smallapronYour Manager Said What? 

Good Manager vs. Bad Manager
When I was a teenager, about thirty five years ago, I applied for a job at a large mid-western curb service restaurant. The manager refused to give me a job because I had pimples, and he felt that wouldn't be good for his business. I don't have to tell you how that made me feel about myself. A short time later, I applied at another location of the same restaurant chain. This manager was different. He hired me, gave me personalized training and made me feel welcome. This manager treated his staff fairly and was respected in turn. He is one of my most unforgettable people.

On occasion, as might be expected in that business, a customer would sneak out of the parking lot without paying their bill, as the bill was not paid until the customer was finished. When this would happen, the manager would void the bill realizing it is not the fault of the staff. One particularly cold and snowy evening, the manager asked a couple of us if we would work at one of the other restaurants in town as they were short of servers. I agreed and the manager drove us to the other facility. Lo and behold it was same one where I was refused employment previously. The manager there said he recognized me but didn't send me away as he was in a bind.

Sure enough, that night, one of my customers skipped out without paying. The manager told me it was my problem and when it was time to settle up for the evening, I owed him money. Our regular manager came to pick us up and asked how we did on tips that night. When I told him the story of how I ended up in the hole, he went ballistic. He gave the other manager hell right in front of his full inside staff.  He embarrassed him so much, he gave me my tips back. My regular manager told him not to bother calling if he ever needed help again as his people are too valuable to him. Of course, there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for my manager after that. After all, I was a valuable employee that he would stand up for. Sometime later, after a bit more maturity set in, I reflected on this and realized I was given a lesson that has served me to this day. Treat people like people, respect them, be fair and honest in your dealings and you will earn their trust and respect.  I hope any manager that reads this takes it to heart. His business will definitely improve. After all, what is his business without people.


Because I have worked at a well-known seafood chain for 7 years, I have seen many managers come and go. Currently, we have one of the worst managers I have seen. I'll call him "Idiot." Idiot, while in the lobby on Father's Day, found someone's pepper spray in the host stand drawer.  The lobby was full of guests waiting to be seated. Idiot took the pepper spray and proceeded to spray it around the lobby.  As the guests choked and gasped for air, the lobby cleared. His only retort was that he thought he was spraying perfume.  He was not fired and continues to be a source of daily entertainment.

—Mendris, IN

Suspicions Confirmed
Rich, our new manager, acted as if he knew everything about the restaurant business. He also had no problem bossing us around in a nazi-like tone of voice, even though he had just come to our store (a well-known corporate chain with an obvious lax management selection process.  I will call this place the "Blue Crab.") 

One night as I was helping clean up the bar, I noticed that the merlot was being kept in the refrigerator, not a place for red wine.  I called over to Rich that he needed to tell the morning bartender not to put the merlot in the fridge.  Rich's response:   "What's merlot?"

óWild Turkey

Identity Crisis
As the end of October 1979 approached, I learned of a Halloween tradition at Bob Knatters: the female members of the staff dressed up as cooks or waiters while the males dressed up as waitresses. I was very leery of participating in such an event because I doubted my ability to keep my balance in high heels.

There was a dork I'll call Herb who was receiving on the job training as an assistant manager. Mostly what he did was make an ass of himself in front of the waitresses and generally get in everyone's way. When he heard of the tradition he was showing actual enthusiasm. "I'm going all out for this," he declared over and over to anyone who gave him a sympathetic ear. "I'm minding the store for the whole day."

On Devil's Night, the grill room manager nicknamed Doc pulled me aside and said, "Don't dress up tomorrow, kid. DON'T." "I wasn't planning to," I replied. The next day, I saw the only example of employee unity that I would see up until the UPS Strike of 1997. Everyone came to work dressed normally. Herb arrived at noon, looking like an extra from La Cage Au Follies. He went all out complete with artificial chest equipment, wig, mascara, high heels and the yellow dress the waitresses wore. To put it mildly, he was a grotesque sight. His jaw hit the floor when he saw that he was the only one dressed up. Making matters worse was the fact that he had no change of clothing and lived more than thirty miles away. Both hostesses had fallen victim to the flu so that meant he had to man the door and cash register. No hiding out in the office and no going home either.

