I hate people.

Customers are just plain bitchy tonight! I'm getting tipped less on perfect service and perfect food than on nights everything is fucked up. I don't get it!
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Caramel-kiwi-coconut lemonade

I got a table of 25 teenagers Friday night--I was about ready to scream. When I say "table", I mean they were taking up all the booths on one half of the restaurant. They trickled in, two and three at a time, not an adult in sight. I was livid--I was a closer, but hadn't been getting any tables for half an hour because they'd called to say they were coming. I tried to hide it, because there's no excuse for being rude even to snot-nosed noisy-ass rude little punks. Right?

As more of them arrived, though, I started to recognize a few of them, and was less pissed. I'd originally thought I was about to have a section full of screeching cheerleader types, but it turned out to be a bunch of theater kids. I have a soft spot for theater geeks, because my cousins are in theater; I probably should have been but was too shy. Anyway, I was less cranky then. I got all their names to go with their tickets, so by the end of the night I could get their attention if I needed to. They actually ended up being my favorite table that night.

I started to joke around with them a bit; one asked if he could pull a chair over to a booth, so I told him absolutely not. He pouted and said I'd have to throw him out, so I grabbed his jacket and pretended to haul him toward the door.

Another kid, at the other end of the section, was drinking lemonade. He asked if he could try all the flavors; I didn't think he'd make it through of them, but he did. So I said I'd try to make a peach flavored one. But when I got behind the bar to get the orange syrup, I saw a couple other interesting bottles and decided to play a joke instead. I gave him a lemonade doused with caramel, coconut, and kiwi flavored syrups. It smelled horrid, like rum or something.

Of course, I didn't tell him what it was, just said it was an experimental flavor. His face was priceless.

High school called, it wants its drama back.

To recap: Week before last, three people were fired. One of them was a very popular person, and two of my friends commented on Facebook that they thought it was crap. So CL "talked" to them about how "inappropriate" it was. Cali Girl, who wrote a short paragraph, was talked to briefly, but everything was fine. L. said basically "that's bullshit" and "we'll miss you". And for some reason that brought the full wrath of CL down upon her head. I thought it was worked out after last week's various issues, but apparently not. This week, my friend got called in--on her day off--to have a "talk" with CL.

CL told L. they'd gotten an e-mailed complaint saying that L. had been on her phone all night behind the bar, and had been bitching about the management and talking trash all night. Later that day, L. called me and told me the whole story, including that CL said this was why she'd spent an entire shift staring at her. Right away I burst out with, "Bullshit! I heard her tell [person who hates L. and L. hates] she was staring at you because your phone was by the computer!"

I obviously haven't seen the email, but from what L. told me the language was very stilted and the complaint odd. Apparently this person thinks the "management team here is great" and they said they'd never come back to "her" bar. They didn't mention L. by name, or give a date--but CL assumed it had to be her, so she told her she wasn't allowed to tend bar anymore. She's a bartender. That's all she does. She hates serving. CL told her she could pick up serving shifts, but she wouldn't put her on the schedule for another two weeks. Over one customer complaint, supposedly received a week before and not acted on for a week.

CL also talked to a girl who was training to bartender the night (apparently) in question, and L. doesn't know what she might have told her, although the girl told me she didn't say anything and thinks it's bullshit and she's afraid L. hates her and everyone else thinks she did something to get L.'s shifts.

Apparently CL told that girl, "I bet everyone is going to think I made this up!" .... and that's about what people seem to be thinking. Of course, everybody's afraid they'll be next on CL's little hit list, and is afraid to trust anybody, so no-one is saying it flat-out. They're all just saying that it's "really convenient" since CL has made no secret of the fact that she doesn't like L. and wants her gone. I heard someone suggest that maybe she had a friend come hang out at the bar to try to get dirt.

