Why do I need a second job?

Oh, that's right. Because there are people who think six cents is a tip.

They should remember that Chuck Norris knows when you don't tip. :)
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I love wasting my time.

$35 on a close. God dammit.

Searching for a new layout.

I had seven possible options, and decided I didn't like any of them. Unfortunately, when I pasted the HTML for this layout back in, I lost all the blogroll info, etc. I'll get it fixed tomorrow. I'm tired now.

Get the fuck out, and fuck off while you're at it.

I was in a good mood when I headed to work. Happy and singing, and I'd actually put my makeup on before leaving instead of in the car! I got to work early and had something to eat, talked with my coworkers, etc. My first few tables were fine; nothing memorable.

And then .... I saw it. The hostess putting two of my tables together for a big top. FUCK! I hate big tops! They never tip me well--and some corporate douchebag decided years ago that we can't add gratuity, no matter the size of the party. There's not even a button in the computer for it.

As any server knows, a big top during the dinner rush can make or break your night. This was only a group of eight; and one of my coworkers knew one of the first four to show up. So I wasn't too worried. Of course, the hostesses are morons and gave me a five at the same time, and then kept my two boots turning as fast as possible while I was juggling the big table--who turned out to be a giant pain in my ass. So much so that I remember their exact orders seven hours later!

Three of the first four ordered margaritas, rocks, salt. Simply enough. The fourth ordered "Margarita. Strawberry. Frozen. Sugared rim (accompanied by one pointy finger making a circular motion)." No problem. After I ring those in, the rest of the group shows up--another young woman who orders a strawberry margarita, two kids, and two snotty teenagers. I go get their drink orders, but first tell the first four their margaritas are on the way. As I turn to get the other side of the table's drinks, Pointy-Finger Girl interrupts me and asks for one of our dips, but with breadsticks instead of chips, and the second girl (Margarita Copier) asks for the same thing. I ask twice more before I manage to get their drink orders. From then on it was just run, run, runrunrunrun.

The snotty teenage boy had tons of Mountain Dew refills; one of the kids spilled his Oreo shake and I got them a new one free of charge after bringing a giant stack of napkins and a towel for the mess (it was under the table). They didn't think they got enough breadsticks for their dip, so I had to get more of those.

It took ages to get their order, and then it took even longer to ring it in. At the end it looked like this, taking up our entire expo screen because of all the mods, plus I had to type stuff out so the brilliant kitchen workers could understand it. It all came out right; they got everything promptly including all their margaritas and refills.

At the end, their bill was $154 (four half-price, appetizers, two sirloins, one New York strip, a chicken rollup, chicken strips, a burger, and two kids meals; two sodas, ten happy hour margaritas, and two non-happy hour margaritas; plus various add-ons like mushrooms on steaks). They asked me to split the bill in two; which I did promptly.

The Margarita Copier paid for $50 of it and left me six. Despite not asking for split tickets, two of the other four paid individually. Two paid together, and left $7 on $55. One left two on $25. One left ... nothing, on $25.

Fifteen dollars on one-hundred and fifty. Ten percent for perfect service for demanding people. FUCK YOU, ASSCLOWNS.

I tried not to let it bother me; it could have been worse. But by the time they left, the dinner rush was over, so they'd cost me money through taking up my tables as well as being cheap. Still, I was closing, so I tried to stay positive. We actually stayed fairly busy through the rest of the night; not so busy I couldn't sit down to eat, but busy enough that by the end of the night my sales were $556--at first cuts they were only $230.

Unfortunately, my tips didn't measure up. Mostly 10% tonight, and I really don't know why .... I was giving people the same service as days I've made much more. I was a bit stressed a couple of times when I was busy; but I made sure I smiled, I got refills, etc. etc. By the end of the night, though, my crankiness was starting to wear me down .... and that's when I got the people I just wanted to scream at.

The little girl was absolutely adorable, I wanted to pick her up and squish her! She was about eight, and very sweet. The father didn't talk much; I think he said two words the whole time. But the mother .... ugh. She had a snotty look on her face from the beginning. She had long hair pulled back tight,; she had that peculiar black eyeshadow older Hispanic women like smeared all over her eyelashes, plus a nasty maroon lipstick wearing off her lips. She just looked uptight and pissy.

