Thank you. Come again!

Many of us have dealt with bad customers throughout our careers. And for those of you who have been fortunate enough not to work with the general public, I hope you die a slow and painful death. Not because I hate you, but so that you understand what it's like.

While I could probably dedicate an entire blog to the shenanigans that occurred at my high school job at Hunan Garden Chinese Restaurant, I would rather spend my time blogging about things that actually matter. Like pedicures and Slim Jims.

I remember the first awful customer I ever had to deal with. I was 16 years-old, working as a hostess at the Chinese restaurant. It was Valentine's Day, and the restaurant was severely understaffed to accommodate the influx of people that refused to eat anything besides Peking duck before they went home and humped.

As a hostess, my duties were not only to seat customers and run the register, but also to take to-go orders via the phone, and prepare and pack them in the back kitchen as well. Normally, this job required me to use three brain cells and only three. Piece a cake, piece of pie. However, on this night, that was not the case. I was forced to use a fourth.

Being as I was the only hostess working that day,I was completely frazzled trying to accomplish everything: we had a line of about 70 people outside waiting to get on the seating list and the phone was ringing off the hook. The to-go orders were running about one hour later than they should have, and every seat in the house was filled with people demanding more and more General Tso's Chicken and Mushu Pork.

A rather hefty woman with a pink sweatsuit came in asking for her to-go order. By the way, I'm convinced that all festive holiday clothing is intended to make the poor soul wearing it look dumpy. It's always a sweatsuit or sweater, or t-shirt made in china with a peeling silkscreen logo of a bunny or a bat or a Christmas tree. Why don't they just spend some damn money and create holiday stilettos or a Christmas suit?

Anyway, I digress. This woman, I'll name her Magda because that just seems like it should be her name, was immediately upset when I told her it would be at least another 45 minutes until her order would be ready. The 45 minutes ended up being a full hour. The entire time, she sat huffing and puffing and saying rude comments about the bad service for all to hear:

"This place is such a shit show."
"God, can they just hurry up?"
"This place has the WORST service."
"This place has the WORST FOOD IN THE WHOLE CITY."

In all honesty, I would have been mad too. I couldn't blame her. She was hungry. And she needed to stuff her face with Sweet and Sour Chicken NOW. I can sympathize.

When I finally brought her order out to her, Magda practically snatched it out my hands and said, "God, it's about time." She didn't even leave a tip. Bitch.

I was relieved once she walked out the door. I was getting irritated listening to her rants as I was trying to do my job.

Then suddenly the bell on the door rang again, and there she was, red in the face, ready to eat, and ready to piss me off some more.

"My sweet and sour pork came in a cardboard box!" she yelled.

Uh...what? "Yes it did." I said confused as to what the issue was.

"Well, it usually comes in a Styrofoam container!"

You've gotta be kidding me. "No it doesn't. It's always served in a cardboard box."

"No it's not! It always comes in Styrofoam. I've been here like 20 times, and it has always been given to me in a Styrofoam box!" she was screaming now.

"Well, I work here, and I have never sold it in a Styrofoam container!" I yelled back. Was this really what she came back in here for?! She just didn't get a big enough piece of me.

"It has ALWAYS COME IN STYROFOAM!"

The restaurant fell silent.

"WELL WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?! GO PUT IT IN A FUCKING STYROFOAM BOX?! WILL IT TASTE BETTER?!" yup. I just lost it. And it felt so good!

"You are so RUDE!" she yelled and stormed out.

Good riddance! I couldn't believe she came in there to yell at me about that. Absolutely ridiculous. I just don't understand why people feel that they have the right to treat another person that way, especially when it is over something as ridiculous as Magda's Styrofoam box. I would hate to see them in a serious situation, like a car accident. Well, hopefully they'd be the dead one. I am a true believer in Karma.

Bring! Bring! The phone rang.

"Hunan Garden, how can I help you?" I say.

It's Magda. "Yeah, I want to speak with your MAN-A-GER" she enunciated, hoping each syllable pierced like three daggers into my back.

I knew my manager would not give a damn about this lady's issue. This is the manager that directed me to dump used sauces that were left on the tables back into their original containers. Customers were not exactly a priority.

"Sure, one moment please." I put her on hold for 30 minutes, tying up the line, and not giving a fuck.

Half an hour later, "Oh Angela, by the way, there's a customer on the phone for you."

Magda had waited the entire time, and once she was taken off hold, it was like a raging bull being let out of it's pen. I could hear her through the receiver five feet away from my manager. "YOUR HOSTESS WAS DESPICABLE! SHE WAS SO RUDE TO ME AND I HAD TO WAIT FOR AN HOUR TO GET MY ORDER AND IT ISN'T EVEN WHAT I THOUGHT IT WAS AND-"

"I'm sorry, but we really don't have time for this." Click. Angela hung up on her. She was my hero.

Needless to say, Hunan Garden lost a customer that fateful Valentine's night. If Magda would have only gotten her Styrofoam container, maybe I wouldn't have had to cuss her out in front of the whole restaurant. She forced me to.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but bad customers will make you lose your mind.