I had scores of patrons ask me if my boss was suffering a sexual identity crisis, or was simply confused. "Apparently so," I replied.

—U.F. Puck

Celery Sticks
Because we are not allowed to consume anything but soda and 10-grams-of-fat biscuits at the restaurant where I work, I brought in some celery stalks in case I became hungry during my shift. I did, and as I stood munching them, our extremely passive -aggressive general manager rounded the corner. Like a rifle scope, his eyes fixed on the celery, and he came straight for me. At that moment, I realized that MY celery stalks looked exactly like the ones that were in the refrigerator beside me, the ones for the spicy chicken wings.

He immediately accosted me to find out why I was brazenly helping myself to forbidden celery. This was CELERY, not a filet mignon. I protested that the celery was indeed mine and offered to show him the rest of it. (It was probably a good thing that he didn't take me up on this offer, because, at home, I had inadvertently wrapped my celery in sheet foil that I HAD stolen from the restaurant.) In a very phony-polite sarcastic way that successfully transmitted his loathing for me, he explained that, although I MAY NOT realize it, SOME PEOPLE help themselves to ANYTHING THEY WANT in terms of food around here, blah, blah, blah...

I watched him lecture on and realized how truly close to the edge this dude was. In fact, several bets had been taken on how long it would be before he had a nervous breakdown. It was very, very easy to drive this guy nuts because he was such a high-strung control freak. I entertained the thought of preparing many of the restaurant's current menu items at home and then bringing them in to eat, just to vex management. There would be so many false accusations that eventually we would be able to eat whatever we wanted.

óWild Turkey

Spackling Knife
As I was cashing out for the evening in the managers' office, I saw a brand new spackling knife lying on the counter. It was so new that it still had the Hechinger's sticker on it. Knowing better than to ask, I said nothing and went off to finish my closing clean-up. A while later, one of the other servers, Jodi, explained the knife. She told me the manager had approached her and told her that, as part of closing work, all of the closers needed to take the spackling knife and scrape the gum from the undersides of the booth tables. Yup, scrape the gum. Scrape. The. Gum. Scrape the years of mottled, hardened, putrid gobs stuck there in this high-priced restaurant by some manner-less mongoloid. Scrape about ten booths each, for $2.83 an hour.

Jodi had commented, straight-faced to the manager: "But then who is going to clean up after me when I vomit?"

The manager had no response to this remark, and no one scraped any gum, though I did peer under the tabletop of one of my booths. There were about five blobs of blue-black gum gunk there.

óWild Turkey

Our general manager underwent a religious conversion and went whole-hog into a Pentecostal religion, which was the source of endless jokes for our staff, since he was previously known as a psychotic bastard.  He was always posting religious flyers about his church, and he wasted lots of time on the job trying to get employees to find Jesus.  One day, he told me, in front of several other co-workers, that my chances of getting into heaven were slim, "because Jews only have a one-in-three shot of making heaven, and it doesn't help that you're a lesbian."   As you can imagine, I was aghast.  I complained about the comments, but nothing was done.  Then I sent a registered letter to our international home office, the result of which was me getting yelled at by this GM religious dude.  In general, I started to be harassed in various suspicious ways (after 3 years of good reviews) until I quit. 

A year and a half later, I settled with this company for "an undisclosed sum" (more than $49,999) after following the complaint channels through my local labor board.  Now I have a new car; I just got back from a 10-day vacation in Jamaica, and I have some decent investments for my retirement. And guess what? I paid not a cent, besides some taxes on my settlement.

Four other former co-workers of mine have also settled with this store (and two other cases are pending), all because of this same manager, who was recently transferred to another restaurant after a huge internal investigation by our home office.   Sometimes, the little people can indeed win!

—April K.   [Afterword: This manager was fired from his new store after less than a year, for similar behavior.]

