Customer: “So, you’re the owner?”
Customer: “Buddy? Whatever. I’ve been going to your restaurant for years. I’m very dissatisfied.”
Customer: “You haven’t heard about what your employee did in front of a restaurant filled with customers? And I won’t lie, I made a scene.”
Owner: “I think I know what you are talking about. I’ve only heard my son’s side. Tell me your version.”
Owner: “I apologize. English is my second language. What happened?”
Customer: “I collected eight of those stamp cards y’all hand out. Employees, including your son, handed me a new card each time with a stamp—rather than stamping the first. He told me himself, ‘It’s fine.’”
Customer: “Could you stop calling me, Buddy? I’m a customer! Anyway, I gave that jerk, your son the cards last time. I brought a friend so you’d get paid something for my visit.”
Owner: “You had eight cards, so you expected a free meal?”
Customer: “Expected? It was as per your advertisement!”
Owner: “Understood. Continue, please.”
Customer: “I gave him the cards after our meal and handed enough cash for my friend’s meal. Your son pointed a card, yelling, ‘You need one stamped in each box.’ he fingered the boxes at me. ‘Not eight stamped cards. Pay and get the f-out.’ He used the word. I won’t because my parents raised me right, unlike your son, clearly.”
Owner: “Apologizes, Buddy!”
Customer: “Really? Okay. Well, it wasn’t over. We dug out change to pay the bill. Your son heckled, ‘Hurry the f-up.’ I threw breath mints at his face, ‘Wash your disgusting mouth.’ We paid and left. I’m going to tell everyone about this so you know.”
Owner: “I don’t blame you.”
Customer: “What are you going to do?”
Owner: “Frankly, Buddy, when it comes to Americans, Dimassis Mediterranean Restaurant doesn’t give a f—hello?”