Don't screw with burger jockeys
"About six years ago, I worked at a Five Guys. One day, I was working the register, and before our usual lunch rush, this man walks in and asks for a little (one-patty) cheeseburger and a soda. I ring him up, tell him his total, and he hands me his credit card.
"Now, in all of my training at almost every retailer I have ever worked, there was always a rule in some form regarding credit cards. As most people know, they are not always followed or adhered to. The policy for our entire division was to ask for ID with EVERY transaction involving a credit card. Normally I would let it slide, but the 'big guys' started to come down really hard and demand we be consistent (I always assumed there was an incident with a stolen card at another one of our stores).
"So after he hands me his card, I politely ask, 'May I please see your ID?' 'What, for a fuckin' burger?' 'I know it's silly, but it's unfortunately our policy to ask every time.' 'Well, I didn't bring my ID! So you're telling me that I have to drive all the way back to work, waste my lunch break, just to bring you back an ID? For a fuckin' burger?!' I knew my terrible manager was just hanging out in the office watching the whole thing on the cameras, so I had to give him the 'I'm really sorry, sir. It's our policy and I cannot accept a credit card without an ID.' So he snatches his card back, mumbles some profanities, and storms off.
"About an hour later I get a phone order. It's pretty large -- for about 10 people or so -- and comes out to around $80. The order is incredibly specific, too: 'I want all of those to be with bacon, but only ketchup on three and lettuce on two. Mustard on half but have it on the side. Please bag each meal individually and have them numbered.' He was incredibly polite and patient while I made sure I didn't get anything wrong. I put the order in, we made it, and we placed it on our pick-up order shelf ready to go.
"A little while later, our lunch rush is booming, I don't even get a break to have a drink, and when the dust settles (about an hour later) I turn around and remember that large order and realize no one came yet. As if my mind has been read, I get a phone call. 'Yeah, you know that order that was just placed? You can go shove it up your ass, you little bitch. That's what you get for not taking my fucking credit card.' Before I even get the chance to respond, he hangs up.
"Naturally, I'm fuming. I go back to my manager and tell her everything that just happened. Now with all of her faults, in a moment of beautiful clarity, she pulls up the caller ID. The call came from a local M.A.B. Paints store, so she calls back and asks for a manager. Turns out, the idiot gave us his real name on the order, so she tells his manager the whole story, that he just cursed out a 19-year-old girl from his work phone, and that there is $80 worth of food now going to waste and someone has to pay for it. His manager immediately requests a meeting and rushes over to our store.
"He and my manager sit in the dining room for almost an hour talking. He is visibly distressed and at his wit's end, and leaves looking like he's going to puke. My manager then tells me apparently this guy has had several violent outbursts at work and this was the last straw needed to can him. He actually said he would leave it up to her, to which she replied, 'Can his ass.'
"He never came in again. I guess because he no longer worked close by." -- Carol Carpenter
We would call this venti-sized karma
"In 2003-2004, I was the assistant manager at a very busy (and now-closed) Starbucks on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago. This douchenozzle used to come in and treat everyone like shit. He wanted a venti Black Eye (drip coffee with two shots of espresso), but he wanted the shots on top AND he wanted the cup completely filled up -- as in, if there was a millimeter of space between the rim of the cup and the coffee, he wouldn't accept it. He also demanded the drink be double cupped. He would accuse us of messing it up the day before, i.e., it didn't taste good, you gave me decaf, etc. (Note: I never gave him decaf until after he started accusing me of doing it -- then I started doing it all the time. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.)
"But the fun didn't end there. After he got his coffee, he'd go over to the condiment bar, take off the second cup, fill it to the very top with half-and-half, and drink it. Sometimes he would do this more than once. And if the carafe was empty (even if it was him who emptied it, which is normally what happens when you drink more than 40oz of half-and-half per visit), he'd abuse the nearest barista until they went running for more. After he'd finish drinking his morning milk, he'd pour half the coffee into the second cup, then fill both cups up to the top with half-and-half and leave.
"I got transferred to the other Mag Mile store that summer and I was outside the store taking my break and smoking a cigarette, when Douchnozzle McHalf-and-Half walks up to me looking like he caught a pretty good beating. His eye was black and his lip was cut and bloodied. He told me that he was glad he ran into someone he knows because he had just gotten mugged and he needed to borrow a few bucks so that he could get home.
"I thought about helping him out because it would've been a nice thing to do, but then I realized that even as an assistant manager, I got paid like shit and I needed that money for cigs, weed, and beers. So I took great pleasure in looking him in the eye and saying, 'You always treat me and all my co-workers like shit and you expect me to help you out? Go fuck yourself.'" -- Larry Alcorn