Here Are Some More Stories of Very Stupid Restaurant Customers

I bartend and serve at a private club for members in a western state. Our membership is not as monied as some but there are quite a few very nice people with comfortable lifestyles who are pretty insulated from reality. One lady was getting herself a coffee at our self serve station, which has a lined wicker basket for trash, ie, sugar packets, stir sticks, etc. She looked at the opened creamer containers in the trash and asked me for a creamer from behind the bar because “all these are exploded.”

Carl Acrebrook:

I used to work for a chain pub company called Wetherspoon, and every Tuesday was Steak Night. Unfortunately, the prospect of a £5 steak with a free pint of beer brings out a lot of people who just don’t know anything about good, grilled meats. Often, we’ll get the typical complaints of “this well done steak is overcooked,” or “I ordered medium rare, but there’s blood in it,” but one customer almost shut the kitchen down out of sheer disbelief.

An order for a “very well done” steak comes in. We go to work and cook the hell out of that steak. Normally, I won’t send anything out that I wouldn’t serve to a member of my family, so as my Mum often takes hers well done, I was satisfied we’d done a good job and thought nothing more of it. Until it came back…

“The customer wants a fresh steak as there’s still some pink in this one.”

“Oh…really? Ok.” A fresh steak goes on the grill. “Tell them it’ll be about 10 minutes at least.”

The member of staff comes back as soon as they’ve been to the table.

“Right, they’ve said they need it absolutely charred so it doesn’t even resemble meat anymore.”

“Why are they ordering a steak, then?”

“Oh, they’re a vegetarian, so they won’t eat anything that looks like meat.”

Danny Carter:

I worked at a brewpub that served typical brewpub food. Burgers, sandwiches, salads, a couple steaks, you get the idea. Nothing fancy. One of the items on the menu, which was a favorite among the regulars, was a skirt steak sandwich that came with a caesar salad. And here is where our story begins.

It’s a normal Saturday afternoon and I greet a table of two women in their early-to-mid 40s. They order drinks and when I bring them they tell me they’re ready to order but one of them has a question. She holds up the menu and asks if the skirt steak sandwich is sandwich. I smile thinking she’s making a joke and say, “yes it is.” She looks at me like I’ve got mushrooms growing out of my ears and asks, “is it served open-faced?” Now completely confused and not really knowing what to say, I tell her, “no, it’s closed-faced.” She says, “and it’s a sandwich?” I tell her, “yes, the skirt steak sandwich is a sandwich.”

Still puzzled, she asks if the salad comes inside the sandwich. I inform her that no, the salad is on the side and she can substitute fries or a regular salad if she’d like. She looks me straight in the face and says, “but it’s a sandwich?” I confirm once again that it is in fact a sandwich, she shakes her head and says, “well, I guess I’ll have that.” At this point her companion is just staring at her with a look of complete confusion.

She ate the whole thing. Pretty sure she licked the plate clean.

Erika Creighton:

When I first moved to Fort Lauderdale, FL, I waitressed at a sports bar that specialized in seafood. We had many dishes made with “dolphin”—not actual dolphin, but for some reason Mahi Mahi was commonly referred to as “dolphin” in this area. (Editor’s Note: No, it doesn’t make much sense. Yes, it seems unnecessarily confusing. Shut up and read your story) We had a lot of tourists come in who understandably weren’t familiar with this fish or its nickname, so I was accustomed to frequently explaining this.

One day a couple came in, ordered sodas, and started to peruse the menu. The wife became very alarmed when she saw dolphin on our menu and proceeded to loudly berate me for serving dolphin. I explained several times that the dolphin on our menu was a different creature than the one she was thinking of, even pointing to a large plastic Mahi we had hanging over the bar. The customer simply didn’t understand and was getting more and more agitated. She then said, “And where are the pancakes?” After a few befuddled seconds I realized she thought they had walked into the IHOP, which was next door. When I pointed out the window to the IHOP, easily visible from their seats, they got up and walked out, still huffing about the brutality of serving dolphin as they went.

Linda Barton:

I work at a restaurant inside a casino, similar to Subway.

Customer: “I want a sandwich on wheat bread.”

