And I thought my customers were stupid.

This really just takes the cake.

Not Always Right, I heart you.

Well, fuck.

I was in a good mood. Then I walked in to four managers and a regional manager wandering around and causing everyone stress.

And then I got told to smile more.
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Oh, the stupid.

I love people who can't seem to process how credit cards work. My final table tonight was two women, who had lingered for about an hour and a half over two cocktails. They finally asked for separate checks, so I dropped them off. One handed me cash and said she didn't need change; the other had a hold on her credit card but didn't give it to me. I stayed within about ten feet, and three minutes later she started flapping her hands at me.

"There's nowhere on here to sign!" she says, and thrusts the ticket in to my face.
I looked at her credit card, still clenched in her hand. "Right, you never gave me your credit card."
(blank stare)
"That's just the ticket," I try.
"Oh, so I just give you the ticket?" she jams it in my face again and starts putting her credit card away.
"No, I need your credit card, you never gave it to me."
(blank stare, still clutching card)
"There's nowhere to sign."

*facepalm*

8 Customers Everyone Hates

Cracked nails it again ... I think I saw all of these people this weekend!

The most disgusting drink EVER.

One of the other servers had a table drinking perhaps the worst concoction out there. I mean, a cement mixer is bad--but at least it's a shot, it's over quickly. I had something at an Old Chicago once that was pretty vile, I think it was Jack Daniels and milk? I forget, but it looked like the scum when we'd over-pasteurize milk at home. (Why'd I drink it? Umm .... I'm not sure. I didn't realize what it was when I ordered it, and then I thought it might be interesting.) Irish Carbombs sound pretty horrific. There are a lot of disgusting drinks out there.

But I think the mixture of tequila, sweet and sour, and milk ... on the rocks in a tall glass ..... just takes the freaking cake. Nothing like sucking alcoholic chunks through a straw.

Dear customers, fuck RIGHT OFF.

Today was one of those days when you just want to turn to the waitress god and say "WTF, man?" It wasn't terrible; it just wasn't good. It was punctuated by all sorts of fun little things that just made it an unprofitable pain in the ass--and a couple of moments that made me want to go fucking postal on the place. It was one of those days where I felt like I was being punished for coming to work.

The day started out ordinarily enough, which is to say I was five minutes late. And nobody cared. I got a table of two after about fifteen minutes, and idly wandered around for a while, thinking the snow meant we'd have a shitty day. And then our charming host boy sat me a five and a four at the same time. I don't actually mind that; I can treat it like one big table, drop drinks at one time, get orders at one time, etc.

So I get their drink orders; the five-top seems nice enough, the four-top seems a little odd but polite enough. I go back to the kitchen and come out with a tray off eleven drinks--I love the "I'll have coffee AND water!" people--and see I've got another table of four! Awesome. So I go to them first, while I'm clearly burdened down, and winsomely tell them I'll be right there. Then I take four waters (with lemon!11!!) to the four top, and then drinks to the five top. A third person, let's call her Grandma, promptly decides she needs to have coffee too. Okay.

I get their food order; I go back to the first four top. The two younger boys share a pasta bowl; the father orders fajitas; and the mother isn't eating because she's "on a diet". WTF? And then they order hot water for her. Okay. Then I go to get a drink order on the new four top, and they're all ready to order.

So I head back to the kitchen with a drink order for the new table, and a second drink order on both my other tables, plus three orders full of modifications. I get all their food put in, I get their drinks, and as I pick up the tray another server tells me I'm missing a coffee on 22. They stopped her as she walked by to demand their second coffee. Alright, whatever; it'd been about five minutes all told, between the order taking, the order entry, and the drink making.

I drop off the coffee and continue to the next task, and overheard Grandma say "Oh, I guess she was on the way!" Grandma's daughter asserts "No, the other woman told her!" So I made a point of coming back and sweetly apologizing, saying I was just putting their food in to the kitchen first.

My other three tables were fine; they got their food, they ate, they tipped me average amounts, they left. The five top with Grandma at it told me everything was fine; then they stopped the manager to complain that one of the girl's chicken fried chicken was "too fatty" and could she get chicken strips instead. Then she didn't eat those either. Then Grandpa had to have another bowl of soup. And then they sat for a long time.

This was all tolerable; the coffee thing was mildly annoying, mostly because I despise people assuming I'm slacking off. The next issue came when my five top left; because my dear favorite host pulled two tables together (half my section) for a group of six adults and a kid (and another four in one of my booths at the exact same time). At first, I thought--sweet! Only one kid! And then within the first couple of words they spoke, I got a bad feeling. Nothing specific; just a less than optimistic feeling. But it was a correct feeling--they shared a bunch of appetizers and my tip was less than 15%. Again, this is all fairly benign, and I realize that.