So they come in at 10:45--we close at 11, naturally. But I don't let that bother me--it's not like I was going to be able to walk out the door at 11:01 anyway. I trotted over the greet them, and offered them an iced tea or Pepsi--just the first things to pop out of my mouth. Eyeshadow says "you're not serving alcohol?" I assured her we were, I just didn't happen to list it. She asks what beer we have, and orders a Coors Light for her husband. The little girl orders a Dr. Pepper; Eyeshadow asks me what something on the menu is and orders that.

So I go forth and get their drinks. The little girl orders a Caesar salad, the dad points at a shrimp salad. Eyeshadow then asks me "This ribs and fajitas, what does that come with?" It took me a second to understand. See, there's a section of the menu with the heading "ribs & fajitas" with short ribs, baby backs, and fajitas listed separately.

"You freaking idiot, can't you read?" I snapped. No, of course not really! But I wanted to. I just politely told her we don't have a ribs and fajita combo. So of course she didn't know what she wanted, and I had to come back. She finally orders a burger. Everything comes out in record time, because of course the cooks want to get the hell out. But still, everything is cooked right, they say it's good.

Later, I stop by to check on their drink levels. The little girl starts to ask for dessert, but Eyeshadow cuts her off and says later. Then she asks me when we close. I say 11. She asks what time it is, and even though I know it's quarter after 11, I just say it's about 11. So they order a sundae and another beer. As I'm taking their dinner plates, the little girl smiles at me and says "I'm sorry I made a mess!" She hadn't even made a mess. I smiled and said "Oh sweetheart, you're fine!" At least I got along with one of them.

So I get the dessert and the beer, and I give them their bill. After sweeping a bit, I see the little girl playing with the book and looking at me. So I hop over, and she hands me the book and says, "There's forty dollars in there!" So cute. I say I'll be right back with their change, but Eyeshadow tells me to keep it. I didn't know what their total was until I got back to the kitchen. $39.43. Are you fucking kidding me?

Still, I held my temper until they'd left and confirmed they'd left nothing. Then I started ranting and getting really pissed off. What the hell! They come in right before close, stay until 11:30, and don't tip? Fuck them! I did say some nasty things in the kitchen, which I feel bad about--I try not to say racist things, even though the more Hispanic people I wait on the more I understand the non-tipping stereotype. It's nearly always true, whether they're first or second generation immigrants. Of course, it's also true of white trash, bitchy old people, stupid teenagers, etc. etc.

I'm sure that all seems like an over-reaction, especially the double-finger I brandished at the parking lot. And it was. But while I was waiting for them to leave, I'd run my check out, and had seen what I made. Twenty-two percent of my sales were alcohol (I had drinkers allll night), so I owed my bartender a huge tip-out. I made $49 for seven hours of work, on $556 in sales. That's slightly less than nine percent. So after seeing the disappointing haul for the night and then confirming they'd actually left me nothing, I let all my frustrations come out.

Here's hoping tomorrow is better--it's another closing shift.

Somebody freakin' slap me!

Because there is no way I've had three straight nights of perfectly pleasant customers! Seriously! Not a single complaint, not a single rude person. Okay, there was an older couple who were a little cranky, but not at me specifically.

I made 20% again, and it was actually busier tonight, so I got out post-meal and post-tip out with $70. I was there a lot later than I probably should've been, because I neglected to eat before work and my blood sugar crashed, so I ended up super cranky and slow-moving. Plus I had a couple obviously on a date who stayed until about ten minutes before close. And then I spent too much time talking to my drink nazi manager, who was in a good mood tonight.

Tomorrow's Friday and all hell usual breaks loose on Fridays; let's see how many days in a row I can keep this good streak going.

Worst mistake I've ever made.

At least I think ... I've been doing this a long time, after all. But I don't think I've ever managed to screw up quite so bad before.

Last week I had two cowboys at my table. They were easy-going, nice guys (and thank god for that). They ordered some wings, and then two medium well steaks. Not a big deal. Well, lately we've had a rash of people who were having a fit when they received their meals before they had finished every bite of their appetizer. A couple of them threatened to never come back, so naturally they got free food. The manager who'd dealt with most of those customers was on the floor that night, and was still fixating on giving people enough time with their apps before their meals.

We have in our computer system a nice little button that says "first out", which has only been around for a year or so. I absolutely love it. When you mark an item "first out", the computer automatically holds the rest of the items a specified time, or until the first item has cleared the kitchen, whichever is first. The problem is that the wait time isn't customized for each appetizer. Wings, for example, take 6-7 minutes, compared to three for mozzarella sticks. If a guest orders wings and sandwiches, the wings will have a four minute lead time on the sandwiches, but the meals still might go out first. So lately, Mr. Highstrung Little Lap Dog manager has been telling people not to use the first out button when it comes to wings.