I hate to be cynical and suspicious, but it does seem very convenient, and also very odd that she redacted part of the email. Maybe the email address of joe.blow@workplace.com and it was a security issue; who knows. But of course, L. is hurt and upset, everyone is afraid of being next, and everyone can see that CL is trying to get L. to quit because she doesn't have cause to fire her. Add to that the fact that when CL was telling that customer last week this whole story, I heard her say that L. would "be next, she'll quit or something." ... and I'm pretty suspicious.

A lot of people have told me various things about the situation, I don't really know what the truth is. I don't know if it's a legitimate customer complaint, a total fraud, or a friend of CL who came in to spy. I don't know what the truth is, and I wanted to stay out of it all other than comforting my friend as much as I was able.

Unfortunately, CL is obviously gunning for her, and I heard L.'s supposed best friend (JJ) talking to CL and trashing L. And I knew L. would call JJ right away, and I felt like I had to tell her what I heard. L asked JJ about it, but didn't tell her who squealed; but since me and Cali Girl were the only ones there it's pretty obvious. But that's alright. I feel like I did the right thing--I didn't want L. to get in to more trouble because she told JJ something and it got relayed. JJ was rather cool to me tonight, but she can get over her happy ass. She shouldn't have been talking trash about someone who's supposed to be her friend.

I've been debating, yet again, if I should stick it out here, with the brand of crazy I'm familiar with, or if I should just give up and go find somewhere else and adjust to their brand of crazy. I hate to give up the seniority I have, especially since I'm hoping in just over a year to be done serving. But constantly worrying I'll piss off CL and find myself at the wrong end of one of her mini crusades is just exhausting.

Pansy managers.

I've had one table in the last hour, but Bitter Divorced Man just will not cut the floor. I don't know what he's afraid of, it's so damn dead in here.
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I haven't forgotten you ....

I just haven't been feeling too well the last few days, and a lot has been going on. Some of it is more restaurant insanity, which I'm planning to write up tonight after yet another fun shift. Depending on what time I get home and how exhausted I am. I really hate Friday nights.

Oh yeah?

We had another kitchen crash tonight--by the end of it some people were waiting 45 minutes for their food again. I think it started when expo rightly refused to send out burned shrimpI don't really know why, I'm just glad that Lapdog took his ire out on the cooks and not the rest of the staff!

At the height of this mess, JJ was screaming at the cooks. "You know, it's really fucking frustrating when food is on 30 minutes and it's still fucking wrong! I need no onions on this." She threw a plate back in to the expo window. At first I was sympathetic--and the cooks are known to fuck up.

Then one of them fired back, "It says no green onion!"

"Well we don't even have green onions! There's no "onion" button, just put no fucking onion on here!" She tried to save it, but in the end she was the obvious asshole in the situation. Especially since there most certainly is a freaking onion button.

Hiding in the bathroom.

It's the only place in the restaurant where I can't hear our annoying regular's voice. This is the guy who once told us all how he'd eaten so much food was coming up when he coughed.

He's been here for three fucking hours. I don't think he even ordered anything but water. His voice feels like it's piercing my brain. And Lapdog won't tell him to leave. And it's another hour to close, and he'll stay after that too.

(tearing hair out)
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Strike two ...

I don't think our bisexual baby mama coworker Dallas is going to be around much longer. A week after finishing her training, she called out on a Saturday night to bail her baby's daddy out of jail. He was arrested the night before, and she called in an hour before her shift. This weekend, she called out in the morning for a double shift.

Why would you go through the trouble of training for a job and then treat it as disposable?

Never thought I'd see it!

Yesterday at work, CL gathered us all around in the back for a pre-shift meeting. After reiterating that we need to sell margaritas (blah, blah, blah), she said we were celebrating something: Lapdog's some-ungodly-length-of-time anniversary with the company. He got a fancy pin, and an award from the district manager for something I'd love to tell you about but you could google it and find out exactly where I work!