Our manager Scott was known not only for his ill-fitting and poorly chosen attire but also for making crass and inappropriately honest comments about people's looks. He was very young and apparently did not realize how offensive his remarks were. 

Karen, a waitress, came in to work one day and was met by Scott who looked her over and cheerfully said, "Bad hair day today, Karen?"

Karen took one look at Scott's rather form-fitting attire for that day and shot back, "No...tight pants day, Scott?"

—Doreen, NJ

Deaf, not Dumb
I had been working at McDonalds for 16 months in the evenings while in high school. We had this one store manager who started working at the restaurant about a year after I was hired, and she thought that because I was deaf, I shouldn't have been allowed to work there.

One afternoon an elderly lady whom I was good friends with who was also deaf stopped by to order a meal and proceeded to order in sign language - naturally I answered back in kind. After the lady had left, the manager took me aside and told me that I should NEVER under any circumstances use sign language in the restaurant again because it "Might scare away the hearing customers". Needless to say, I handed in my resignation the next day.

(Looking back I wish I'd hit them with a discrimination suit - I'd probably be a lot richer by now if I had...)

Anonymous, Nanaimo

In all of my years of waitressing, I don't believe I ever worked for a bigger asshole than Dennis. True shit-hole. He would come into the restaurant, take a few minutes to bitch at the first server he saw, then belly-up to the bar to slurp Miller Lites all night. He'd pepper up his evening by drunkenly schmoozing the customers and belly-aching to any poor employee who came into his sight.

One night I came into work with my hair curly. I have naturally curly hair, but I would usually straighten it before work. I didn't have time to on this particular day (I was working two 30 hour jobs to pay for school), but I did take the time to tie it up into a pony-tail.

Not good enough for Dennis. Although my hair was by no means unkempt, he still took the time from his drinking to inform me (in front of customers and staffers!) that if I ever came into work with my hair looking like shit again, he would send me home, and I wouldn't be welcomed back until I learned how to fix it properly. It took every ounce of control for me not to burst into tears.

After work, I went to the restaurant my best friend managed. She listened to my story and sympathized as best she could. The whole incident pissed her off in a way I could never imagine.

The next night she came into my restaurant with one of her guy friends. They took a table in the lounge (near Dennis) and when I started to come over to say hello, she waved me off. I could see the gleam in her eye which meant that she was up to something devious, so I didn't take it personally. A few minutes later, I saw Dennis get up from his bar-stool and stagger his way to her table. I ran to the bar to get a better view--I knew that something monumental was going to happen. Dennis stopped in front of her table and said "how are you folks doing tonight? I'm Dennis, I own the place. Is this your first time in?" My friend stared at him disgustedly and asked him in her loudest voice "have you been DRINKING?" Dennis started to answer but she kept going. "I manage a local restaurant here in town and I would never DREAM of showing up to work drunk off my ass. What must your other customers think? What must your crew think? Do you allow them to drink on the clock? Is this how you run your business?" Dennis tried to explain himself but she kept on. "Could you PLEASE go away? Your beer-breath is nauseating me. Seriously, I can't eat here. I'm leaving." Every customer in the restaurant watched her and her friend gather up their things and walk out. Dennis just stood there, swaying drunkenly and muttering under his breath. I ran into the kitchen and told the whole kitchen crew what had happened. We all laughed for the rest of the night.


Bill-the-coolest-manager Part 2
The restaurant we worked in was always packed with low-level gangster types from a certain Eastern European ex-nation. I'll leave it at that in case any of them have learned to use a computer.

The thing about these minor Mafia types is, they like to bring in showy dates--usually of the too-bleached-blonde, too-made-up, very-high-heel-and-tight-clothing variety--and then ignore them while drinking with their buddies at the bar. I don't know why, I think it's a macho thing. And usually these women are from the same genetic background and are used to this treatment. But not this evening--New Year's Eve, in fact. One of our regulars showed up with a Brazilian woman. We all knew she was Brazilian because when they showed up she was already pretty drunk and announced numerous personal characteristics to everyone in the bar area. She was quite attractive, tall, brunette, and dressed in a blue sarong without anything on underneath. This fact was also made apparent to everyone in the bar area shortly after her arrival.

