Back in my restaurant days, I had a doozy. To set the scene, I was busing tables in the dining room.

Customer: “Hey, can you clear off this table for me? We are ready to sit down.”

Me: *Looking around.* “Not there; that table isn’t ready. The host will seat you at a clean table. Have you checked in already?”

Customer: “No, that line is really long, and I don’t want to wait, so I just walked around over here. So, can you clean this table off, or what?”

Me: “Unfortunately, I cannot seat you ahead of everyone already in line. This table is being set up for a party that has already checked in. You’ll need to check in at the host desk to be seated.”

The customer looked offended.

Customer: “But I’ve never had to stand in a line that long before.”

Me: “Congratulations on your very first experience!”

Realizing that the rules applied to them whether they liked it or not, the customer wandered back to the front. I never saw them get seated, so I guess they went somewhere with shorter lines.

What on earth would possess someone to walk around a twenty-deep line of people and ask to be served first just because they didn’t want to wait in the line? Sir, are you familiar with how lines work and their purpose? I’m still shaking my head, and this was almost twenty years ago.

Related:
Not Even In Line And Out Of Line, Part 10
Not Even In Line And Out Of Line, Part 9
Not Even In Line And Out Of Line, Part 8
Not Even In Line And Out Of Line, Part 7
Not Even In Line And Out Of Line, Part 6

I was a bar manager for a local upscale joint in the Midwest. The weather turned nasty one day, so I stayed while everyone else left throughout the afternoon as things worsened.

Around mid-afternoon, I’m walking out of the place after the radio has said the tornado risks are too high to stay open. 

Everyone has left, and I’m walking to my car in the parking lot when two things happen. The Tornado sirens start going off (under clouds that look like distilled death bearing down on us), and a gaggle of people is walking over, having just parked.

Me: *Shouting over the wind and siren.* “Restaurant is closed, I’m afraid! Tornado warning! Please seek shelter!”

Customer: “But we have a reservation!”

Me: “That… is not important right now. You need to head home or find shelter elsewhere!”

Customer: “But we have a reservation! You can’t close if we have a reservation!”

Me: “All reservations are cancelled!”

Customer: “You can’t do that!”

Me: “You’re welcome to stay here and wait for the tornado and take it up with that.”

I forcefully make my way to my car, and the last thing I hear before I close my door and start my engine is:

Customer: “—But we have a… reservation!”

For those that don’t know, a rollator is basically a walker on wheels. I had a stroke six years ago, and my balance and vision got messed up. I can walk maybe twenty to twenty-five feet on a flat surface without help, but I need my rollator to take long walks, and I take it with me whenever I go somewhere.

I normally have weekly groceries delivered to me at my apartment, but every month or six weeks, depending on schedules, my mom will take me to a specialty grocery store, where I can get a lot of pre-packaged meals that I just have to put in the microwave for a while.

We were on one of these trips and were waiting in line checking out. The rollator that insurance covers was a piece of cheap white plastic, so last Christmas, my mom bought me one that is black steel and titanium in composition. It also has a pouch on the back for storing things, and when I need a break, I can lock the wheels, and it has a fold-out bench I can sit on.

So, while my groceries were being checked out, I folded out the bench and sat down waiting. When we were done, I got up and unlocked the wheels while my mom rolled out my cart of groceries. I had barely gotten five feet when a lady walked up and grabbed my rollator, saying, “I’ll take this”.

I said “no” and jerked it away from her and proceeded to follow my mom out to the parking lot.

Usually, my mom will load the groceries in the car, while I leave the rollator on the side and walk my way to the passenger’s seat. After loading the groceries, my mom collapses the rollator and puts it on top of the groceries.

This lady followed us out to the car and was waiting there, tapping her foot, while we loaded the groceries. I didn’t trust her, so I just stood holding the rollator. My mom said, “Go ahead, get in, it’s unlocked,” and I just shook my head no and tried to subtly point at the lady as to why I wasn’t getting in. Mom understood and finished loading the groceries.

When she was done, she came up to me, folded down the rollator while I walked to the passenger side door. Mom folded down the rollator, put it on top of the bags in the car, and was closing the door when the lady started shrieking about how we were stealing store property.

A manager-type came out and asked what was going on. The lady screamed about how we were “stealing” the rollator, and she needed to use it. The manager asked my mom about it, and she said it was mine and even showed him the plaques bolted on that had my name, emergency contacts, and medications, and the schedule I was on in case I needed them.

The lady kept screaming that she needed it now that we were done. The manager told her that it was mine, it had information on it that pertained only to me, and that if she needed help, they could find her a mobility scooter or something

She didn’t like this and suddenly went from a shrieking harpy to sweet old lady, saying, “Well, maybe she could leave it here, and I could use it and leave it when I am done for them to come back and get.”

The manager asked, “Would that be okay with you?” and my mom, knowing we would never see it again, said that we couldn’t; we had other places to go where I would need it.

The lady began screaming again while we just drove off. I don’t know how it ended up for the manager, but I hope he survived it.

A movie theater in town used to play old Disney movies over the summer. Each weekend, a different film. It was amazing to see ‘Cinderella’ in all its original glory on the silver screen. These showings were very, very popular, and you needed to reserve your seats.

I wasn’t feeling well, so I booked two seats for my husband and child to see ‘Peter Pan’. They were right next to the two disabled spots (two spots were no chairs, just a parking space for a wheelchair).

When my husband got there, there was a man and a kid in their reserved spot (he had other kids with him, and they all had seats on the other side of the disabled spots).

The conversation went about as you would expect.

My Husband: “Those are my seats.”

Man: “No, they’re not.”

My Husband: “Yes, they are. See?” *Shows ticket stubs.*

Man: “Well, I didn’t know those were disabled.”

My Husband: “Not my problem.”

Man: “Can’t you sit somewhere else?”

My Husband: “No, I paid for these spots.” *Plus, it was a sold-out show.*

My husband gets an employee.

Employee: “Sir, these are their spots.”

Man: “But there aren’t any chairs!”

Employee: “Not our problem.”

His kid sat with another kid while he stood the whole movie, giving my husband nasty looks. My husband reported that seeing ‘Peter Pan’ on the big screen was wonderful and he was so happy to spend that time with our firstborn.

I am a volunteer firefighter. I’m also a member of the local yacht club, which consists of the usual collection of mostly awesome people who love boats and a few entitled jerks. At dinner the other night, one of the latter members was complaining about how “those Firemen” had made her late for her hair appointment earlier, and she had to drive “all the way around the other side of town” because they just “randomly decided to close the road”. I finally had to speak up.

Me: “Yes, Tracy. In fact, it was me who stopped you driving over the cones I had set out beside my fire truck. You remember the big red one with the flashing lights on the roof? Yeah, I told you then that the road was closed because there was a power line down across the road. And that we couldn’t let you drive over it because we didn’t want anyone to get electrocuted. I am so sorry that you had to go a whole five minutes out of your way to get to your appointment. But I guess it’s okay because your hair does look lovely. And fortunately, you’re still alive.”

At least she had the good grace to look embarrassed at being called on her bad behavior.