Then he got a round of applause, and he started blushed. The man turned beet fucking red. It was hilarious, he looked like a little emo kid. Someone jokingly said "speech, speech!" Lapdog kind of fumbled for words and finally said "Get back to work!" as he tried to escape. I'm lucky he was in a good mood, because of course what shot out of my mouth was "Well, that was very in character. Don't surprise us or anything." He just laughed.

See, sometimes I don't want to stab him!

I shouldn't be surprised.

A few posts ago, I mentioned we'd had three/four people fired this last week, for various reasons. Two of them weren't even actually told--they just received their last paycheck. Nice, right?

Well, the cook who got fired is on Facebook, and several other employees made comments on his page. Basically they all said the same thing: "This is fucked up." Well, apparently the manager was snooping around on Facebook and saw this. So she's all pissed off, and decided to have individual chats to tell them how inappropriate that was. You know, to disagree with her.

The next day, the guy who was fired called to get some information from his file; it was for unemployment, so I guess it was his exact hire date or something. CL told him that it wasn't her problem he didn't have that info, and wouldn't give it to him. He called her a bitch ... and she responded by calling the police to file a harassment complaint, telling everyone how afraid she is, having a male employee walk her to her car, and beginning to park in the customer parking right in front of the building.

She also spent most of last night standing in one place, glaring at the bartender--who she'd bitched at for writing something on Facebook--because her phone was sitting by the terminal in the bar. And tonight I heard her telling this entire story--sounding very proud of herself--to one of her pet employees who gets away with anything (like calling out on shifts and using her cell phone in the front of the restaurant, for example). Later, she told it all to Judge Judy, who's supposed to be said bartender's friend. And JJ hopped right on her phone, in front of CL, to see if her "friend" had said anything about it on FB. Later, I also heard CL telling a freaking customer all this!

I shouldn't be surprised at all the melodrama and back-stabbing; I work with a bunch of lunatics, after all.

On a totally separate note, thanks to the two people who joined MySurvey! I appreciate you. :)

Oh, SO close!

I'd be clocked out and on the road home by now if two people hadn't meandered in at nine minutes to close. Damn.
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Thanks, boys.

Fucking teenagers!
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A proper post coming soon, but for now ....

... help me earn a $25 gift certificate to support my book habit! If you're in the U.S. or Canada (except Quebec), think about joining MySurvey. You get points for surveys, which you can redeem for prizes; and sometimes you get to do product testing, which is fun, and sometimes you get paid cash for that.

If that interests you, check it out.

Thanks for nothing.

All night, my station has been full of nothing but old people, teenagers, weird fuckers, and snobby bitches. None of whom tip remotely well.
Fuck you, Friday.
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Near disclosure.

I was ranting briefly about something at work last night, and the bartender laughed and told me I should write a book about restaurant life. For a long, long moment I thought about telling her about this blog--she's a friend, not just a coworker. But she's also friends with a lot of the people I talk about, and in the end I couldn't risk it. Hiding gets tiring sometimes; like when a fellow blogger writes something I like to share, but I'm afraid they'll follow links and end up here. Almost anyone I work with would recognize me instantly, after all.

The last couple of shifts have been quiet and decent. Scored a quick $50 on Monday (three hour shift), $70 last night on a dead still close, followed by a nightcap with Anna and Bitter Divorced Man (!). It was nearly two when I got home, but it was a nice end to the evening.

Firing spree!

Is three a spree?

We're finally rid of Brainless II! After months of dealing with suspiciously disappearing cash tips, idiotic seating arrangements, being short a hostess when she wouldn't show up, being shorted on cash when she'd "forget" to pay for her food, and my ears bleeding from listening to her whining, she finally got canned. She was told if she missed one more shift she'd be done, and she called out on a double. Sort of--she sent another hostess a text asking her to cover the morning shift, and when she said no asking her to tell CL she was "out of town." After being fired, she started getting all uppity and sending the other hostess (who isn't even her friend!) messages that "they'd better give me my last paycheck within 24 hours as is required by state law!"