But her pseudo-Mafioso went into his ignore-the-female mode, and it just drove her nuts. Really a very interesting sociological experiment. She couldn't STAND that this guy was ignoring her, so she started different activities to get his attention, like flirting heavily with everyone in sight. I came upstairs with an order for the kitchen and she had Bill (remember Bill? It's a story about Bill) pinned up against the wall with her leg wrapped around him. Bill somehow managed to stand there as though nothing unusual was happening, and he kept saying things like "No, really, miss, I think you should sit down now" and "I'm sure you're a very nice girl, but I'm working right now". The staff was in hysterics. Finally I went by and saw him writing something down for her. I must've looked really shocked because he came over and shrugged, "Fake phone number. What'm I gonna do?"

And the best was yet to come. As she got drunker and more ignored, she decided the REAL problem with her date was Melissa, the attractive blonde bartender, and she started getting really nasty towards her. I still don't know what she said; all I know is I looked up to see Melissa pitch a full shaker of martinis into her face and the Brazilian chick trying to lunge over the bar.

Her date stalked out immediately, and it took three waiters to drag her down from the bar....away from the tables...and out the door. It was like a cartoon--they finally had to pry her fingers away from the door by one...she was swearing and screeching the whole time...and as the last clutching digit was detached, Bill leaned out to pull the door closed behind her and said, automatically, "Thank you...come again soon."

He got a round of applause from the whole restaurant.

óLisa, New York City

After working as a waitress and a bartender since I was fifteen, I finally got into management. My first stint as a GM was at a well-known ritzy hotel that had a bar/restaurant in the lobby. They hired me away from the place I was running because they wanted their place to be run like a free-standing establishment (read: not in the generic way hotels typically run their "concessions"). The GM of the hotel promised me an okay salary, but with an incredibly generous bonus structure I proposed, which was based on a percentage of the gross revenue over budget. He admitted the hotel didn't know anything about running restaurants, so I had carte blanche. Great. This was the only way I would ever leave the company I was working for, since I had that place wired.

Anyway, I worked my ASS off - the place was being physically built from scratch - I was telling the contractors where to put every piece of equipment, etc. A restaurant designed to work in - rarer than you think!

So I got everything in place, wrote a major wine list with great bottles I got my hands on because of the buying power of the hotel, and a premium liquor list. I had the world's best staff. I made sure they didn't have to obey any of the retarded rules the rest of the hotel employees followed and everybody was happy.

We blew the budgeted sales out of the water. People were bringing home $400 a night, ringing in 3K in LIQUOR. After a few months, my BONUS was up to 60K.

Here's the lesson, kids: GET IT IN WRITING. The hotel GM cut me this deal knowing full well he wouldn't keep his end of the bargain, but having the BALLS to say at the time "This is an agreement between you and me - we don't need contracts, it's my word, which is more valuable."

When the bonus started climbing, I asked for our agreement in writing. All of a sudden, he became impossible to get a hold of. He went from being my best friend to a total disappearing act.

I waited till we were in full swing one night and went to the liquor room and unlocked it. I left a copy the hotel didn't know I had of an unassigned activated manager swipe next to the register. I left the floor after informing everyone it was employee cocktail hour and I didn't care if anything got rung in or if anything rung in was voided; then I went to security and turned in my keys and swipe, which I did every night when I left.

No one from the hotel realized I was gone till the next morning when I wasn't there to open. Most of the staff walked out right behind me after stuffing their bags with loot - the rest stayed for highway robbery purposes.

My moles at the hotel say they still talk about my triumphant exit and that the place totally sucks now and makes no money.

P.S. I own my own place now. It doesn't suck.

Obviously Anonymous - East Coast

Dirty Spoon
I was working in a large, white-tablecloth downtown restaurant as a cook. We watched as some hardass
came in with his wife and adult kid, wearing a Bowie knife on his hip and carrying a walking stick, wearing a leather vest and knee boots.