Me: *puts wheat bread* “What would you like on it?”

Customer: “American.”

Me: *puts american cheese* “What kind of meat would you like on it?”

Customer: “Just lettuce and mayo.”

Me: *puts lettuce and mayo* “No meat on it?” Very few old men are vegetarian and some get very pissy when you suggest anything of it, so it helps to ask.

Customer: “That’s good.”

I wrap it up and hand it over. A few minutes later, he comes back and says, “You forgot the chicken salad on my sandwich!”

David Ball:

I spent a summer working as a server at a dock bar in a major east coast city. This story occurred the first or second weekend after being hired—and hired with reserve as a favor to a buddy of mine who was a manager there (part of the appeal of the bar was that all of its service staff—except me—were girls in their early 20’s wearing tight clothing).

On Saturdays during the spring this particular bar is unbelievably busy; as you might imagine, after a cold winter, people love drinking outside. This particular Saturday was an unseasonably hot day and we were packed.

We were very lax about the way people sat (or stood) in the dining areas. That shift I had 16 chairs in my section initially, but between extra chairs being pulled up and people standing, I was probably serving 30-35 people. Obviously, this creates difficulty in mobility and makes it very difficult to get from table to table. I had some very narrow spaces where I was having a very difficult time squeezing between tables.

After maybe an hour of frantic running back and forth between my section and the service bar, as I was about to go take a round of orders, I approached my first table. Without warning, one of the “gentlemen” (probably in his forties) gets up from his chair and aggressively invades my personal space. I’m used to drunk people getting angry, so I remained calm. I was not prepared for the following conversation, which took place loud enough for my entire section to overhear:

Guest: “I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND YOU BETTER STOP.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Guest: “YOU’RE SQUEEZING BETWEEN THE TABLES TRYING TO GET YOUR ROCKS OFF.”

Me: “Uhhh, excuse me?”

Guest: “EVERY TIME YOU WALK BY OUR TABLE YOU RUB YOUR BALLS ON MY AUNT’S NECK—YOU’RE USING MY AUNT TO GET YOUR ROCKS OFF.”

Please keep in mind that when I was a child, my parents would bribe me with money to NOT talk, so I am not usually at a loss for words. Never in my life have I felt been as speechless as I was at that moment.

I turned around without saying a word. There were three managers on duty (including the GM and my buddy) and I was mortified to have to tell them what just happened. They were all just as speechless as I was.

The GM went over, though, and calmly explained to them that I was in not, in fact, rubbing my balls on his aunt’s neck, and the guy sat back down. The rest of the family, including said aunt, were mortified and apologized, but the guy sat and gave me the death stare the entire rest of the time he was there. I refused to serve him any more alcohol.

I’m now the GM of a well-known, well-reviewed restaurant, but whenever I go visit the dock for a beer, I’ll always be known as “The Guy Who Rubs His Balls on People.”

Lazy Susan:

I worked in a small diner in a small town. There was one particular individual I could write a novelette about. Some examples of his what this guy asked for:

– Requested fries be unsalted every time and continually complained they were tasteless, so he requested a side of seasoning salt. If he was brought the salt on the side before asking for it, he berated me for bringing him salt with his unsalted fries.

– Ordered the turkey sandwich to try to be healthy, but wanted the bun extra buttered when toasted and about a cup of extra honey mustard (fyi, the honey mustard is basically mayo flavored with honey and mustard).

– Routinely ordered the catfish, then would argue to heaven and hell that he wanted cod, even when clarifying the order multiple times before putting it in. Since cod is more expensive, he argued he should get his meal for free or have the catfish price.

– Our burgers were cooked medium well unless specified, and he sent back a cheeseburger once and requested a new one cooked well done because his doctor told him he was not to have red meat.

Do you have a crazy restaurant story you’d like to see appear in Behind Closed Ovens (on ANY subject, not just this one)? Please e-mail [email protected] with “Behind Closed Ovens” in the subject line (or you can find me on Twitter @EyePatchGuy). Submissions are always welcome!

Note: I do not want poop/vomit stories. Please stop sending me poop/vomit stories.

Image via HLPhoto/Shutterstock.