I gave CL a high-five when I heard the news.

The second two this week are less joyous. First was Preggers (who isn't actually pregnant anymore); how CL had the heart to axe someone with a newborn I don't know. It was her own fault, though; if what I'm being told is right, she went on a vacation and decided to stay an extra three days. And instead of just calling and telling the managers this, she texted the same hostess as Brainless II did (weird, right?) asking her to cover for her. When she couldn't or didn't, Preggers just didn't do anything, so went down as a no call/no show for three days. Not a good decision.

From the first two, you could almost infer CL was trying to make rational business decisions. But this one was just her throwing a fucking tantrum. This cook, Kyle, is one of the few that doesn't mouth off to the servers when they ask for something. Everybody gets along with him. English is his first language, but he's good enough with Spanish to help when we have translation problems. Kyle usually can't work on Wednesdays, but they asked him to work one specific one and he agreed. For whatever reason, he changed his mind, so he got somebody else to cover it.

Or so he thought. That someone else rushed in the door right before this shift, announced he couldn't work, and split. So ..... Kyle gets fired for "a pattern of unreliability". Well, he's not officially fired yet--he's on unpaid leave. But that's what happened with Mister Fantastic, ADD Bartender, Old Stripper, and Sexual Harassment Jose, too; it's basically code for fired. Those last three were pre-blogging, which is why you haven't heard of them before. Two of them had worked there for nine or ten years each, too.

Oh, and we lost another person this week--a bartender who I went to high school. She's got a temporary full-time job, and was hoping to work one day a week with us until that was over; they let her go, saying that you have to have three available shifts a week. Which would be fine if they enforced it across the board, but they don't. Surprise!

That's willpower.

My first table on Friday pissed me right the fuck off. They were my only table, so they had my undivided attention; they seemed like a perfectly nice, normal table of three. They said please and thank you; they were polite and ate quickly. We exchanged a little small talk, and basically they'd've been totally unmemorable.

Except their bill was $50 and they didn't leave me one goddamn cent. As I stood looking at the table in disbelief, I saw the three of them getting in to their car right outside the window. I saw them watching me. And I didn't flip them off.

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Sometimes, people get to me.

Monday (or was it Tuesday? I forget.) wasn't a good night for me. I had an excellent section--five round tables around the bar, four of which are high-top tables. I tend to get better tips in that section (I have a theory on why, if you want to know.), so I was excited.

We weren't having a super busy night, but it was slightly hectic. That was not helped by the fact that Lapdog was stomping around like a thundercloud. For first few tables were cheap, ten percent tippers and campers. Still, I was trying to maintain my mood, but it didn't work.

First, there were three teenagers. I knew I was screwed when I offered them dessert and they asked for the bill first to see if they had enough money. Their bill was $40.

Next to them was an older couple with their daughter and son-in-law. They were pleasant enough, but the old man asked for the bill and I just had a bad feeling. Their bill was $56.

Two tables down was a family of four. They demanded to get the special price on appetizers, even though it was after the cut-off time; they claimed they had been waiting to be seated since before the cut-off. Freaking liars, that table had been open for twenty minutes before then. Anyway, Bitter Divorced Man acquiesced and gave them the discount. So this family ordered four appetizers, and then a full meal each! And then the parents ordered a full-size dessert. I try not to judge, but hello, gluttony. Their bill was $65.

Right next to them was a table of people who just screamed "white trash"! We're talking missing teeth, Skoal cans, Larry the Cable Guy t-shirts, etc. One of them had ordered a cheeseburger; apparently, he'd never had a burger with real cheese on it, because when they got their food his wife asked me "what's wrong with his burger?" Well, nothing was wrong with it--it just had real cheese on it, and the cheese had been melted under the broiler, so it looked a little translucent. As real cheese does when it's melted.

