Jake Allen’s Ockhamist.com

Sample from a recent post:
(site contains a tolerable level of profanity)

“Is the owner here?” Moustache asks, “I’m good friends with the owner.”

Whenever entitled customers don’t get what they want they always claim to be “friends of the owner.” Let me clue you in on something - telling the waiter you’re friends with the owner is not going to help you. The owner can only have so many friends. Don’t you think we know who the owner’s friends are? You might eat in here twice a year. The owner might have stopped by your table and exchanged some pleasantries and you have a nice memory. But do you think that means he’s your friend for life? Godfather to your kids? You’re an acquaintance at best. When you get all puffed up and tell me you’re a “friend of the owner” you’ve just been relegated to [rear orifice] status.

“Fluvio’s not here tonight,” I reply, struggling to keep my voice even.

That was the only arrow in Moustache’s quiver. He’s shot his bolt. Now he’s looking at me as if I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. I begin to wonder if Moustache be’d pitching this hissy fit if I was some guy on the street. Probably not. I toy with the idea of asking him to continue his evaluation of my attitude in the back alley. . .

No, I don’t have that luxury. I have to be the grown up. I stuff the anger back inside. I feel a tad nauseous. I always feel that way when I can’t express anger. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t seat the man where he wants and I can’t tell him to [go away].

This is what I call a customer service Kobayashi Maru. The dreaded “no win” scenario.

As a food service employee, I can feel this guy’s pain. Read all you can.