with sauteed onions and mushrooms w/no sauce).
Their entree comes out later, so I head over to the table to check on things, and this conversation ensues:
Me: "Is everything okay here?"
Psycho Woman (shooting me a look that could cut through stone): "No, it's not okay-- take this back, I'm not eating it."
Me: "What seems to be the problem ma'am? Is it undercooked? I'll be happy to bring it back and have them put it back on the grill for you."
Psycho Woman: "No, you don't understand, I'm not eating this thing--
I don't eat onions."
Me (now perplexed): "Well, do you not
like them, or are you allergic to them or something? (after all, I didn't want any dead customers) If you just don't like them, I can take them off for you."
Psycho Woman (in a totally dismissive tone that showed that she was just trying to get over on me): "Yeah...I'm allergic to them."
Boyfriend of Psycho Woman: "Look, buddy, can't you just take it back and we'll get something else?"
Me (becoming more agitated due to their flagrant idiocy as well as the woman's tone of voice, and realizing that my penny-pinching boss would
never allow a $40 entree to go unpaid for-- either by myself or by the customer):
"Sir,
someone's going to have to pay for that steak, and I don't make that much money here." (I did, but it wasn't my mistake, so there was no way I was paying for it; keep in mind that I normally would have spoken to the manager or owner prior to making such a comment, but A) he was on vacation, and I was the manager in his stead that week, and B) the owner never wanted to be bothered for ANYTHING, unless someone was dying; her motto was "just take care of it."-- without EVER doing anything that would cost them even a cent, mind you)
Psycho Woman: "Get me the manager."
Me: "I am the manager."
Psycho Woman: "Get me the owner!"
(At this point, due to the stupidity on display, the stress I was under due to how busy we were and how much time I had spent trying to help them, and just the sheer
bumptiousness of it all, I was pretty peeved; so I said in a very stern, somewhat derisive tone...)
Me: "Look, if you can tell me how
two grown adults can sit there and listen to me repeat the differences between the menu steak and the special steak
three times-- in addition to the fact that the menu steak has onions on it being printed
on the menu itself-- and not have made ANY MENTION of the fact that you're allergic to onions, or not ask me to hold the onions etc.-- if you can explain to me how that can
possibly happen, then your entire dinner is on me."
Now, the both of them were shocked, because I walloped them real good. I didn't raise my voice or anything, but I made them feel like the morons they were. So the guy, in this meek voice-- all of a sudden apparently contrite for the bullshit he's put me through-- almost inaudibly asks "Well, could you get us some brown sauce, at least?" I said, "sure", and asked the chef to make some, since all our sauces were made to order. Those two assclowns didn't bother me the rest of the evening and even left a decent tip. They couldn't look me in the eye when saying goodnight, though.
Moral of the story (and of the thread): People are idiots. One shouldn't indulge them too greatly, nor should one suffer fools lightly.
