This is a fairly common expression, and yet it is mind-boggling that so many people never think of it when they go out to eat.  Instead of being aware of the very real fact that they are at the mercy of those who are preparing, and serving, their food, they instead consider themselves to be somehow above reproach—as if they were some kind of 15^th Century despot who could treat their servants with the same callous disregard with which they dole out to the servers of today.  The problem, of course, is these people also fail to recall that many 15^th Century despots were surrounded by other people whose sole job was to protect them from the retribution which was surely coming from all of the enemies that were made along the way.  Even then, sometimes their own bodyguards and food tasters turned on them and they learned the lesson too late.

Nope, these menaces to society don’t think of any of that stuff.  They simply consider themselves to be bulletproof—and there’s a good reason why.  It’s another common expression which is the scourge of every restaurant worker:  The Customer Is Always Right.  This sentiment is likewise further enabled due to the explosion of chain restaurants.  The problem with chains (aside from the fact that most of the time their food is hot garbage), is that there’s always someone to which you have to answer.  So, if a customer treats a server like shit and that server rightfully tries to stand up for themselves, that customer complains to the manager who then fires the server because the manager doesn’t want to get fired themselves by telling the customer to go screw.  Yes, this does still happen in independently owned restaurants, but not nearly to the extent that it takes place in chains. 

So, these assholes just keep on getting worse and worse, year after year, as they become more emboldened by ever more spineless corporate weasels who don’t give Fuck One about the people doing all of the work because whoever has the gold makes the rules.  Now, as we’ve seen, this isn’t necessarily working out so well for those restaurants these days, but that doesn’t mean that those very same restaurants are doing anything about their customers’ terrible behavior.  Until the pain gets bad enough, they will have no reason to do anything about it.

Here are just a few of the things I’ve seen people do while eating out.  It is by no means an exhaustive list.  I’d be dead over my keyboard before I was able to chronicle every single one of these incidents, so you’re getting the SportsCenter highlights.

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There are two types of people who send food back to the kitchen.  The first type is the apologetic, occasional sender backer, who basically can’t bring themselves to choke down the thing that was set in front of them.  They are understanding and appreciative of the restaurant’s efforts to fix the problem.  They do this very, very rarely.

Then, there are the entitled assholes who habitually send shit back as a form of power play over the server, the kitchen, the manager, and everyone else within earshot.  These fucking people will send back a meal if the garnish is slightly askew, or because they went full-tilt Van Halen and were looking for brown M&Ms.  Now, to be clear, Van Halen had good reason for their M&M clause.  These fucking people are just looking for an excuse to get a free meal, or unload their own deep-seated unhappiness with their lives onto someone they see as “beneath” them.

The distinction between these two types of people is important, because it will absolutely impact how the situation is resolved by the workers in the restaurant.  If the person sending back the food is of the first type, then there will be an apology, followed by a quick attempt by the kitchen to whip up a new dish on the fly and get it out as fast as possible.  There may, or may not, be a comp involved, depending on the situation.

However, if the person sending the food back is of the second type, then while they sit back with their smug satisfaction over how they showed those workers “who’s boss”, those very same workers may very well be engaging in subtle (or not-so-subtle) sabotage.  I’ve seen some truly shocking things in a kitchen—and even engaged in some of it myself.

My first job was as a dishwasher and my station was right next to the line where all the food was getting prepared.  If a server came back with a dish that had just been sent out, but maybe had a bite or two taken out of it, and the server explained that there was a legitimate problem with the food, then those cooks whipped out a replacement lickety-split.  But, if that dish came back untouched, and the server announced that one of the Frequent Fliers was in their section, then those same cooks took no mercy.  One time a steak was returned because it wasn’t cooked enough according to the customer.  Did the customer cut into the steak to verify?  No, my friends, they did not.  Instead, they poked it with a fork and declared the steak insufficiently cooked.  Yes, it is possible to estimate the doneness of a steak by poking it—but that estimate is firstly not terribly accurate, and secondly can’t be applied the same way to different cuts of steak.  If you really want to know if your steak is cooked correctly, then cut the goddamned thing open.  Nope, this guy Knew Better.  Plus, he was well known for pulling this shit.  So, I saw the cook at the grill station grab the steak with his tongs and throw it on the floor.  Then, the rest of the cooks took turns kicking it up and down the line.  Then, the grill cook picked it up and took it into the dishwashing station, shoved me aside, threw the steak into the garbage disposal and moved it around in the sludge a few times.  Then, he took it out of the disposal and rinsed it clean with the high-pressure nozzle.  Then, he put it back on the grill for a few more minutes and sent it back out.  I watched this little game play itself out at least once a month.  How that customer managed to not die of food poisoning I will never understand.  I guess when you’re that bitter, nothing phases you.

I remember another time, when I was working on the line at another restaurant, and someone had ordered a pasta dish and didn’t want the cheese garnish on top.  The dish comes right back because the customer saw something that they thought might be cheese (it was not) and wanted a new dish.  Did I make them a new dish?  No, friends, I did not.  Did I throw a little cheese into the inside of the dish for spite?  Yes, friends, I did.  STFU about how I could have killed them.  Anyone with a food allergy that sensitive knows better than to dine in a restaurant where dairy products take up 90% of the menu.  Besides, I asked when the order was first placed if the customer had an allergy and the server replied that he did not. 