Now, you'd think two medium well steaks would take a while, but the kitchen was running fast that night, and they guys had only ordered seven ounce steaks, which are thinner and cook quickly. So I put their wings in and went to do a couple of other things before putting in their dinners.

Tables come and go, I run food all over the restaurant and bring refills, typical evening. I see my guys snacking on their wings, give them some more tea, continue about my business. But eventually, I start thinking their steaks are taking a really long time! I go to the computer to check how longs it's been, and that's when I discover that I never rang them in.

Oh, holy fuck.

I still don't know how I managed to be so ditzy. For Christ's sake, I walked by then a dozen times! The only thing I can think is that when I first went to put their food in, I'd put it all in using the first out button. Then I'd erased it before sending it and put in just the wings, so maybe in the dumbass portion of my brain it registered as having completed the task.

Right away, I put the order in to the kitchen with several "on the fly" mods. I told the expo and the cooks, tossed a warning at the manager (cringing the whole time), and then I rushed out to the table.

"Guys, I've made a huge mistake," I started. "I'm so, so sorry, but I forgot to put your steaks in, and it's going to be a few more minutes."

"Oh, we're not in a hurry!" one says. "Don't worry about it!"

My stress level started decreasing a little. "I feel really bad, I don't know how I did it. Can you get you a salad or some chips or something else, on me of course?"

"Oh, we're fine." the other one says.

I can't believe my luck. These guys were awesome. They told me not to tell the manager, because they didn't want to get me in trouble! They said they deal with customers all the time, and they know how customer complaints can get your ass in a sling with the bosses, and they didn't want to cause me trouble. This after I delayed their meal almost 40 minutes! The manager never even had to go talk to them, they were so mellow, so chill. They didn't ask for anything free. 99.99% of tables would have flipped their shit, and I wouldn've spent the rest of the night with the manager treating me like shit.

In the end, a friend of their joined them and ordered separately, and they took up one of my booths for the better part of three hours. They left me $4 on $40, which was $4 more than I deserved. They could have left me nothing after all that time, and I wouldn't have said a word.

Two decent nights in a row? I must be dreaming!

I've had two really nice nights at work. They haven't been overly profitable--only $40 each shift--but I can live with that on a slow night, in exchange for high percentage tips and nice customers on a first cut shift. Although my sales have been low, my tip percentage has been higher than 20% after cashing out my dinner ticket under my own name, and I have had zero complaints. Amazing!

Well, alright, there was the one woman who ordered a ribeye and then complained that it was too fatty. But she wasn't a bitch about it! The manager and I both talked to her, and suggested that next time she order the New York strip as it's a leaner cut of meat. She didn't demand a new meal, nor ask for it to be comped. And I got a 22% tip from that table. I had expected much, much less from them, considering the first thing they tried to do when I walked up was order a half-priced appetizer when that special wasn't available for another two hours, and the flyer they were reading said so. It was nice to be surprised.

Bitch, that ain't a bar.

It's a little thing, but one of my pet peeves is the seat-yourself-ers. Of course, that annoys everybody in a restaurant with a host. But what really makes me enraged is people who tell the host they're going to sit at the "bar" .... and then happily plop their asses down at a table in the vicinity of the bar.

It pisses off the hosts, because they get yelled at by the manager if people are spotted without menus. It potentially pisses off their server, if they've now been double or triple sat. It pisses off other servers, who feel they're being skipped in the rotation.

Most annoying of all are people who do it even after being told, many times, that this is not a seat yourself establishment. We have a couple who come in every Thursday. Everyone's seen them there with other significant others, so we think they're having an affair. They walk in, sit themselves at a table near the bar, sit so close they could crawl down each others' throats, and stay for up to two hours .... and leave a two dollar tip.

We've told them we're not a seat yourself place. We've told them the bar is not a free-for-all. If there's some reason they want that particular table, they can ask for it instead of ignoring the host completely--walking right a person greeting them--and dropping their rude asses down where they want.

More guest perception bullshit.

So when I got to work not too long after posting my last entry, we had another piece of paper stuck up on our bulletin board. It was a print-out of the guest comment I mentioned, which says, verbatim, "our waitress was more interested in holding up the bar than seeing if we were ok". Not "the staff", not "the servers", not "people". "OUR waitress". One specific person.

