Here we fucking go again.

Friday through Monday were decent nights--an oasis in the shittiness of my job, so to speak. But people just have to piss me off, don't they?

My very first table were total assholes. The wife demanded something not on the menu; the husband seemed to think he needed to reiterate to me that she couldn't eat much. Fine, whatever. I was annoyed, but not angry yet. They commented on me having waiting on them before and being a good waitress--I knew right then my tip was going to be shit.

When they finished their dinner, I asked about dessert. The man already had his credit card out, and his Old Fucker Discount Card. I told him I'd be right back; got the manager to do the discount for the cheapskates--their total bill was six goddamn dollars--and went back, still trying to be as polite and professional as I could.

"There's a new copy of your receipt, and your cards," I said, reaching across the table for the last of their plates. I was still speaking when the man grabbed something from the seat next to him and started flapping it in my face.

"Guess what," he said, way too fucking impressed with himself. "look what you forgot!" he continued shaking in my face the table flyer that says if I don't offer them a gift card, they get a free dessert. My first response was to deny it--I always do the same spiel when I deliver the check--and then I realized I hadn't actually delivered the check until I'd brought the credit card, and I hadn't been given a chance to finish speaking. I was so put-off by his self-congratulatory smirking and the fact that he was mockingly shaking the thing two inches from my face that I don't know how well I controlled my facial expression.

I got them their fucking dessert, and when I brought it to them his wife sort of simpered, "Don't worry, he left you a good tip!" Right, because that $3 (their "good tip", seriously) would make up for me getting in trouble with the manager and getting written up? Luckily Bitter Divorced Man was our MOD tonight, and he didn't seem to give a damn. Of course, I might go in to a write-up on Friday, who knows.

I'm still just floored that the old bastard was shaking the thing in my face like that. What manners, huh?

My last table sucked just as much. I didn't have a great feeling about them from the beginning, but I made certain I went above and beyond for them exactly because of that. My feeling was based largely on her appearance--they were both Hispanic, but she was seriously hoochie-mama'd out with the fake gold bling, the trashy clothes, the ridiculously long fake eyelashes, and a big scrolly tattoo across her cleavage.

They seemed nice; they even joked with me a little bit, and seemed genuinly concerned when I smacked my head on a lamp while cleaning. But for $3 on $55, they can go fuck themselves.

I have two days off now, which is good. Maybe by Friday my unusual equillibrium will have returned.

Trifling fucking old people.

Just go away.
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Hiring redux.

So Mister Fantastic was fired; Perpetua is moving out of state; Preggers is being induced this morning and taking off and undetermined about of time; and another woman was pregnant and quit. Yet again, the managers had the chance to give everyone the shifts they need, to make everyone happy. They hired one new guy, who's awesome and everyone already loves. And supposedly they're going to promote Pennsyltucky to serving.

With everyone begging for shifts, Flirty Priest coming back for December, all us college kids out of school for a month plus, and Preggers eventually coming back, this would have been perfect. Everyone would've gotten the shifts they need over the holidays, and everyone would've been happy.

But of course, when handing in my checkout last night, I see two new hire packets on the managers' desk. Goddammit.

Avocados are out of season: the world will now end.

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 shrimp or 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.

If you're going to leave a 73 cent tip ....

You might not want to leave behind your touchscreen phone. Ha!

Cheap.

Bitch, don't even pretend you don't have a tea bag in your purse. I know exactly what that "Oh, I'll just have hot water with lemon and honey!" shit means.

I know that for the price of hot tea in our restaurant you can buy a whole box of Lemon Honey Chamomile Tension Tamer Liquid Thunder Orgasmic Herbal Delight at the store. You know what the solution is, if you don't want to pay for it here?

Stay at home.

That comes with a winning lottery ticket too, right?

Yesterday this guy orders a $9 salad. As I'm picking up the menus, he says, "And that comes with a [$7 alcoholic drink], right?"

I just sort of blinked at him and said no. "Well, I thought I saw it!" he says, reaching for a menu. I let him look at it; he finally shoves it back at me all huffy and muttering that he "saw that".

Right, because all the pictures in the menu? They're exactly what you get. Your margarita comes with a Sam Adams, too.

Dumbass.

Old-school.

The past two nights at work have really been great. Good money, nice customers, managers not flipping out, fun with coworkers. Also, not caring really seems to work for me. When I put all my focus on my tables, and really try to be cheerful and friendly, it seems like I get bitch-slapped with the ten percent tip.

The last two nights, I've just sort of drifted along. I've gotten people their stuff, I've smiled and chatted when a subject presented itself. But I've not been too solicitous, and have had a weird sort of nonchalant attitude. When I look back over the last two nights, the memory seems to be all glossy and smooth, nothing sticking out. It's an odd emotional state--almost a nothingness, really. When I got pulled over last night for speeding, I wasn't even phased. (I didn't get a ticket--luckily the nice cop believed me when I said that my speedometer must be off. Which reminds me I need to call my dad and have him look at that.)

I hope I can maintain that attitude for a while, since it seems to be really working for me. I've made bank the last two nights.

And the light finally dawns.

Chicken Little doesn't usually work Friday nights; in fact, she usually doesn't work nights at all. Maybe two or three times a month she'll work an evening shift. One of the privileges of rank, I suppose. But this week, Pot Smoking Manager is on vacation, so we had CL last night.