What really set me off didn't come until we'd cut to three people, and the place was basically empty. I had a table of campers, and another with an unremarkable couple. I was heading into the kitchen when I saw the host seating a couple of dudes in another server's section; I didn't think anything of it. A few minutes later, I saw them sitting at one of my tables, looking around, pissed off. Fabulous. I rush over, apologize, take their order immediately. I could tell they weren't happy, but I figured it'd be alright. They were waiting five minutes at the absolute outside.

Well, one of them ordered a Pepsi, and of course, the Pepsi went out. I knew if I went back and wrestled with the syrup box and the spigot and everything, I'd come out and they'd be gone. So I poured that guy a water instead, and as I was walking to their table I heard him bitch about I wasn't bringing him a Pepsi. I told him the fountain was out, and I'd go fix it right away, but I'd brought him a glass of water in the mean time. No response, so I started back to the kitchen. I wasn't three steps away when I heard one of them slam the table and swear ... and two steps later the bartender asked me why they were leaving.

I couldn't believe it. They'd already ordered; their food was in to the kitchen; they had beverages. And they bolted because it would be two more minutes on a fucking Pepsi.

This started a pleasant chain reaction. While I was explaining to the manager, and telling the cooks not to make their food, the bartender (who was due to leave in fifteen minutes) got a table, and asked me to take it. I thought, no problem: I'd take their drink order and go check on my unremarkable couple. So I go and smile and greet them. "Can I get you a pepsi or a tea to drink?"

Silence. Then, from the older woman: "Are your appetizers on sale now?"

Oh, fuck.

As I'm answering her, I see my other table flagging down another server. I can see them; they can see me. I continue trying to extricate a drink order from these people, who, by the way, are obviously trailer trash--they have mullets. Long mullets. Now, I lived in trailers several times growing up; I know economic status isn't always something someone can break out of and not everybody has the benefit of a good education. But adopting the Official Hairstyle of Trash? That is a choice right there.

Anyway ... the older woman's daughter and her two kids aren't answering regarding drinks. The older woman heaves a sigh. "I HATE coming here. They always put cilantro in everything. I hate this place." And then "how much for a warm tea?" "About $2," I tell her. "HUH! Is that unlimited or something?" "Yes." And then she says. "Oh," as if disgusted. "you have lemonade here, don't you." Seriously, she said it like it was a moral failing! And then she stares at her menu. I asked if she needed more time. "What udder kinda pops do yuh haf?" So I list them. She stares at me blankly. "This is going to be on two checks."

Finally, she tells me she guesses she'll just have a water, with lemon, with a straw, with no ice. The other woman still won't tell me what she wants to drink--she says she'll wait until they "figure out" what they're going to do. At this point, I've seen another server and a manager at my other table, who I'm looking at hopelessly all the while. I've also been sat with another four top over there. I find the manager, find out my other table's fries were cold or something, so he took care of it. I offered them dessert, I cleared their plates, I gave them their ticket. They gave me a single dollar ($25 ticket). FUCK RIGHT OFF.

My new table is nice enough; I get them taken care of, and the Mullet Mothers have finally decided what their having. Older Mullet Mother orders an appetizer. Now, the thing with the appetizers is this: one discounted appetizer per beverage ordered. So I tell them that, exactly that, and say we'd have to do it full price if ordered without a beverage. Older Mullet Mother snaps "I know! I guess I'll try a root beer." Younger Mullet Mother orders one kid's meal and three appetizers--that's one more app than they had beverages. I just covered this, remember.

They continued to be a giant pain in my ass for the next hour; staring at me like they wanted something and then denying it, then flagging me down thirty second later; eating ridiculously slowly; spilling ranch all over the time. I admit, at one point, when I had three tables on the other side of the restaurant, I did forget a Pepsi refill for about five minutes. OH DEAR GOD. But they didn't actually seem pissed, other then Older Mullet Mother originally hollering at my to tell me I'd forgotten the soda.

So, eventually, they ask for their (separate) tickets. I drop them off and go take care of my new round of tables. And then, when I go back to collect them, Younger Mullet Mother points with her long, fat, square fake nail and says "These onion rings are supposed to be cheaper!" I smiled, though I knew it was fake, and said, "As I was saying before, it's one discounted appetizer per beverage ordered."

"Well! That's not what you said!"
I looked at her, not sure what to say without it sounding snotty.
"You said you just had to order a beverage! You didn't say that I'd have to order another drink!"

Well, I know goddamn well that I did. And I wanted to say that. Instead, I snapped, "Do you want me to get the manager?"

