The 5 Worst Customers To Come Into Your Restaurant

Most of us have worked in some sort of food establishment while growing up. Whether it be some pseudo fine dining establishment or that tight ass taco truck on Route 111, we’ve all gotten a taste of food service. Even if you’re just some dumb girl who worked at Pac Sun for 5 years, you’ve seen these customers stroll into your favorite restaurant and immediately you are boiling with rage. Luckily in my white washed town of Hampton Bays, NY, all the customers I deal with have money, so no broke ass lumber yard workers are coming in expecting a $15 meal. Unluckily in my racist, old money colonial white town, all these assholes are inherently better than me. So, we have to fucking put up with them and take their money with a grin. And that’s when your brain hemorrhages, right after you say thankyou to the guy who just called you the dumbest waiter he’s ever seen. “Oh my bad dude, let me get you that ‘I don’t know what medium rare is’ steak for the 3rd time while we spit in your $7 glass of California piss wine. Why the fuck are you drinking White Zinfandel with a NY Strip you dumbass Rhode Islander scum on vacation.” But we can’t say that. What we can do is write about it and bitch to the Universe. Here are my nominees for the 5 worst customers to sit down in your establishment.


That insanely rich European with a loose white H&M long sleeve

            Fuck this guy, FUCK THIS GUY. No matter where you work in the Hamptons you will have to deal with Pierre’s rich ass kids and fine ass wife who doesn’t know American culture at all. Right after you get Jaques and Guy their half lemonade half cranapple (kill yourself), you say the specials and you always get hit with, “Well those don’t sound so special.” Lmao make another condescending joke masked with a chuckle again and I’ll put water in your gas tank. After the initial terror, and right when you think the meal is going smoothly, they hit you with the refund question. “My gay children didn’t like they’re meal but they ate the whole thing, take it off the bill.” I will murder you motherfucker. You piss on my face with a loaded money clip and ask for a refund? AHHHHHHH!! That dude sucks. AND HE ALWAYS COMES BACK.


That woman who’s writing her book and thinks this is a Starbucks

            Yo cunt, you just downed a pot of free refill coffee for the second time, used up 1 quart of heavy cream, and ordered a side salad with biscotti for your coffee. Get your shitty laptop off this 4 seat table at 10 am on a Saturday. We have people literally waiting for a 4 top and you can’t seem to find the right introduction to your Teen Woes story. Sorry both your bullied daughters died of Leukemia, but this is a restaurant and I hate you. Don’t talk to me. And don’t even bother with that $10 tip on a $20 bill. OH WOW 50%. Nah hoe, I’ve been working you for 2 and a half hours. LEAVE!


The insanely nice and compassionate table with the salty extended family

            Yea we like you and your fucking money, that’s the only reason we rearrange a 20 table restaurant just for your once a month family get-togethers. But you come into our establishment and have the gall to bring your shitty young cousins and fat uncles who haven’t seen a chalkboard menu since pre-school. Yea I hate it too, but I ain’t reading that shit like a nursery to Jill, Jaime, and Joanne. Sick names. They’re just going to order the same chicken dish we leave on the menu for indecisive pricks like yourselves anyways. So shut up. Nah this Coke isn’t flat, it came out of a can. I poured it in front of your fucking face, do you not see those bubbles!? Yea it’s a cool $150 tip but the amount of labor required to make an entire fucked up family happy at once is impossibruuuuu!


The fat family

            Regardless of how awesome you guys are and how surprisingly down to earth you are, it doesn’t mask your underboob sweat. “Can we have the booth so our back fat doesn’t play-dough-ooze through the chair.” Yea sure you 4 can take that rickety wooden booth by the bathrooms. You’ll make those shits smell better just by the law of comparison. How are you sitting in a booth and somehow spilling into the walking area next to you? You have like 5 linear feet of seating space, HOW WIDE ARE YOU? No you can’t have extra bacon on your BBQ Smokehouse Burger. Why the fuck do you want Ranch with EVERYTHING? Sorry that 5th Mountain Dew is going to cost you. Jesus Christ just eat some dam walnuts and drink a coffee; Even take one of my cigarettes you Walgreens working motherfuckers. Yelling at skinny girls motherfuckers. Laughing while chewing motherfuckers. Give me that 20% tip (Good looks btw) and bounce on out of here you Willy-Wonka-Blueberry motherfuckers.


That dude with 18 deadly food allergies but keeps coming for that one vegan dish you’re legally required to have on the menu.

            He’s not the worst, but holy shit he sucks. I’m genuinely empathetic that God wanted you to live in misery until you die from eating the wrong type of rice flour, but get that EpiPen out of my shit. And please Robert, stop asking for the ingredient list of every other menu item! I’ll roast the peanuts myself just to sprinkle a few in your “how the fuck are you allergic to vinegar” salad. This asshole is literally allergic to air molecules. Here’s your hot water with lemon, dick. Are you allergic to Tea leaves too or are you just a cunt who can’t afford the 4 calories. Go back to your bubble and snack on chlorophyll. Yea we lied about the organic cage free eggs, those bitches were chained up and plucked alive. Can you taste the fear?!


Special Request, the best customer to possibly walk into your restaurant:


A different restaurant employee.

            We are the chilliest motherfuckers to walk into the dining room. No matter what you do to my meal…. I get it. I know exactly what not to ask for and I can read a waiter’s mood in 5 seconds. I won’t fuck with you Laurie don’t worry. Just go into the kitchen and put some shit on my plate. You could spit acid into my eyes and my first reaction would be, “Wow you must hate your manager.” I understand you hate this job. I hate mine. Wanna fuck? JK, but the harsh reality of this is that I will let all these slip ups go and give you no quarrels my entire meal, but I remember it all. I won’t tip shit unless you work hard. Don’t mistake my compassion for having money. I’m broke and I’m counting your mistakes.


And TRUST ME, I want to spark a dart right now too, but it’s 2018, stop asking if you can smoke in my Hamptons farm-to-table café. How do you even have the ignorance to ask that?


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