They were seated promptly. They ordered clam chowder. The guy calls the server back to the table and points out that he has a dirty spoon, which was promptly replaced. Then they proceeded to work their way through the chowder, salad, entrees, dessert, and two bottles of wine. When the server brought the check, he announced that he had NO INTENTION of paying the billbecause of the dirty spoon. The bill was well over $100.The family stands up and strolls to the elevator while the manager bitches at him (don't ask me why he didn't simply call the policethe guy'd have probably done a year for strong-arm robbery). When they get to the elevator, it dawns on the guy that he's left his walking stick at the table. He turns to his wife and says "You guys go warm the car up, I'll be there in a second," and strides off boldly into the dining room to get it, with the manager still on his ass demanding payment. He walks back to the elevator. The door opens, and he says to the manager "Maybe you'd like to go for a ride with me." The manager says "No, I don't think so." The door opens and the guy steps in and pushes the button. The manager hits the fire escape, runs down six flights of stairs to the street, and stands next to the elevator door. When it opens up, the guy sees the manager, who is now ready to beat the crap out of the guy, since they aren't in restaurant any more, and BOLTS. The manager takes off in hot pursuit... The thief rounds the corner of the building and literally RUNS INTO a horse standing on the sidewalk with a cop on his back, coming the other way. The manager comes running around the corner, and the cop, seeing an aging biker laying on the sidewalk with a 10" knife being chased by a guy wearing a three piece suit, says "I KNOW that there's a story behind this..."


The manager explained the situation, and when he left the cop had cuffs on the guy, running a warrant check on him. The big question was "Whatever happened to his wife and kid?" I wonder how long they sat in the car waiting for him... It kind of reminded me of the guy in "Hombre" that went around the back of the hill to get the drop on everyone, only to never be seen or heard of again in the rest of the movie....

Anonymous, San Jose

I worked for as a manager for a restaurant chain in a Southern resort beach town. You know the one where they wear red and white shirts, suspenders, buttons, etc. Although we are a resort area, we still get the occasional inbred white trash element. One late weekend evening one of my female servers and teenage hostess complained about a five top (4 guys and 1 girl) of "rednecks". Apparently they were running the server and making rude comments in their drunken state. One of the male patrons kept going up to the hostess stand and trying to throw game on the very cute hostess. I found out from another server that the same group was in the previous weekend and did the same thing. You can probably guess that they didn't leave the server the previous week any tip whatsoever.

Well since the restaurant was pretty empty this evening, I decided it was time to go play the "asshole" manager. As luck would have it, my workout partner was working on the floor that evening as well. I am about 5'10, 190lb stocky guy and my workout partner is "big" 6'6, 250lb+ gymfly. The table was getting ready to pay out so I got "gymfly to finish the table and make sure everyone paid. I went to the front of the rest. and sent the hostess to the back. While I was watching the door, the "pimp" redneck of the bunch came to the front w/ check in hand. I told him that his server would take care of his check and that he needed to go back to the table. Some guests walked in so I left to seat them. When I returned, there was the "pimp". I asked him if he needed any help and he stated that he wanted to talk to " the fine young thing" working the door. I told him to pay his bill and leave the restaurant. He walked up to me, all buck-o-five of himself and threw the check at me telling me to shove it up my ass. It took all I had not to lay this guy out. However, I didn't want to lose my job on this piece of work. As I was standing in this guys face, "gymfly" came up and grabbed him. He pulled him into the foyer and made him to pay his bill. Another employee came by and I told her to go tell the kitchen mgr. to call the police.

While "gymfly" and myself were standing in the foyer waiting on the police to arrive, a couple of the rednecks kept taunting us to come outside so they could kick our ass. I don't think so! When they saw two police cars turn into the parking lot, they decided it was a good idea to get into their car. As they tried to leave I ran outside and got the police to pull behind them. Now I work for a restaurant that has a popular bar crowd and we occasionally have to throw a drunk out of the bar. I always ask people to leave very nicely, telling them that they can leave on good terms and will be allowed back in another night. However, you get people sometime that have to show their ass and make a scene. That is when I get the police involved and get trespassing warrant put on them so they can't come back on the property. This is all I intended to do to this bunch of "white trash." When the police got these "valued guest" out of the car to check their id's, one decided it was a good idea to take off. Now picture the scene, a guy running with an officer in pursuit, a police car burning tires leaving to chase the guy. I felt like I was in an episode of COPS. Cool!

