A group of us is on a business trip to attend a conference. The conference finished late the night before, but our flight isn’t until late afternoon the next day, so our team decides to enjoy one last business-expensed meal for lunch on the way to the airport.

Coworker: “[Diner] has five stars on Google maps, and it’s off the highway on the way to the airport.”

That sounded good, so all of our go there via our rented minivan on the way to the airport. We’re surprised to see that there are no other customers in the place. We see a single waitress sitting in the corner, on her phone.

Waitress: *Without looking up.* “Sit anywhere. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Not a great impression, but we’re here for the food. The six of us take up a big booth, and the waitress gets to us a couple of minutes later.

Waitress: “Have you ordered yet?”

Me: “We haven’t seen any menus.”

Waitress: “Menus are viewable via the QR code on the wall.”

There was zero indication of this, but whatever. I get up, walk over, scan the faded code, and after three attempts, am able to load up a slow and badly optimised menu. We pass my phone around, and everyone selects something to eat. When it gets back to me, we see the option to order directly via the app.

I have to get up and find the waitress again, sitting in the same corner as before, on her phone.

Me: “We’re ready to order, but—”

Waitress: “—You do it on the app.”

Me: “—but… we need to make some allergy accommodations.”

Waitress: “You do it on the app.”

Me: “We do? We didn’t see any option to.”

She comes thiiiiis close to rolling her eyes and wordlessly puts her hand out. It takes me a while to realize she’s expecting me to hand over my phone. I do so, and she scrolls all the way to the bottom of the menu to show me a badly optimized notes section.

Waitress: “Write anything you need in there.”

Me: “That sounds fiddly. Can’t I just tell you?”

Waitress: “You do it on the app.”

So, I sit down and write every allergy into the notes, and hit send.

Refreshingly, the food does come out promptly, but the waitress brings it out, tops up our drinks once, and then ignores us for the rest of the meal. I walk up to her again.

Me: “We’re ready to pay.”

Waitress: “You do it on the app.”

Me: “I’m paying cash. And I’ll need a receipt for my expense report.”

The waitress looks confused and walks into the back. I guess my request short-circuited her. She comes back a moment later with a check for the meal, and I put down the cash for it. I only round it up to the nearest dollar. When the waitress sees this, she has the gall to say:

Waitress: “You know, gratuity is expected at a sit-down restaurant.”

Me: “I’ll do it on the app!”

She did not like that one bit, but I got my receipt, and we left. I asked my coworker:

Me: “Are you sure that place has five stars?!”

Coworker: “Yeah! Look!”

Me: *Looking.* “Well, that’s on me for not checking. It only has one review.”

The coworker looked again and realized this, too.

Coworker: “Whoops.”

Also, the review was blatantly written by the owner of the diner. Imagine if ‘Bob’s Burgers’ had a single five-star Google review from a user called ‘BurgerBob1980’.

A new hire hurries over to me.

New Hire: “Hey, [My Name], can you help me? I have an old lady who is looking for Iteb vinegar.”

Me: “Iteb? Is that a brand?”

New Hire: “I don’t know! I can’t find it.”

Me: “Wait, little old lady? Wears sunglasses indoors? Crazy pink lipstick?”

New Hire: “Uh… yeah?”

I walk over with the new hire to see a familiar regular.

Me: “Hello, Mrs. [Customer Name]. We’ve been through this before. When you’re cooking up a recipe, the book says one tablespoon of vinegar. “1tb” means one tablespoon. Please try to remember that for next time.”

Regular: “Oh, yes! I remember you telling me now! Well, then I guess any old vinegar will do! Thank you!”

She goes off on her merry way.

New Hire: “How did you know it was her?”

Me: “She’s a regular that does this a lot. She always dresses the same, is always cooking something new, and is always confused with the recipes. Last week, someone was asking if we sold kegs of potatoes, and I knew it was her because before I even saw her, I knew a keg would be a KG, kilogram.”

We laughed a little, and the new hire said he’d know how to handle any future requests from this odd but nice customer.

I’m four years old at the time, and my dad is talking to me on a slow Sunday night.

Dad: “What would you do if you had more money than anyone else in the world?”

Me: “How much is that?”

Dad: “So much that it doesn’t matter. More money than anyone else!”

Me: “More money than God?”

Dad: “God doesn’t have money.”

Me: “He has a big house, and we go there every Sunday. Of course he has money.”

My dad put the matter, and me, to bed after that.

My friend, a couple of years younger than me, has just turned eighteen. Our group does what we always do when they turn eighteen; we take them to the pub and congratulate them on buying their first legal pint.

The next morning, I’m talking to my friend on the phone.

Friend: “I think I’m allergic to alcohol!”

Me: “What makes you say that?”

Friend: “When I went home after the pub yesterday, I threw up!”

Me: “Well, I only stayed for the one pint. Did you drink any more after I left?”

Friend: “Yeah… ten or eleven.”

Me: “…”

Friend: “You there?”

Me: “Mate, I don’t think you’re allergic to alcohol, I think you’re just stupid.”

That was a few years ago now, and he’s never had more than one pint per occasion ever since!

Customer: *Storming in.* “Where’s the manager?!”

I get her, and when she comes out front:

Customer: *Opens up a container.* “I just had this delivered to my house, and I want you to tell me what’s wrong with it.”

The manager looks in the container.

Manager: “Okay… I see some wings. Did we mix up the sauces or something?”

Customer: “No… I ordered a dozen hot wings… and there are only twelve wings in this box.”

Manager: “…Sir. A dozen means twelve.”

Customer: “No, a dozen is fifteen!”

Manager: “No. A dozen is twelve. You can Google it, or ask literally anyone else. I’ll give you three extra free wings for your trouble, but in the future, please remember that a dozen is twelve.”

Customer: “A dozen has never been twelve! But fine, I’ll take the wings!”

The manager gives him three extra wings, and he storms out.

Coworker: “Why did you do that? He was wrong.”

Manager: “Anyone that stupid needs all the protein they can get to keep their few brain cells alive. Speaking of brains, don’t be alarmed, but I’m about to go give myself a concussion with a face palm…”