I went to the club with my best friend and one of her "casual pals." Afterwards, we hit a Denny's and ordered some breakfast. Casual Pal (who will henceforth be known as "Satan") orders some egg white omelet and wheat bread with no butter. She's trying to watch her weight—no matter that she had already downed 6 shots of tequila at the bar along with some fruity umbrella drink.
Our food comes, and Satan looks at her toast. It's wheat, but the chef accidentally buttered it.
Satan lost her fucking shit.
Satan: "THIS HAS BUTTER ON IT. I TOLD YOU NO BUTTER, BITCH. I FUCKIN' TOLD YOU NO BUTTER. WHAT IS THIS? (pointing) IT'S BUTTER, ISN'T IT."
This went on for a solid minute. Like, the longest minute of this server's life.
My friend and I were so stunned that we were frozen with fear. Like, I remember feeling like if I moved an inch (let alone say anything), that Satan would lunge at me from across the table and start stabbing me in the face with her high heels.
Just demeaning. And horrible. The server, who handled it well and with courage, offered to get her some more toast without butter.
Satan: "WELL MY MEAL IS ALREADY COLD NOW. I WANT A NEW EGG WHITE OMELET. WHY ARE YOU SO STUPID? HOW HARD IT IS TO GET TOAST WITHOUT BUTTER. FUCK FUCK FUCK....."
Finally the food came and it was (thankfully) up to standards. They had comped Satan's meal, but Satan apparently thought that my meal and my friend's should have been comped and bitched about that—loudly—for a while. She told us not to leave a tip.
Satan: "Don't you dare leave a tip for that [c-word]."
Friend and I took Satan home and even though she asked us to come inside and continue to party with her, we both declined and were finally free. Friend and I sat in my car and we started crying. Like, it wasn't a sad kind of crying. More like, "Did we just experience that? Holy shit. We're still alive," kind of thing.
We also drove back to the restaurant and gave the server the rest of our cash left over from that night which was like $25. We apologized profusely to the server.
I still feel like a giant chicken and coward for not telling Satan to fuck off. I would now, but being a 20-something lame-ass, I was too frightened.