After a few minutes the cops returned with the guy in handcuffs. Imagine he had a warrant out for his arrest. So sorry! While the cops were doing all the paperwork on this group, the "pimp" guy kept taunting me. He told me to come to another bar after I got off work. This guy just wanted to get hurt. Well unfortunately, I didn't finish closing until late and missed my opportunity to pay this guy a visit. I don't work for the restaurant anymore, but every night I go out I look for this group. Just remember people, most of us managers have been in your position at one time and we know how it feels to put up with assholes. Don't take actions into your own hands, let the manager be the "asshole". That is what we get paid for and are usually good at.

—MBC, Destin

Rare Boss
I work at a four star steakhouse in Dallas. One evening while working I was sat a four top of ladies. One could plainly tell that it was not the type of people that were going to spend a lot of money. At the beginning of the meal they seemed quite nice. Needless to say that quickly changed. I approached the table and offered to inform the ladies of our nightly features. They politely declined they had already decided. One of the ladies asked me if there was cream in our cream spinach. It was difficult to maintain a straight face. She then asked me how many ribs came with the prime rib. Of course, I left out a little snicker. At the end of the meal they left me a 4% tip. Since it was cash, I returned the change and told the ladies That here was there change. They informed me that the remainder was tip. I then responded by saying that under ten percent was not a tip. On the way out, they commented to the manager who replied "20% for excellent service, 15% for average service and 10% for poor service." Any less was an insult and that we did not need their patronage. It was wonderful to have a boss who respects and sticks up for his employees!!

óCH, Dallas

New Year's Eve

I was working the graveyard shift on New Years just under two years ago. The cooks were swamped. It was just after 12 am on New Years Eve and we are one of two late night diners open. The restaurant was packed wall to wall and people were standing outside (We only have eight booths, three four-seater tables, four two-seaters and a bar that seats eight. . .small, very small) Well, the cooks were starting to get sloppy on the food presentation and the cook called me and said I had an order up. I go back there and see a two stack of pancakes that are black and falling apart and just nasty. I say, "I won't serve these. I want a re-cook" The cook is screaming to me to take them out as is. I continue to refuse, saying that if they came out to me at a restaurant I would have a fit, so there was no way in hell I was taking them out. He said if I didn't I was fired. I turned the plate upside down, and said "Oops, they fell. Now I need a re-cook on the fly." He said "YOUR FIRED!" I said, no I quit, and sat down with some friends to start drinking. The other waitress was totally weeded too. She said if you are fired I quit. We both sat down and the whole restaurant was just looking at us. One guy came up to me and asked what happened, I told him and he said that if I was fired he wasn't eating here and gave me a $20 and left without ordering (Right on!) Well, the owner called, I told him what happened and he told me I wasn't fired and I wasn't going to quit. I still work there. The cook does not. That was two years ago

Teresa, Richmond VA

My Boss Jim

Actually, my old boss, Jim, who was not only the manager, but also the owner and an ex-football player with two Superbowl rings. Jim was great, he always stood by us.

So, we're slaving away at the local So. Cal. Marie Callender's, at the time I was at the cash register. One of the waitresses was having a breakdown because of these two guys in her section, which really blew because it was the end of the lunch rush and she was almost out of there. Anyway, these guys decided they wanted pie, but didn't want to pay $2.50 per slice, but would pay for a whole pie ($7) and just cut it at the table. Well, in California, there's some weird health law that makes this illegal. So these two business men who were obviously "important" came up and started bitching to me about it. When it becomes obvious that I can't help them out, much less don't care, they ask to see the manager who's already pissed because one of his girls is crying due to their abuse comes up to the register. Jim is huge and very intimidating. They go on to explain the situation and Jim sits there and listens. Their claims of "This is preposterous." and "that's just ridiculous, we should be able to..." they close with "I don't think we'll be back here unless we're compensated in some way" (They were bucking for a free lunch) Jim's response? "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

They were shocked. He rustled these two pathetic bastards right out and repeated it once again. Everyone loved Jim. He was truly our protector and would back us up always. He was always a great manager.

