"The brother was a Born Again minister-to-be, and his wife hated every minute of working in the diner. I hated working with them because they argued during their entire shift, and he was a condescending, lazy lard-ass. He had never worked in a restaurant before, but Mr. Jesus-Will-Steer-Our-Ship was certain everything would be okie-doke because… God. There is no God in a tourist diner on July Fourth, and there never has been.
"By 7ish we had a line of people down the block... not just to the diner, but also for the pizza shop. Everyone who lived within a 40-mile radius of the firework show with an appetite was there. The only thing that *fucking* brother did was steer customers to buy pizza because the diner was overwhelmed. He'd come running through the hallway with handfuls of order slips, throw them at me, and run away.
"Meanwhile, the laundromat was still open and customers were leaning on the buzzer all night for help. In no parallel universe was this situation going to work!
"Did I mention we were taking to-go orders on the phone, too? Phone calls the brother never answered because he felt it wasn't his job. So there I was, tossing pizza dough onto pans while cashing checks with a phone crooked in my neck and 12 tables that needed help. Everything about this probably violated several health regulations and labor laws. I started telling people on the phone there would be a two-hour wait, and then simply stopped answering the phone. Fucker came running back to me, and he was all like, 'WHY AREN'T YOU ANSWERING THE PHONE!? YOU HAVE TO STEP UP!' He clapped his hands, too, and that. Was. It.
"I lost it. Never before (and never since) have I lost it so hard at work. 'DO YOU NOT SEE HOW BUSY I AM? HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!'
"I threw a pizza pan at the wall and it scared the living hell out of him. He was used to being catered to as the boss' brother and as a pious Christian. If he had time to shit his pants, or maybe cast out my demons, he would have. He slunk away and made the busboy bring order slips to me instead.
"Our shift ended and the place was still mobbed. I locked the door to the pizza shop, finished outstanding orders, and started cleaning up. That lard-ass bastard and his wife split as soon as their relief walked in the door. They didn't clean up anything, didn't restock for the next shift -- they just up and left! I called my mom to tell her what happened and that I would be late. It took me four hours to finish and I walked home about an hour before dawn.
"The next afternoon, the owner called me. She was probably going to reprimand me, and then made the mistake of starting the conversation with, 'I heard you lost your temper at my brother last night.' Did I ever, I told her. So then I told her off too. She tried to bribe me with extra pay not to quit. I don't remember how much, but it was something insulting, and quit I did.
"'What if I get my brother to apologize to you, will you stay?' I'm all like, 'If he calls my house, my mother has things she would like to say to him for letting me walk home alone in the dark after working for 12 hours.' Of course that lard-ass bastard coward never called!
"I took my first weekend off that summer, got a job at a competing diner the following Tuesday, and then left for college that fall. I never set one foot in the diner again. If that lard-ass bastard coward is reading this, it's 30 years later and I'm still mad." -- Mary Peters