But written in pink marker by our general manager (not the one who was going around talking to people about it yesterday), was the following:

"Ummmm .... I told you so!
PERCEPTION!"

Seriously? What are you, twelve?

Fuck you and your "guest perception" too.

Like most corporations these days, our restaurant has those damned surveys printed on the receipt. They aggravate me because they're skewed against us--who's more likely to call in, somebody pissed off or somebody happy? Not to mention, with our particular surveys, people rate us on a 1 to 10 scale. However, 1-9 counts for zero! So if we have nine respondents rate us at a 9 and one rate us as a 10, we have a -8 rating. It's perfection or nothing.

Lately, the managers have been all up in arms about our "server attentiveness" score. You'd think this would be based on how quickly people get refills, extra napkins, etc. But the managers have decided that the best way to raise this particular score is to rag on everyone if they see them stand still for more then fifteen seconds where a customer can see them--regardless of how busy or slow it is. Now, obviously if it's busy nobody should be standing around. But if there are three tables in the joint? Please.

Unfortunately, they got "confirmation" of this fact the other day. One of the comments entered by a guest was that their waitress was more interested in "holding up the bar" than serving them. Nevermind the fact that there are several legitimate reasons someone could be waiting at the bar--waiting for change from the bartender or to go server, waiting on a drink that was incorrectly made, needing to ask the bartender a question about alcohol. And even if that particular server was spending all their time standing at the bar doing nothing, I would say that merited a conversation with that particular server--not a general lambasting of the staff about "guest perception".

But no, they grumped at everybody, sometimes individually. One of my coworkers asked, "Why are you telling me separately? Was it me?" The manager said "No, but we know who it is, and we all need to pay attention to guest perception." Right away, I take that to mean that they actually don't know who it is--I speak manager. It's designed to make employees paranoid, to make them feel that management has eyes everywhere. Now, could they have found out which employee waited on these particular people? Probably, but not without calling the corporate office and waiting for them to dig out the data, which for a benign complaint they wouldn't waste the time to do.

This has spawned a whole obnoxious trend of carping on servers about things:
"Don't stand at that counter rolling silverware, customers can only see the back of you standing there and that creates a negative guest perception."
"Two of you need to move to a different table to eat your post-shift meal, there are five people sitting here and that creates a negative guest perception."
"Why are you standing at the bar? Negative guest perception, people!" (Response? "I'm waiting on change for a hundred dollar bill." "Oh.")
"Don't talk so loud in the kitchen, you're creating negative guest perception!"
"Silverware needs to have the naked end pointing towards the chair, the other way isn't welcoming and we need to work on our guest perception." (Seriously?)

Is guest perception important? Absolutely. The problem is that if somebody wants to find something negative, they're going to. Maybe the hostess isn't smiling, or they heard a manager screaming in the kitchen about the cost of cheddar cheese. Perhaps the carpet by their table has a large stain because a Pepsi was spilled there earlier that day. Etc. etc. etc. If there was a question that asked "what is your overall impression of this restaurant", I might understand. But I don't understand how somebody could rate their personal server's attentiveness poorly because off-shift employees are eating together, or because somebody else is at the bar. There are ways to address server attentiveness, and that's by hiring quality people all the way around and noticing when individuals are slacking off/falling behind--not by making your servers feel like they have to pace circles around the restaurant when there's nothing to do.

You're not in Sydney anymore.

I had a single guy at a table last night; nothing really remarkable about him, but he gave me a slightly creepy feeling. When I went to greet him, he ordered a drink and his meal right away; no problem. He didn't make eye contact with me or say anything else until I asked how his meal was; he said it was good and nothing else. He ate quickly and asked for his check.

When I went to pick it up, he was filling out a traveler's check. Not my favorite thing in the world; but doable. He already had his Vermont driver's license out, and suddenly started gabbing away as I went to write his license number on the check. He was asking if I'd ever been to Vermont, started talking about the mountains there, how they compare to mountains here, etc. I don't know if he was trying to distract me or what; but as I started writing down his license number I noticed something odd about the check: it said "100 Australian dollars" on it.

It's a good thing I have a modicum of self-control, because I wanted to say "Do you see any kangaroos around here, bitch?" Instead, I politely told him I'd have to check with the manager to see if we could accept something in foreign currency.

Oh, damn.

