From Sara McLemore, Wonkette

As a senior in high school, I waited tables at a Tex Mex restaurant. I had been working there for at least seven months at the time and had never really experienced any particularly crazy customers, until this one family walked in during the middle of a rush.

They were two grandparents, their daughter and three grandkids. I headed over to their table and get their order. I got them their food in a reasonable amount of time, but when I was at another table, the grandmother flagged me over and kept calling "waitress, waitress!"

She said that her food was too spicy. It's not uncommon that people complained about the spicy food, so we had a policy that if someone couldn't handle the spice, we would replace it with something less spicy and take the original meal off the bill.

So this woman wanted another taco, but her meat “shouldn't be spicy.” I said that we prepped and marinated the meat she wanted ahead of time, but if she wanted a fried chicken taco, it wouldn't be spicy and we would comp her first order. She grumbled and accepted.

I brought out her new taco, but then she complained that her grandson's quesadilla didn't have any cheese in it. She proceeded to open the tortilla for me to look...and it was filled with cheese. She demanded I make him another one, and also that we put some chicken in it. Then all of her grandkids wanted a new quesadilla. Then the grandfather demanded another taco because his was suddenly too spicy as well. Also, his Coke “didn't taste like Coke,” so he wanted a different soda, even though his glass was about empty.

I had already given my manager a head's up that I would need to comp the grandmother's food, but at that point I headed back to the kitchen and told her the table wanted all of their food remade. She asked if there was anything wrong with the food, and I said not really, and that they were just giving me a hard time. She rolled her eyes and headed out to talk to them.

My manager came back and said they refused to order new food because they'd have to pay for the extra remakes, but that she’d will comp the food that was too spicy. I asked what I should do about the kids' meals, and she said I should tell them that if they wanted another quesadilla, they'd have to pay for it, since nothing had been wrong with the first ones. I went back to the table with the grandfather's taco, and the grandmother asked where her grandkids' quesadillas were. I said if they wanted different ones, they'd have to pay for new orders.

The lady then grabbed one of her grandkids' plates and plopped it on the ground. Her grandkids followed her lead and did the same with their plates. All their food was on the carpet, and I just looked at them in disbelief. There was rice and food splattered all over, and I was just dumbfounded.

She said her kids 'dropped' their plates and needed another meal.

I get the manager (obviously) and tell her what happened. She's usually very cool and collected, but this time, she just stormed out, telling me she'd handle the table for the rest of the night.

It ended up that my manager charged them for everything. The grandmother had the audacity to ask for a free dessert for everyone at the table “to compensate for the bad service.” The grandfather also took the kids to the men’s room (we had a single toilet girls and boys room) and when a coworker went to do a bathroom check after they left, they had completely trashed it. They unrolled all of the paper towels and toilet paper all over the floor and stuffed most of it in the toilet.

They paid the bill (no tip, obviously) and never came back.

--Sara McLemore

From u/casserole09: I used to work at a restaurant that purchased Land O'Lakes Buttered Milk in bulk...

From u/McKeeFTW

From Tarin Warner, Wonkette

I worked at a large, well-known teppanyaki restaurant.

One night I served a party of eight horrible young adults, dressed to the nines--four young men, four women. I knew this table would be trouble when they couldn't be bothered to stop taking selfies while I introduced myself.

They ordered only water and four meals to share, then asked if I could split the check eight ways. I apologized and told them that was impossible, I could only split by each dish, they could divide the rest themselves.

Meals included soup and salad and I felt bad, so I gave them four free soups and four free salads so everyone could have a starter. They continued their pattern of disrespectful behavior through the night.

I brought their checks, with a handwritten thank you and when I picked them up, found they had left me two cents in tip, using their own pink pen to write "Could have better, sorry" with a heart.

The kicker though? They had the audacity to ask me to continue to serve them by refilling their drinks and bussing their dishes after that slap in the face.

I just smiled and walked away.

--Tarin Warner

From Kira Davies, Wonkette

I was bartending at a nightclub on a very busy night. One of our regulars (who I loved) was at my bar with a guy I had seen once or twice before, and that had a super creepy stare that made you feel so gross you wanted a shower. But he had never actually said or did anything that would make me toss him out. Until that night.

I was completely weeded because the next bartender on was late. Creepy man hadn't ordered a drink, even though everyone else he was with was now on their second round. I kept an eye out, waiting for him to make up his mind and trying to keep moving to maximize my money.

He called me over by name multiple times, only to just stare at me and show me his creepy-ass smile as people are demanding drinks all around me. Frustrating, to say the least.

He calls me over 2-3 more times, and I ask him each time what he would like to drink. On the 4th or 5th time, I am completely exasperated, because it's obvious he is doing this on purpose, and thinks it's funny/cute/flirty.

I stomp over and go, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

He looks me in the eye, and very, very slowly shifts his gaze to my chest, lets his eyes stay there for two more seconds than necessary to make his point, then slowly looks back up to my eyes.

He smirks to himself, then says "Milk."

I completely snap. I immediately scream expletives at him as I leap across the bar. I shove him in the chest (almost knocking him completely off his barstool) and shout at him to get the fuck out. His friends don't even attempt to help him.

My manager is close by and comes flying over to rip my hands off him and defuse the situation.

He pulls me away back behind the bar by waist, screaming "What the hell are you doing?!"

I'm still seething--steam was probably coming out of my ears--as I tell him what happened. He gets a disgusted look on his face, turns to the guy, and says, "Oh for fuck's sake--get the hell out of here and don't come back, you piece of shit."

--Kira Davies