Badger Badger Badger.

I have to make a post about this because I've worked a variety of different service type jobs since I became old enough to work. Beginning with making pizza at bowling alleys and serving ice cream, to bartending and cocktailing at bars and night clubs -- I've done it all. I give kudos to people who survive in this kind of industry and can keep their wits about them and not go insane with rage. Dealing with people is incredibly taxing on your patience, to say the least. Here are some of the more memorable moments of my ten years in the service industry:

• At 18, I cooked in a bowling alley snack bar. A blonde, middle-aged woman angrily complained to me one day that her club sandwich had a long hair in it and she demanded a refund. I thought this strange because she ate nearly her entire sandwich, and only returned to me the chewed-over crusts.  I retrieved the culprit hair from her food basket, and pointed out that my hair is short and black. The hair was blonde, and appeared the same length as hers. I denied her the requested refund. She was asked to leave an hour later because her ten-year-old son was rummaging through the bowling center trashcans for pizza crusts.
• At 22 -- I had been bartending for three years. A nondescript middle aged man whom I had never seen before sat at the bar and ordered a 7&7. He took a long, thoughtful slurp from his glass and asked me how much much money he would need to take me to a hotel that night. I told the man that he was clearly in the wrong establishment for that kind of business transaction and to kindly get the fuck out. 
• My first night of cocktail waitressing at a "real" bar, I was 19. A party of five ordered a pitcher of beer from the bartender. A drowsy-looking young woman from the group took a single drink from her beer mug, and promptly passed out. A female friend of hers shook her awake and then led her to the ladies' room. After the women spent nearly twenty minutes in the bathroom, the group suddenly split with a quickness. I began clearing their table and then noticed sets of pink and brown footprints on the tile floor from the bathroom hallway to the front door where the group had exited moments before. Upon further inspection of the premises, I realized the footprints were vomit and feces. In the ladies' room, there were puddles of pink vomit and shit splattered all over the floor and in the first stall. In the toilet there was ALSO pink vomit and MORE fecal matter, as well as below and around the toilet. Through logical deduction, I hypothesized that the drunk woman started to take a dump, then realized she had to vomit. She must have turned around in the stall, bare-assed, to puke into the toilet, while shitting on the ground below her. This process would've been repeated again, as she must have remembered she was shitting on the ground, mid-vomit, and turned around again, puking on the floor and while shitting in the toilet. 
• Last weekend: A man who appeared in his forties decided to give his 13-year-old son pointers in picking up women by insisting that his son flirt with me and get my phone number. I knew this because he was giving his son instructions on how to do so while paying me for their meal. The poor kid was pretty embarrassed. Note: Do not ever, EVER hit on waitresses and bartenders, guys. It's not flattering, nor is that kind of inappropriate attention welcome when you're just trying to get through another day at work. Whatever clever, charming thing to say that you think will make her laugh, she has heard a thousand times before, and probably from someone far better looking than you. 
• At 22, I was managing a different bar, working alone on a Sunday afternoon.  A couple of regulars who were playing a game of pool began shouting and arguing with each other. I immediately left my post from behind the bar to mediate in the situation. The smaller of the two men suddenly became very irate and snapped a pool cue in half. He then tried to stab the other man with the jagged, broken end of the cue and a fight broke out. About 10 other male regulars jumped in to separate the fight, and I ran to call 911. While on the phone with the operator, I told the aggressor of the fight (Mark) that I was on the phone with the police, so he'd better get the hell out now. This pissed him off even more, and he lunged at me, swinging his fists in the air. The nearby men in the bar piled on top of him and wrestled him to the ground. It turns out the guy was pretty high on crack.
• At about 19, I was bartending on a busy Friday night at another bar when an obviously pregnant young woman entered the bar and asked me to make her a stiff vodka and cranberry. I explained to her that I couldn't make her a drink because I had a moral issue with serving alcohol to someone who was with child. The young woman seemed rather surprised. She then denied even being pregnant, despite her swollen pregnant belly (she looked like she was at least at 8 months into her pregnancy). She then said she was going to go elsewhere, where she could find "good service." Before leaving with her male escort, she asked if she could borrow a coat hanger.