Don't fuck with me. I control your food.

I forget what day I had this table, but I remember them well. It was some time last week; and I'd seen them in another server's section the week before. I wasn't impressed with them then, and I was less than thrilled to see them again. They'd tried to pull the "two server scam" last time, asking me for things that cost money, so I was on the alert already.

The mother is probably seventy or so, with a strong Mexican accent, and she mumbles. Then she gets pissed when you can't hear her and ask her to repeat herself. She'll also repeat exactly what her daughter just said, which gets really annoying. The daughter always looks like she's just smelled something bad, and is a demanding bitch to be quite frank about it. Neither of them can seem to understand our drink/appetizer specials, despite coming in every week.

They ordered three appetizers, but didn't seem happy about them. Then came their dinner order. I forget what the old woman ordered; but the daughter ordered chicken fried steak and said she wanted a baked potato instead of mashed potato. We charge a dollar for that; not sure why, we just do. Which I politely told her.

She swelled up like a goddamn bullfrog. "Well! Usually they just give it to me!"
"Well, they shouldn't have." I was less than diplomatic, I admit. "According to the computer, there's a dollar charge." Of course, there are ways around that, and for people I like I'll cheerfully use said workarounds.
She started muttering angrily, then flapped her hands and said she'd just have mashed potatoes. Okay then. I rang their order in; while doing that, I saw Cali Girl talking to them. That made me feel sort of bad; I didn't want to be a bitch to people she knows. So I ordered the bitchy woman a baked potato without charge.

I had four other tables while dealing with that woman, but that didn't stop her from hollering at me any time she wanted. I walked by with hot fajitas; she yells she needs napkins. I'm taking an order across the aisle, and she bellows that she needs more soda. I didn't acknowledge her, but kept taking my order; so as soon as I turn around she repeats it at top volume. On and on.

The next time I was in the kitchen, Cali came up and says, "That woman at twenty is SUCH a bitch! And she doesn't tip." Turns out she doesn't actually like them, she just went to school with the bitch's son. On my next lap through my section, the bitch complained that her chicken quesadilla didn't come out with her chips and salsa--even though she ordered it five minutes after everything else.

That was when I went back to the kitchen and told the expo the woman had "changed her mind" and wanted mashed potatoes. If you're going to be rude, you're not getting shit for free. The two of them continued to bitch for the rest of the meal--the old one's french fries were cold, they needed boxes, no not those boxes they had to have the heavy-duty ones we use for official take-out orders, can we get our check, what do you do for birthdays, can't I get another soda, we need a bag to put our boxes in, etc. etc.

Supposedly, it was the old woman's birthday, but I just had a feeling it was a lie. Whatever. She decided she wanted a hot fudge sundae--to go. I laughed while I made it. For people who don't suck, I'll put the fudge in one cup and the ice cream in another to minimize melting. For these twats? Extra, extra fudge--from the hottest bottle--all over the ice cream.

Petty? Sure. But I'm sure servers with less scruples have done much worse to those two nasty bitches' food, they're just asking for it with their attitudes.