This story starts long before I started working a The Restaurant. Table 210 (who we'll call Hank, since that's his name) had been 86'd* before...for spitting on the floor. Yeah, why they let him back in I'll never know. He'd started coming in again about three months ago, he complained about every server in the restaurant, about the food, the prices, the management, etc. Then one day, he sat in my section and decided that I was the perfect server. From then on, he wouldn't sit in anyone elses section. He was actually upset when I took a week off. When I came back, he asked for an explantion to why I hadn't told him I'd be gone. (He's kinda crazy.)
Enough back story, lets jump to the fun stuff.
Last Saturday, Hank came in about 2:30 and sat at the bar. He ordered his usual; a beer, a rum and coke and some green chili. About 10 minutes into eating his chili, he flags me down.
"Look at this! There's a chunk of plastic in my chili! I was taking a bite and I bit into this...this plastic. It's a good thing I have my own teeth...because I was chewing on plastic!"
I look at what he's holding up to me and it's very distinctly an onion peel. Granted, it still shouldn't have been in his chili, but it's not plastic. So I say, "That looks like an onion peel to me. I'm sorry that was in there. Would you like me to get you a new bowl of chili?"
He looks at me as if I've asked, 'Would you like another bowl of warm vomit?'. "I don't even have an appetite anymore. I won't be able to eat all day. Can you blame me? There was plastic in my damn chili! Fucking Plastic! It's a good thing I have my own teeth. I was chewing on fucking plastic. I shouldn't have to pay for this."
"I'll take it off the bill, Hank. You won't pay for it."
"I shouldn't have to pay for it." "You won't, I'll take it off." "I should not have to pay for chili that has plastic in it. I've lost my appetite. Can you blame me? There was fucking plastic in my chili. Can you blame me for not wanting to eat? I lost my appetite for the whole day. I won't eat again. It's a good thing I have my own teeth. Fucking plastic in the god damn green chili!"
Did I mention that he was getting progressively louder during this madness and was nearly shouting when he said, "Fucking plastic in my god damn green chili!"?
I went over to explaing to my manager what was going on, showed her the "plastic" in question...which before I said a word about my theory on what the "plastic" really was said, "That's not plastic. That's an onion peel." While this was going on Hank found another manager and was complaining to him. Manager Two came over to Manager One and myself and related that Hank now wanted his drinks free as well. Manager One said, "Hell, no. He drank them, he can pay for them. Go take him the ticket." I asked Manager One if she'd rather deal with it since he was so upset...to which she replied, "You can handle it." Awesome.
I go over to Hank, who is now more upset after finding out he still has to pay for his drinks, and begins anew. "I should sue. This is no way to run a business. Charging people after they find Fucking Plastic in their green chili. If I didn't have my own teeth I could've died. I was fucking chewing on plastic. I should FUCKING SUE THIS RESTAURANT! I could. And could you blame me if I did? Could you blame me? I was chewing on plastic. It's a good thing I have my own teeth. I won't eat again all day. I'm so sick that I was chewing on FUCKING plastic that I've lost my appettite. Can you blame me? I mean, I was chewing on plastic. That SHIT, that...that, FUCKING PLASTIC was in my chili. I should go home and call my lawyer."
Manager One makes her way over, apparently the expletives being shouted across the restaurant were enough to distract her from her American Idol conversation.
"Hank, I'm going to have to ask you to lower your voice, pay for your check and leave. We've taken the chili off but you have to pay for the drinks. You drank them."
"This is no way to run a business. There was fucking plastic in my chili. I'm never coming back here again. I could sue you and could you blame me? I was chewing on fucking plastic."
"It wasn't plastic. It was an onion peel." Manager One walks away. Hank pays and right before he walks out the door, he turns and comes back.
He walks up to me, hands me a dollar and says, "I'm never coming in this fucking restaurant again. This is no way to run a business. I'll never come in here again. Never." He waits, I think waiting for me to be upset or something. But really I'm not upset at all...quite relived to hear this news actually, so I tell him, "Hank, I'm really sorry there was an onion peel in your chili but I'm not going to miss you." I did try to hand him back his dollar, but he didn't take it.
I really hope that was his last visit.
*86'd No longer allowed(in an area or premisis).