"No, you don't have to get the manager but THAT'S NOT WHAT YOU SAID. And IT WASN'T THAT WAY LAST TIME!" (Unless they were last there eight years ago, it was.)

"Let me get Jack." I just walked away. I was pissed. We gave them the discount they didn't deserve, and, to my utter fucking surprise, they granted me a fucking dollar tip. I didn't expect anything, considering they were cheap asshats and I did lose my temper a little bit. If we're lucky, my tiny attitude will convince them not to come back.

And then it was time for the evening shifts. I got back in to a better mood; and my tables tonight were all fine. Not spectacular, and I still had lots of annoying modifications, but nobody was being a total douche, which was a pleasant surprise. My tips were all 10%, though, which, you know, YAY.

The last slap in the fact came when the manager did first cuts. Our restaurant has a ring of outer tables, and a ring in inner tables around the bar. I'd had the tables around the bar, and had a total of five tables during the "rush". The manager moved me to a section that required walking up and around the entire place to get to in relation to the rest of my tables .... right after I got a six top with four children, and right before the new section got double sat. And one of my other tables asked me for three things, and I asked a group of chatting coworkers for help and was told "SURE! blahblahblahtotallyignoringme".

And then ... my previous section, around the bar, that had been empty all night? Totally filled up. Bloody fucking hell.

The day was just a damn struggle from the start. Having written it all out, I guess it sounds trivial, but I'm sure the other servers out there understand the background of all of it, the other tables and their demands and irritable managers and stuff, that make it hard to cope with this extra shit.

My take at the end of the day was about 11%. FUCK RIGHT OFF.

Do I look like a damn sommelier?

So this guy orders a steak and shrimp, and then asks me "Which goes better with that, the suchandsuch merlot or the someothersuch chardonnay?" Him asking this tells me two things: he doesn't actually know anything about wine, but is trying to sound pretentious, and I'm probably not getting a good tip (I was right, slightly under 10%).

I smiled and said I don't like red wine, so I'd be biased toward the chardonnay. He stared INTO MY SOUL without a trace of smile. Okay, I guess I'm not funny. So I told him I thought red wine generally went well with beef, but white wine usually goes well with seafood, so I wasn't sure. He said he'd have the chardonnay, but then he starts looking around and says, "Why don't you ask HER?" and points at my manager, who happened to be walking by and is obviously not a mere, ignorant waitress.

She basically told him the same thing, and he decided to have merlot. Now, he was polite enough about it, but here's the thing: who goes to a Chili's/TGIFridays/Applebee's/Ruby Tuesday/average mass-produced food type of place and asks questions about the wine? I mean, really; if you're eating there, you probably don't actually have a very discerning palate. And I'm pretty sure any subtle notes brought out by the wine were gutted and left for dead by the A1 sauce he drowned the steak in.

Better than I thought.

So despite last night's funk, I ended up doing okay. The whole night is sort of a blur; I don't remember any specific guests, or really specifically doing anything. Weird, right? But I guess it's good to know I can function well enough on autopilot to not screw everything up!

It's definitely nice to be back at my regular restaurant; I didn't appreciate how smoothly everything flows here until I was thrown back into the old one. I also didn't realize how difficult everything there was--just stupid things, like the necessary components for an iced tea being spread over ten feet of counter. And less-stupid things, like the cooks being slower than sloths stuck in frozen molasses.

I'm still pissed about the black pants thing, though.

Lost my mojo.

So I'm back at my regular job, but I'm just not feeling it. I'm trying to focus, but I feel all distant and separate from the world around me. I can't stop worrying about things, and it's affecting me. Usually, I compartmentalize fairly well, but this is just fucking my shit up.
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Stupid corporate people.

I love the fact that restaurant decisions are made by people sitting in an office on the east coast, who don't actually work in restaurants, and who just make shit up. Like deciding that our uniform is switching from jeans to black slacks. Why? Oh, who knows why!

Fuck you, corporate monkeys!

Of all the stupid things to be addicted to.

Why in the hell did I start playing Diner Dash? Why am I playing a game that simulates my own damn job? :)

Maybe it's because computerized customers don't talk back. :)

Ironic

I'm very temporarily working at my old restaurant, and I forgot how much I hated it. It's the same corporation but a wildly different atmosphere and way of operating. I don't like it.

What's ironic is that last night I had the best shift I've ever had in this place, and I don't really work here anymore. Three years in this hole and I don't make great tips until I leave.
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Just shut up already!

I had a table today of parents and two kids. When I walked up to get their drink order, the mother, who looked about 25, was talking and talking and talking. And talking some more. She would not shut up. She finally looks at me and orders a drink mid-sentence, then continues talking. The dad ordered a beer and then completely turned his back on me to pay attention to her. This left their two daughters, one who was about six and the other about ten.

