I waited tables in FL in college. Thanksgiving through Easter was a dreadful time.
Dealing with the public, in general, is dreadful, regardless of where you are.
I was a line cook and, later, a waiter, for a time in college, at an Italian place in Sausalito, CA -- the land of the worst nose jobs (Marin County) and of the most entitled people on earth; and had to deal with the regular customers' most ridiculous food fetishes and imagined allergies, which shifted from week to week, based upon, what I suppose, was mood -- truly, a First World problem.
One flirty one in particular, described herself as a
"locavore?" as though it were a question, and was vocal that
only Sonoma County grass-fed beef would not unduly affect symptoms of her "change" (which, frankly, must have begun when the Beatles were still touring); and she hinted, in no uncertain terms, that she no longer required birth control --
wink, wink, nudge, nudge -- also demanded to know the source of the restaurant's fish and poultry (that they only dealt with a "ethical butchers") and that the produce in her salads, were certain to be grown less than fifty miles away; never mind, that her frequent bottles of 100.00 prosecco and 10.00 liters of San Pellegrino, were all shipped from Italy . . .