Last night is pretty much a blur; I was upset for a lot of it, aggravated for the rest. Three tables stand out, though.
The first was an older couple. The woman was looking at our lunch special menu, even though it prominently says it's only available until three. One of the options is two mini burgers.
"Well, I want mini burgers, but I don't want two!" she jabbed her finger at the menu.
"The lunch specials are only available until three, but we do have the burgers as a meal of three burgers and fries," I informed her pleasantly.
She, of course, started rolling her eyes and sighing, then told me she needed a minute. Her husband glared at me until I went away. When I returned a couple of minutes later, they both said they were ready to order. I don't even remember what her husband ordered, but I knew she was going to be a pain in the ass as soon as I turned back to her. She was still looking at the lunch menu.
"I really don't want two. (stare)"
Didn't we just cover this? I thought. "Well, we have the regular meal of three--"
"THREE?" She screeched. "Who could eat three!"
I tried to explain to her that they're fucking mini burgers. They're about one and a half inches across. She was having none of it. She started flipping her menu around, slapping her hands on the table, sighing and making those little "ugh!" noises teenage girls are so good at. "Can't I just have one?" She kept demanding. I finally just ordered the bitch a kid's meal and modified the hell out of it. Her husband glared at me the entire time they were eating, and she kept giving me this self-satisfied smirks. Yeah, good for you; you paid four times more than that two ounces of ground beef was worth.
My last table of the evening seemed nice enough. They ordered nice big meals, had a couple of drinks. Nothing went wrong, no waits or mistakes. So it really felt like a punch in the gut when they stiffed me on their $60 check. Took the time to write out "zero" on the credit slip and everything. Bitches.
The biggest asshole, though, was this fiftyish biker-looking dude who came in with his wife and daughters. I got a bad vibe off of them to begin with, I guess just because they wouldn't make eye contact when I spoke to them. I knew he was going to be a problem right away when he cut me off to demand "A margarita. A big one."
Well, that's not exactly specific. So I started to list the various options. He finally waved his hand in my face and said "Yeah, that one." Okay, whatever. His daughters ordered a milkshake and a smoothie, and as his wife was ordering he cut her off. "Don't you have a cheese and chips or something?"
"Yep, we have a spicy queso and chips." I confirmed.
"What's that?" he grunted. It took all my self-control not to say something smart-alecky. I reiterated what, you know, cheese and chips, is and he ordered that and mozzarella sticks. A few minutes later I was pouring drinks for a different table when the carside girl came up to me with a wild look on her face. Apparently this guy had totally bitched her out because his daughter's shake tasted watered down and they needed ranch. So I delivered the ranch and said the replacement drink was on the way. He grunted at me like a caveman. "Can I have a straw and my water?"
I love it when people do that--"my water" or "my ranch" or whatever, like they just own it and have every right to expect it right the fuck now even if that was the first time they asked for "their" water.
Then it was time for their dinner, and it started again. "Don't you have any bread? Don't you have any gravy? Don't you have some A1?" Everything was "fine" or "it's okay" while stabbing his food around on the plate as if dissatisfied. I finally asked CL to check on him, after being grunted at and ordered around and talked to like a dog who couldn't understand him.
When CL asked how everything was, they all started laughing. Everything she asked, the daughters giggled, the wife smirked, and the husband answered with "it's okay" and the like. CL finally asked what could be made better, and was told, "you can get me another margarita."
She verified the type--"A stellar margarita?"
"Well, I don't know if it's stellar, but a margarita."
At that point, CL came back with the same look on her face as the carside girl. "They're all a bunch of assholes!" When I took him his second margarita, which comes in a metal shaker with a separate glass, I started to pour it in to the glass as always.
"Don't do that," he snatched the shaker out of my hand. "I'll just suck it out of there."
One of the hostesses came up to me somewhere in there and asked "What the hell is wrong with the guy at twenty? Their bill ended up being $91.95, and asshole left me the change from a hundred dollar bill. Thanks, asshole.