"It's AMERICAN EXPRESS." he says loudly, as if I'm dumb.
"Yes, sir, but it's not in U.S. dollars, so I'll have to check with the manager."
He snatches it out of my hands. "New York, New York! It's a traveler's check! You can spend it anywhere!"
I tried to be sweet and reasonable. The guy had a little travel folder from an airline out, so I thought maybe he'd just gotten confused about which check he'd pulled out. So I held it out and pointed to the left hand corner and said, "But sir, it says right here '100 Australian dollars'."

He threw his arms in the air. "You can't take what it says on bills literally! Our money says 'In God We Trust' but if we trusted in god we wouldn't need to pay the Department of Defense."

I just sort of looked at him, I didn't even know what to say.

"It's AMERICAN EXPRESS."

"Let me get the manager," was all I said, and walked away.

The manager was utterly confused, and went to the back to make a phone call. Even though we both knew we couldn't take it. I gathered up things for my other tables, hoping the manager would come back out before I finished; I don't get paid enough to deal with that sort of thing. Alas, he didn't come back out, so I went out into my station. The customer was sitting there staring at my expectantly, so I put on my best shiny fake smile.

"My manager is making a call to find out if we can take traveler's checks in foreign currency, it'll be just a minute."

The guy throws himself back in his chair and yells "IT'S NOT IN AUSTRALIAN MONEY!"

"The manager will be out in a minute." I'd stopped smiling; I don't have to take people screaming at me. I went down the row and talked to each of my other four tables, then took the long way around into the kitchen to avoid the guy.

The manager met me in the kitchen and said we couldn't take it; he tried to hand it back to me, but I shook my head and told him the guy had just yelled at me and didn't understand why we wouldn't take it. When I was a retail manager, I'd've cheerfully faced the guy--so that means the manager here could too.

I didn't have to speak to the wingnut again; but the manager did, for about ten minutes, which I focused on my other tables. I overheard the guy telling my manager that nobody else had ever refused to take one of these checks. I was in the back ringing in a new order when the manager came up.

The guy insisted we should take it, that nobody else had refused to. He said he had ten dollars cash, and absolutely no other way to pay. So the manager discounted the $11.17 bill, gave me the ten, and of course I was out the tip.

I don't know if the guy was trying to scam us, or was just dumb. It's not the most elaborate scheme I've seen, but it's still ridiculous, and it's entirely possible it was a counterfeit check. Even if it wasn't, can you imagine the shitstorm if I'd taken it? It was for $100; his check was $11.17, meaning he was expecting $88.83 in change. Even if it was a real check, and even if we could've cashed it at a bank (rather than a currency exchanger with the attendant fees), it would still only be worth $75 to us with the exchange rate.

The more I think about it, the more I think it was a scam. Wonder how many people he managed to screw with it.

So Tuesday actually ended up being okay.

I was incredibly frustrated by the people who left me nothing; and also with the people who left me less than ten percent after being a gigantic pain in the ass regarding birthday desserts/singing. The person whose birthday it was didn't want singing or dessert, but his sister was being an utter bitch about it, telling every employee who passed by, etc. We sang, and the guy was pissed, and then some other person paid and apparently he wasn't happy either. But regardless of that, it ended up being a decent night: my next two tables left me $10 on $26 and $15 on $35, so even with the two sucky tables I still got fifteen percent after tipping the bartender. Definitely could have been worse!

Oh, please, I don't need to pay rent!

I'm so happy I got to run in circles for an hour and a half answering your questions and getting your food and everything else. Cleaning off your table is payment enough, please leave exactly $40.03 for your $40.03 tab. That's perfect.

Alternatively, fuck off and die.
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Things I wouldn't do.

I wouldn't pop out two kids in close succession, to start with. And if I did, and they were ill-behaved little miscreants, I wouldn't take them out in public with a friend with her own two brats. And I wouldn't insist on having a booth, which requires having two high chairs taking up most of the aisle at the end of the table.

But, if I did, I wouldn't stay for dinner if one of the rugrats vomited all over the table the instant we sat down. If I did stay, I wouldn't be a complete pain the ass the entire time and run my server all over the place. And if my waitress was polite and smiling, on top of refills and everything else I could want, I sure as hell wouldn't leave two crumpled dollar bills on the vomit-scented, paper scrap covered, sticky table with smears and crumbs all over the seats and floor.

It's okay, I won't always be a waitress. They'll probably always be trashy bitches.