Even after leaving the restaurant business, I encountered this stupid shit.  I had a boss in the music business who was one of these power-trippers and who would literally (LITERALLY) send back their order every single time they ate out.  Every.  Single.  Time.  We tended to eat out a fair amount because we were entertaining clients, or potential clients, or going to an event.  She was absolutely pathological about it.  Didn’t matter what the dish was, what type of restaurant it was, or just how much she looked like a total fucking douchebag in front of people that she was supposed to be impressing (and considering the fact that this was the music business—and that a fair amount of our clients had worked in restaurants at some point—this was not a good strategy on her part).  One time, we were late getting out of the studio and we needed to get to a showcase, but didn’t have time for a sit-down meal.  So, we stopped at a Burger King and ordered some chow.  We get back to the table, she opens her burger and immediately sighs and starts wrapping it back up to take it back.  I’d let her get away with that shit in too many other situations and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking this back.”

“Why?!”

“Because it’s not right.”

“OK, look.  This isn’t one of those $45 a plate dinners that we have with clients.   This is a fucking Burger King.  These people don’t get paid enough to take your shit.  And, I promise you, if you take that burger back, you will regret it because they will do something.  We also don’t have time.  Just eat your goddamned burger and let’s go.”

But, she just couldn’t help herself.  She took it back.  I’m sure the sick feeling she got 7 hours later was just coincidence.

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Don’t be rude or demanding to servers.  Just don’t.  Fucking.  Do.  It.  These people work their asses off for peanuts and don’t get paid nearly enough to take your bullshit.  Be nice.  Be respectful.  And, for the love of God, do what your mommy taught you and always say “please” and “thank you.”

By the time I was working as a server, I’d learned how to jettison most of my more destructive instincts when it came to dealing with these people.  Eventually, when someone would bitch about their food and send it back, I would touch it with my finger before bringing it back to them.  They never knew and I felt better.  But, to be clear, my little passive-aggressive move was as far on the benign end of the spectrum as you’ll ever find.

I used to work with this server who looked like a young James Taylor.  However, this guy was much more high strung.  Imagine James Taylor on pills and that’s this guy.  He was funny, and a hard worker, and as much as he didn’t like most of the people he had to deal with, he had a pretty high tolerance for assholes.

But, as with anyone, James had his limits, and he found them one particular evening when a suit sat down in his section.  Now, typically, people who come in to eat alone are directed to the bar area because one body taking up an entire table is robbing the server of the chance of a decent tip.  But, this guy was all about Telling People What To Do and he told the teenage hostess to sit his ass at a table.  So, James was already not happy about that.  But, the suit wasn’t done showing everyone just what a Commanding Man he was.  He snapped his fingers at James, instead of the universally accepted method of eye contact and a friendly wave to get him to come over.  He was rude and demanding.  Not once saying “please” or “thank you.”  I could see that James was getting ready to blow.  At one point, as James was returning from dropping off a tray of food meant for another table, the suit raised his voice and said to James’ back, “you can get me a glass of water!”  James stopped in his tracks, and I thought, “oh, shit, here it comes.”  But, instead, James calmly turned around, smiled at the man, and said, “OK.”  James proceeded to grab a glass from the server station, walk into the men’s room, dunked the glass in the toilet, came back to the server station, filled the glass with ice, placed a lemon on the rim, dried off the outside, and delivered the glass to the suit with a friendly, “there’s your water, sir.”  I’m betting the suit woke up at some point in the middle of the night running like hell for the bathroom.

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If you’re going to behave like an asshole in a restaurant, I want to be clear that it’s not just the food you have to worry about.  You would be amazed at how many times people leave personal items behind at a restaurant.  Phones, wallets, clothes, jewelry, cash, you name it.  If you are an asshole to your server, and you misplaced that $20 bill which was in your pocket when you went to pull out your keys, then just say bye-bye.  Forgot your phone because you were too busy screaming at your server for having the nerve to take care of other tables and not dote on you all night?  That phone is probably going to wind up in the trash.  Don’t like it?  Think it’s wrong?  Guess what?  Karma’s a bitch and so are you.  I knew a server who wouldn’t think twice about pocketing people’s shit or throwing it out if they were disrespectful—and not just to her, but to anyone.  I witnessed her finding a wallet under a table which was recently vacated by some real douchebags that had sent another server into a real tailspin.  She wanted to make sure that this wallet actually belonged to one of said douchebags, so she asked the upset server when they had last cleaned under the table and the answer was that they clean under every table after it turns, so she knew this wallet was fair game.  Pulled the cash and gave it to the server, and threw the rest in the trash can by the dish station where all the food gets scraped.  Later that evening, one of the douchebags comes back looking for their wallet.  Nobody knew nuthin’. 

Lest you think that, somehow, over the course of 11 years in the restaurant business, I managed to keep working with a bunch of wild animals and that such reprisals surely aren’t common elsewhere, you might want to check this out.  Or this.  Or this.  These things may shock your conscience—but, really, if you’re one of these entitled assholes, I’m pretty sure you have no conscience.  Anyway, do these things cross the line of basic human decency, much less workplace professionalism and not doing illegal shit?  Yup, they sure do.  Do I care?  No, I absolutely do fucking not.  Spend as many years in the restaurant business as I have…no, scratch that—spend just half the years in the restaurant business as I have, and you will find yourself inexplicably contemplating sweet revenge on the next motherfucker who thinks they have every right in the world to treat you like shit for no reason at all than you are a server and they are the customer.  Those people 100% brought these consequences upon themselves.  All they had to do was, literally, the simplest thing in the world:  just not be an asshole and leave an appropriate tip.  That’s it.  Nothing else is required of them to not only avoid such retribution but instead to continue to receive top notch service wherever they go. 

But, some people aren’t interested in any of those things.  All they are interested in is playing bullshit dominance games.  Those people are unredeemable.  They are beyond saving or even caring about.  They absolutely get what they deserve.  Don’t be like them.  Be nice.  Pay the servers appropriately.  Then, you never have to worry about…meeting with an accident.  It’s more than just how to behave in a restaurant.  It’s a design for living.