Sputnik, Los Angeles

This is a story from the popular fifties-style diner whose name rhymes with "Bake and Snake."

This manager was a jerk. Let's call him Moron. Moron was sleeping with one of the female servers (let's call her Lucy), which of course is against policy, but all the servers knew what was up.
Whenever Lucy would want something (to go home early, to switch sections, to switch shifts), Moron would make the other servers submit to her whims. One day he TOLD me to switch shifts with her. My shift, the one she wanted, was a big money-maker. Her shift was a crappy one.

I told Moron no way.

Moron can't force me to switch or formally punish me, but he makes the entire staff scrub every inch of the dining room floor and walls and makes it more-or-less known that it is punishment because of MY "insubordination."

Anyway, in an unrelated story: It's a very slow day at work some time later, and a single tables walks through the door. Moron tells the servers, HE will wait the table and show US "how it's done." So we stand back and watch. Moron brings out a tray of their drinks, including several milkshakes. As he's leaning over, passing out drinks, a strawberry milkshake falls over on the tray, right at the edge. The glass stays on the tray but strawberry milkshake pours off the side and STRAIGHT DOWN THE BACK OF A CUSTOMER'S SHIRT!

As the customer jumped up and began yelling, and Moron scrambled around for napkins, apologizing over and over, we the staff, who were told to "watch and learn," stood back and applauded him.

—Christopher L., Atlanta

Our GM (quite the smug little turd) saw a very wealthy patron come through the door and immediately shot straight through the hostess stand to take care of the couple by himself. He showed them to the table, talked them through the wine list and basically tried to do everything by himself instead of trusting veteran employees.

When he brought out a very expensive bottle of Chateau somthin-or-other and began opening it with his $200 custom corkscrew that he loves to show off, the cork got a little stubborn. As he applied enormous pressure, the bottle neck suddenly cracked in half and shot glass through his hand. All of the wait staff and kitchen crew laughed as he tried to stop the bleeding at the tableside and took bets on the number of stitches it would take to sew him up.

The dishwasher walked with an extra $85 for getting the 13 stitches number right! To say the least, service improved dramatically after he left for the hospital.

—Tex, Dallas

As I am writing this, I am on my second day of a three day suspension for reasons that will soon become clear. I work at a very upscale Italian restaurant in Ohio, and I have to put up with my share of the regular server bullshit, but overall it isn't a bad place at all. 90% of the other servers I work with are cool as hell, but unfortunately most of the management are humorless, spirit-breaking, corporate cyborgs. One of them in particular had been very high handed with wait staff recently and desperately needed to be knocked down a peg or two.

At the beginning of every week, management posts a list of things they want servers to focus on that week. This one looked like it had been written by a 12 year old with a learning disability. It is simultaneously humorous and horrifying that my livelihood rests in the hands of a woman who cannot spell the word "perceived". Using my red pen, I circled every misspelled word, corrected every grammatical error and run-on sentence, and did my best to teach proper comma and punctuation usage. There was A LOT of red ink on there by the time I was done. To top it off, I threw a big red "F" on top of the page and hung it back up.

There it hung for a good 24 hours before drawing the ire of the evil corporate cyborgs, all the while servers walking by it snickering that someone finally had the balls to so blatantly illustrate their idiocy. When the evil corporate cyborgs did see it, shit hit the fan. They demanded to know who had done it, and someone unknown to me decided to throw me under the bus. Apparently they did not find it as funny as the rest of the staff did and suspended me for 3 days. What the fuck ever. Later on this week I will be able to go back to work, but she still won't be able to write better than the average 7th grader.

—Bryan, Columbus, OH