Back up off my table, bitch.

I absolutely hate working with Rehab when she's in the kitchen. When she's on the floor, it's better--mostly because she doesn't have an excuse to scream non-stop. But she's still a nosy bitch even then.

I had a table of three college-aged guys, who were all sort of douchebags anyway. One of them immediately started arguing with me about our drink specials. In their infinite wisdom, corporate printed up something that says "$2 pints" -- so all sorts of assholes assume it's all pints, and get in our faces about it when we tell them it's the specific ones listed on the big shiny laminated flyer right in front of their faces.

One of the guys at the table was particularly obnoxious about it. When I told him what the actual specials were, he ordered one of the beers that were actually $2 -- and then said he wanted to talk to the manager. He was being fairly light-hearted so I didn't think anything serious about it, just got good old Pot Smoking Manager and sent him over. Well, he basically told the guy the same thing I had but agreed the little bastard could get the more expensive one for that price.

The guy sort of smirked at me as I was cleaning the next table. I sort of smiled and said "I guess persistence will get you everywhere!" His oh-so-charming response? "It's not persistence, it's intelligence." I laughed and said "Oh, okay." thinking we were joking around.

So their dinner was delivered as I took another order, and I came back to check on them. Mister Intelligence was sort of poking at his steak, looking discontent, but when I asked how everything tasted, all three of them said fine. I looked directly at him, smiled, and asked if he was sure, if there was anything else I could get for him. Again, he refused to tell me what was wrong. I had four other tables that needed attention, and if he didn't want to tell me what to do for him, then fuck him. I'd tried twice. I figured I'd do a lap and then come back and see if he'd open his big dumb mouth.

As I'm talking to another of my tables, I see Rehab talking to Mr. Intelligence. She wasn't even on the clock anymore, having finished her sidework and everything about half an hour before. I don't know why she was even still there. She suddenly scurried in to the kitchen, and when I got back there she was telling PSM all about my table's problems. I thought the guy had flagged her down, but oh no. Apparently, she just "noticed he looked unhappy", went over there and bugged him -- because at first he told her things were fine too! -- until he finally started bitching that "neither my server nor the manager understands your drink specials". But apparently he does, as he doesn't work there.

Then he complained that his potato had butter and sour cream on it, and it was supposed to be butter and cheese. Oh dear lord, the humanity! It's so hard to replace a baked potato! And his steak was apparently medium instead of medium rare--which, had he told me, we would have cooked him a new one! But he's "not the kind of person who sends food back" because he "worked in a kitchen". I hate assholes like that, who claim to have done this job and then treat us who do like shit.

And still, even after telling Rehab all these horrible things that were wrong, he refused another meal. I only talked to them one more time, and he still wouldn't tell me what was wrong, because every time I turned around Rehab was at the table again, so I'd have to chase her down and find out what was going on, and then I'd turn around and she was at the table again. After four rounds of this I totally gave up and let the nosy bitch handle it.

The proper course of action for her would have been ... well, to not get involved with my table, while off the clock, uninvited. If the jackass had waved her over or something, that's different. Then she should have come to me and relayed the problem, and sat the fuck back down.