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Here are a couple of the worst restaurant revenge stories we've ever heard of. If these don't encourage you to be on your best behavior the next time you dine out, nothing will!

Never have children
“One time we seated seven teenagers in a long booth we had. They were nervous and weird, but they were teenagers, so that's normal. After testing the waters about whether or not they could get served alcohol (‘What kind of beer do you have?”‘I'll have to check. What kind of ID saying you are 21 do you have?'), they ordered relatively normal food, burgers and chicken sandwiches.

“But both the waitress and I were getting suspicious, because they had been scoping out how far it was to the door, and who was between the booth and the door. We had a bathroom by the front door, but that was just a single bathroom, so it's not like they could use that as an excuse to sneak away en masse.

“Now, I've never had someone successfully dine and dash on me, but I've had a couple confrontations, and I honestly didn't want to have one with a bunch of high school kids. You really can't win that — either you're menacing children and you look like a monster or you let them run off without paying. So, when they were near the end of their meal, I sat down at their booth with them.

“‘Guys, we should totally dine and dash,' I whispered conspiratorially, ‘What do you think?' They didn't say anything, but were definitely nervous.

“‘Seriously. Screw that waitress. I work with her all the time, you know she's got a 2-year-old son? And she just bought him a BRAND-NEW coat. Seriously. What 2-year-old needs a brand-new coat? She doesn't need the money. They might not even charge her for letting us dine and dash anyway. But listen, I work here and the only way out is the front door. You could go to the downstairs bathrooms and then up the back way, but that door is alarmed. And the guys in the kitchen would totally freak if you tried to go through the back kitchen door. Now, two of the guys sitting at the bar are cops, but they aren't working right now so I don't think they can arrest anyone. But there is a cop in the parking lot because they like to park here to look for people making illegal U-turns from the ShopRite. So whoever is driving, go to use the bathroom, and then go to the car but go out the back lot and through the other lot. Oh, and I usually stay at the corner of the bar by the front door, so you want to wait until I go somewhere to help a customer.'

“Then I got up from the table and went back to the bar.

“After a few minutes, they asked the waitress for the check. And then they sat and sat and sat. Eventually, an unhappy-looking older guy came in and asked if we had a ‘table of idiot kids' somewhere. The hostess pointed them out, he went over and took their check from them, paid it, tipping the waitress north of 30%. He then told me to never have children.” — Jon August

Never-ending ketchup and breadsticks
“Years ago I worked at an Olive Garden. I was finishing up with a slow Sunday night and I was the last person who should be cut before the closers. Right before I was supposed to be cut, I got sat with two trashy older women and three younger teenage kids between the two of them. They were the standard rude people who said ‘Water with lemon' before you can even introduce yourself.

“Fine. Whatever. I just want to get them out as quickly as possible so I can go home. My other tables were already clean and Olive Garden doesn't have side work. When I brought back the waters, they demanded to know where their salad and breadsticks were. I explained salad is made to order and it has to be rung in with a food order or they would be charged separately for the salad and this is how we keep track of food costs, etc. They weren't having any of that and they demanded ‘some goddamned unlimited salad and breadsticks.' (You know you're going to have a bad time if they have to throw in ‘unlimited' before saying salad or breadsticks.)

“Fine. We were making our own salads and breadsticks by that point in the night anyway. I bring it out and they complain about the amount of pasta on the menu, but ask where the Never Ending Pasta Bowl is. I proceed to die inside. I explain it's a temporary promotion that only happens for six weeks around October. It's July. Unhappy with the menu having too much pasta but also our lack of the Never Ending Pasta Bowl, they order five well-done Steak Toscanos.

“After getting them about five (unlimited) salad and breadstick refills, the steaks finally show up. ‘WHERE THE F*CK IS THE F*CKING KETCHUP?!'

“‘I can grab you some. I'll be right back.'

“I bring five ramekins of ketchup. (Olive Garden doesn't have bottles, and they usually only give them with kids' chicken tenders.)

“‘THAT'S NOWHERE NEAR ENOUGH. WHAT THE F*CK KIND OF PLACE ARE YOU RUNNING?'

“I apologize for my ‘error' and bring a soup bowl full of ketchup. They're sort of satisfied.

“I ignore them the best I can until I go to see how they want to split the check and the women are gone. The older kid tells me his mom went to the bathroom to throw up because her steak was too dry.

“I go and get a glass of water for the ladies. As I open the bathroom door, I heard them putting together a plan for how they're going to ditch on the check. It's pretty obvious nobody was sick. I walk up with the biggest shit-eating grin and hand them the water, saying something about how I was so worried about her — trying not to laugh.

“I get out of there as quickly as possible and tell the floor manager what's going on. She goes to block the entrance doors. The women sheepishly walk out of the bathroom and back to their table — they know I've heard everything. I present the check. Defeated, they pay the exact amount, down to the last penny. No tip.

“Later, when I'm sweeping under the table (which I had already done earlier right before they were seated), I find a $20 bill. Oops.” — Sandra Worthington

Wow!  

We've always wondered what restaurant employees do when they encounter disrespectful customers and now we know. We'll be sure to leave a big tip next time we eat out.

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Article Source: Thrillist