Mozzarella jacking white trash bitches.

My second table last week seemed average enough. The had a little bit of trash vibe coming off them, mostly because the guy's shirt was stained and the women had identical mousy glasses and long, frizzy country hairdos (below the shoulder, clearly badly bleached, split-ended, with the top section pulled back tight with an ugly barrette). Now, we are by no means a fancy establishment, and I try not to judge people based on what they look like. But the fact remains that certain things are tip-offs of the peoples' lifestyles; doesn't mean I treat them any differently until their behavior warrants it, but I do notice.

These three people are sitting at table 63. The two women, who I'll call Bossy and Mousy, both ordered water; the guy ordered a beer. I brought their drinks, and Mousy looks scared and whispers that she didn't want lemon in her water. I scooted back to the kitchen and got her a new one, even though really, what's the big fucking deal, just take it out. Anyway, I get back, and they had a bunch of questions, but weren't ready yet, so I went next door to the family of three at 62 and took their drink order. Came back and they ordered burgers and mozzarella sticks, and I went back to 63.

Finally ready to order! Bossy orders an appetizer trio; the guy orders something I've forgotten now; Mousy orders a sandwich and then hesitantly asks if she can have salad instead of fries.

"It's a dollar more, but we can absolutely do that!" I hate telling people that, because they assume it's a rip-off, even though our salads are huge.
Mousy looks absolutely horrified. "Oh! No! No!"
"It's okay!" the man tells her--he seems like a nice guy. "It's fine."
"Oh no, no, I'll have fries. No." Mousy shrinks into the corner of her booth.

Not a good sign, possibly, depending upon who's paying.

Then Bossy decides to order a salad, so I ask "Would you like a house or a Caesar salad?"
"I don't know what a Caesar salad is. What is that?"
Now, I've gotten that question before. It still never fails to amaze me--where the hell are these people from? Still, I try to explain nicely. "It's romaine lettuce, with parmesan---"
"Is that the one with the croutons?" she interrupts me to ask Mousy, who nods. "I want a house salad."
"Okay, with what dressing?"
"What's a house salad?"
"Mixed greens wi--"
"Caesar."
"Okay, one caesar salad." I close my notebook. "I'll get that started for you." I turned, take a step, and hear ....
"With RANCH."
I turn back around. "Oh, you want ranch instead of the Caesar dressing?"
"I don't know what that is. Ranch." she says without looking at me.

So I get her her un-Caesar Caesar salad, and go about taking care of my other three tables. Then I ran food to another server's table and out of the corner of my eye saw the people at 63 jamming mozzarella sticks into their mouths at amazing speed. They didn't order mozzarella sticks, 62 did. Immediately, I thought I'd screwed up. I mess up my table numbers sometimes, see. So I run to the computer and check it out; nope, I put them on the right table.

Somebody took them to the wrong table, and that wrong table just started shoving them down their gullets right away. So I scoot back to the kitchen, yell for another order, and scoot back out to my table that didn't get their appetizer. With my back sort of to the thieves, I quietly told my family of three that another table had gotten and already eaten their appetizer, but we had another going right now and it would be out in just a moment. They weren't thrilled, but they were okay.

In the middle of this, from behind me I hear a laugh, and the guy says "I guess that was us!" No apology, he just thought it was funny. A few minutes later they've gotten their actual food--you know, the food that they actually ordered--so I go to check on them. Everyone says things are fine--except Bossy, who doesn't acknowledge me. She's eating slumped over her plate, with an elbow planted firmly on the table; she has her fork upside-down, and is using it to stab pieces of food and jam them in her mouth, utensil still upside-down. Then she sits there with her fork dangling from her fingers as she chews with her mouth open.

She continues to be rude and not acknowledge me the rest of the meal, except to bark at me that they need boxes. The entire time they're talking so loudly I can hardly hear my other customers, laughing and jabbering obnoxiously. I bring the boxes and the check, and tell them I'll be their cashier. They sit there for a good twenty minutes, before Bossy brandishes the book at me and yells "Do I pay up front?" I smile and tell her no, I'll take. She emits this hugely loud laugh and says, "OH! I don't know! I'm NEW!" Very strange. But I take her card and run it.

After another half an hour of being annoying, they finally leave. The mozzarella thieves gave me $3 on a $42 ticket. The people who had their appetizer stolen? $6 on $30. At least somebody in this situation wasn't a bitch.