Every summer, we have a salad on our menu that people just go freaking berserk over. I think it's disgusting--I'm not a fan of avocado. But it's our biggest seller during the summer months. Those nasty avocados are expensive, though, as is the different lettuce we use for the salad, so every September it gets yanked from the menu.
And Jesus Christ do people get upset. If I got that upset over a damned salad, I'd have to seriously re-evaluate my life. They bitch and piss and moan about it and stare expectantly at me, as if I'll flee across the parking lot to the grocery store and purchase all the missing ingredients so that the cooks can whip up this really rather average salad for them.
I had a table of four on Saturday, and three of them were nice and friendly. One was a forty-ish woman who immediately got all melodramatic. "Oh! You don't have that salad anymore with the avocados! (stare)"
"No, sorry! It's a seasonal item."
"Oh, but that's the entire reason I came here! (stare) It's just so good, I was really looking forward to it! (stare)"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we don't have that lettuce, or the avocados, to make it anymore."
"Well! (sniff) I just don't know then, there's nothing else I want! (stare)"
"Should I give you a few more minutes to decide, then?"
So five minutes later she finally puts her menu down, and what do you think she tries to order? The lunch special. I very politely informed her that's only available until three, and showed her where is says that in BIG BOLD LETTERS.
"Well! That doesn't leave much to choose from then does it!" At this point the other three people at the table are rolling their eyes. I'm biting my tongue, because it's just such a ridiculous statement. There are literally 50 other things on the menu to chose from (yes, I've counted!)--and that's not including all the variations (such as steak, or chicken, or combination fajitas). That's just straight different freaking items on the menu.
She ended up ordering the most popular regular salad we have, muttering through the entire meal, and leaving me less than five percent on her food and her son's.
What a hag.