So I asked the ten year old what she wants to drink, and she says "A oreo sundae!" I smiled and said, "Okay, what do you want to drink, honey?" "A oreo sundae!" Of course, her parents aren't paying attention, so I have to try to deal with this. "Do you mean a shake?" "No!" "Are you sure you want a sundae to drink, not a shake?" "Yes! I'm sure!"

I took her water.

So funny, I forgot to laugh.

I love people who think joking about my tip is funny. How would they like it if their boss joked about "since you forgot something for thirty seconds, you're not getting paid for this hour!" Today is was a table of three woman, one who informed me she wanted "Hot tea. With real cream. Green tea. And water." without ever looking at me. I had just gotten double sat. So I came back, with a tray full of nine drinks, and as I'm setting her tea down, I laughed and said "I'm sorry, I was so busy making sure I got your cream that I forgot the tea bag!" Her friend pipes up with "Ooooooooh, uh oh! And she's the one paying your tip to! Uh oh!"

There's nothing I can say to that without sounding snotty. I can't laugh without it sounding sarcastic, because I'm not good at faking laughter. So I just said "Oh, lucky for me I can run right back to the kitchen for it then!" with a smile. Apparently that wasn't good enough, because I got a 7% tip. Bitches.

I got out of bed for this?

We need three servers tops right now. We have six on. This is me being annoyed.
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Weirdest dreams.

A few nights ago, I dreamed that I had customers (at table 23, specifically!) who wanted Mai Tais, and the bartender didn't know how to make them. And neither did anyone else. So I had to call another restaurant in town (a locally owned steakhouse, specifically) to get a recipe, but I had to hide to do it or the manager would yell at me.

The next night, I dreamed we were having a corporate inspection and I fucked it all up because I was wearing my white tennis shoes with gold accents instead of my black shoes. And then I was standing at table 12 and realized I had on socks and shoes, and shirt and apron ... and nothing else. And I never have those stupid "OMG I'm nekkid!" sort of dreams!

Then last night, I dreamed I was at work ... and then it morphed into this weird Princess Bride/Buffy the Vampire Slayer amalgamation, with people from work jumping off castle walls into a battle and getting their heads chopped off. I think I was supposed to be Buffy, because I remember being very concerned about Angel--but I also recognized the people from work.

I worked all day today, but I have tomorrow off. I'm heading to bed soon; I hope I get tonight off too. Stupid dreams.

OMG DRINK REFILLZ

The GM at my restaurant is a nice woman. She's generally fair to people, she rarely freaks out and loses her temper, and in general I think she's probably the best boss I've had. But sometimes she fixates on things and drives everybody crazy. Tonight, her thing was apparently drink refills.

My (three table) section was right outside the kitchen, and at one point I was emptying dishes while telling the host a story. GM comes around the corner and asks if I'm getting 30 drink refills. They had two friends standing at the end of the table, effectively blocking the view, talking with them. So I wasn't bothering them. Their glasses weren't empty, and they were almost done with their food anyway. So I told the GM I'd take care of it, and continued telling the host the story as we walked out of the kitchen.

When we got out the doors, the table's friends were still there chatting, but seemed to be saying goodbye. So I spent another fifteen seconds wrapping up my story ... at which point the GM comes around the corner and snaps, "What are they drinking? I'll get it if you don't WANT to or something."

I was in earshot of the customers, so I walked toward her to answer and she started into the kitchen. I followed her telling her a) their plates were almost empty so I was going to ask first, b) I didn't remember and was looking at them to job my memory c) their friends were almost gone and I was waiting. She still acted a little huffy, but mostly just said "Okay, okay" a lot.

Seriously, what the hell? I'm not the strongest server in the place; there are a couple women who've worked there for nine or ten years and seem to never, ever, ever fuck up. But I'm far from the bottom of the pile, too. In the time I've worked here, I've yet to have a complaint. In the three years I was at another location, I had two complaints and one was wholly unjustified. The other one I don't remember the details, just that I really did screw up badly.

So why is she assuming that I'm not paying attention or something? Yes, I was talking to a coworker, but I had just passed by that table. I only had two tables anyway! It just gets under my skin when people assume I'm not doing my job--and then to get snippy about it when I was standing three feet from the table, clearly waiting for their friends to get the fuck out of my way.

And when their friends did leave, and I asked if they wanted refills? "Oh no, we're about to float away!" No surprise since they'd all had about four refills apiece already! But their glasses weren't spilling over, so obviously I was slacking off.

Gah!

Quit breeding!

I have waited on a stupid number of children today. Luckily they've all been well behaved, but my check average still sucks because of it.
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