When I walked in at five thirty, the place was a madhouse. Every table was full; the lobby was full; the expo line was overflowing with food; everyone was panicking. Except CL, oddly, who was apparently on her meds so she was just going with the flow. A few minutes after I got there, CL looked around the restaurant, the looked at me and said, "Maybe we shouldn't schedule people at 5:30 anymore. This is crazy! I'll have to look in to that."

Now, somebody's been saying that for a few months now. Who was it? I can't quite remember. Oh, that's right--it was me.

Grand high priestesses of garbage.

Tuesday wasn't a terribly remarkable night; got out of there at forty minutes past close because we had a small push at the end, but overall it was an average night. Except.

We have three booths in our restaurant that can fit six people, seven with a chair at the end, and all three of those booths were in my station on Tuesday. After the main dinner rush, I had a table of five cocktailing women at table 3, and then at table 2 next door I got soccer moms and their crotch-spawn. The kids were making a huge mess, which is to be expected, and the moms weren't ringing them in, also to be expected. One of the mothers was also the kind of woman who notices your name and uses it--incessantly. "SlightlyCranky, can you get us some more napkins? Thank you, SC. Oh, SC, we need some more water. And can you bring one for little Brandon, SC?" etc. I hate it when people do that--coming from strangers it's condescending, and I also think it's rude. Just because I'm bringing you drink refills doesn't mean we're on a first-name basis.

Anyway, by the time they leave, there's a four-foot radius of debris around the end of the table where they had plopped the baby. There were broken cranyons and torn napkins, chunks of broccoli and fries, and got knows what else under the table. The baby had been fingerpainting with his applesauce; the little girls had been playing with the sugars; there were empty kids' cups rolling across the table, through splatters of ketchup, and mashed potatoes were smeared across the seats.. You know the type of scene.

The crowning glory, though, was actually in the next booth. There, I found a booster seat. In the booster seat was an empty fruit snack package, a torn M&Ms wrapper that had been half-assedly twisted around a melted candy bar of some kind, and a chocolate muffin with a bite missing. In the booster seat, at the clean table next to them. WTF?

From a first cut to a close.

This will be my fifth close in a row: two I was scheduled for, three I've picked up. I hope tonight's is worth it, since the last two nights were absolutely not.

See this? It's called a MENU.

"He'll have a cup of soup and a half a ham sandwich."

Then he'd better go somewhere else because a) we don't serve half sandwiches at six at night b) we don't have cups of soup and c) we don't have ham sandwiches at all.

Maybe if any of the three people at the table had even opened their menus, they might have known that

Trust is for suckers.

About a month ago, we had a ridiculously hellish night at the restaurant. The next day, I was written up over something that happened that night, and some other people were reprimanded and had shifts taken away and such. A week later, me and four other people who felt totally screwed by that night were talking to Lapdog about what happened that night.

One of the bartenders said she thought it was ridiculous that CL wouldn't help us--she's been known to storm around saying "I am NOT clearing tables when we have this many people on the floor!" Bartender also said that it's uncomfortable for customers when they can hear managers screaming in the kitchen. Andrea, who had her Sunday shift taken away, said she thought it was ridiculous and unfair, and I don't remember what else. Lapdog almost redeemed himself for a lot of his shitty behavior, talking to us about what's happened lately to be stressing them all out, basically seeming like he was just right there with us.

This was a month ago, and yesterday Chicken Little fucking flipped out at Andrea about something unrelated--and then told her that Lapdog had told her everything we all said that night, and totally went off on her about it! CL has been stewing over the things Andrea said--which she twisted around until it became "I know you said I'm a bitch!"--and instead of dealing with it like a normal person, she just restrained it all in and blew up at her. On the floor, in front of coworkers and customers.

My coworkers all feel really betrayed by Lapdog though, and are really angry. I am, a bit, because his entire attitude was of commiseration. We had no reason to think he was going to go report back to CL about everything. On the other hand, he's worked for her for about eight years--so I wasn't about to tell him what I really think about her. I was very careful about what I said, actually; it's just habit after some of the back-stabbing incidents I've dealt with in the past.

But god only knows what she thinks I said. All I remember saying is that morale is really low and I think we all feel beaten down, and I said I didn't remember CL freaking out so much when I worked there before--which Lapdog agreed with, and said it was because of some of the changes since our company was sold last year have put a lot more pressure on her. But who knows, she could think I said she's a hysterical idiot, and she could explode on me at any time. I almost want to do something to piss her off the next time I work with her, just to get the eruption over with.

Oooh, shiny.

(Brought to you by the Gold Coins Gain.)

I've never really known much about gold and how much it's worth--except for that one embarrassing time when I had to take all my jewelry to a pawn shop to pay my rent, and that's hardly a reliable market reference. I have some gold jewelry, and it's sure pretty and all, buy I never thought of it before as in investment strategy. I've certainly never sat down and thought, "Hey! I want to buy gold coin!" The only thing that springs to mind when I hear "gold bullion" is pirate movies.

Apparently, though, there's quite an investment market in gold. People buy gold bullion as part of a "precious metals IRA" retirement fund, which never would've occurred to me. I know theoretically that there's a certain amount of gold in Fort Knox for every dollar in circulation, but I thought that was just a sort of archaic method. I didn't realize that people actually buy bullion for investment purposes. Similarly, I know people collect coins, but I didn't know you could just purchase gold bullion coins like a 24K American buffalo coin--not necessarily for collecting, but because gold value has apparently been steadily increasing.

I guess you learn something new every day.

Just wanted to say thank you ...

To all the people who read my blog. I love writing it, and if I didn't have a space to vent I might've gone totally postal by now.

There needs to be a restaurant equivalent of "going postal".