I sort of stuttered, because I was harried and didn't know what to say. The man ripped a chunk off the burger, jammed it in his mouth, and immediately started bitching. "No, that's awful!" So I offered to get him a new one, but he just kept ranting. "If I could make better at home, I'm not eating it! This is like cardboard!" Again, I asked if he wanted another one. "That's not meat and potatoes as I know it!" What? Finally he handed me the oh-so-offensive burger and asked to see a menu.

The three tables I was talking about before were ready to pay; as I scuttled back and forth cashing them out I could hear this guy still bitching! "That beef was terrible, blah blah blah." Every time I passed them, he was complaining. Bitter Divorced Man was attending to him, so at least I didn't have him hollering me as I closed out my other tables.

I ran another server's food to a table next; and the woman at that table promptly started complaining that her boneless wings had the wrong sauce on them. They did not. These two sauces are totally different colors, smell totally different, and I know the damn difference. I politely told her it was the right sauce--it always has red pepper flakes in it, she just hadn't noticed (although I didn't say that). She ate a tiny piece of one and started making a hideous face and flipping out. So I took them back to the kitchen, told Lapdog and the woman's server what the "problem" was. Then I took a piece of chicken she hadn't touched and ate it. Yep, goddamn it, it was the right sauce. I hate it when people act like I'm stupid or lying to them.

Two of my three tables that had cashed out were gone; I went to pick up their books, and found that "meat and potatoes" man was still fucking complaining! At this point, I was just really irritated. Then the old man with the $56 bill handed me a four dollar tip. Then I opened the other two books and said $1 on $40 and $5 on $65. And that guy was still complaining. I got a little overwhelmed at that point, asked someone else to watch my station, and went in to the bathroom before I started crying. I do that when I'm frustrated, and I hate it. But $1 on $40, $4 on $56, $5 on $65, ten percent the rest of the night, and expecting nothing from the bitching man just undid me for a few minutes.

Then I wiped my eyes, pulled myself together, and went back to work. Burger man didn't order anything else; they left, and surprisingly left me $8 on $35. Then the old man at the next table was getting ready to leave, and he stopped me.

"What was that man's problem?"
"Oh, he wasn't satisfied with his burger," I shrugged.
The old man laughed and smiled at me. "Oh well, I guess you get all kinds, huh?"
I just agreed, because he was a nice clueless elderly man. But I so badly wanted to say, "Sure do, like old men who tip $4 on a $56 ticket."

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Wait, you mean we didn't need to panic?

So the corporate visit I avoided? Turns out it was nothing. No, really.

The regional manager met another business colleague for lunch--apparently he didn't even go in to the back to look at the kitchen!

The vice president of the company that bought us last year did come in, and did walk through the back. He was there for all of an hour.

So, you know, totally worth raking everybody over the coals for, right? I mean, I understand being stressed about it--the first time our district manager came in when I was managing a clothing store, my blood pressure was so high I thought I was going to pass out. But CL shouldn't worry--our store is consistently at the top of the boards for customer ratings, food cost, low employee turnover, etc. etc. She got an award at the company's conference last year; we're a training store for new managers. It's not like we're a problem store that's going to be scrutinized and overhauled. Which is why I wasn't worried about losing my job or anything--only being screeched at by CL and Lapdog!

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.

Use your words, not your pointy old lady knuckles.

A few days ago I had a table of two cranky old women. I've never seen so many wrinkles, or smelled so much AquaNet, at one table. One of them was only moderately bitchy, but the other had a shrill, scratchy voice befitting a harpy.

"Where's our beers?" she screeched at me as I walked by, carrying a tray full of drinks for a different table. They had been waiting all of two minutes for said beers, and knew full well we were busy--they'd waited in the crowded lobby for a table. I politely told them the bartender was busy, but they'd be there soon. A while later, Harpy was making snippy comments about where their salads were.

"Are our dinners gonna come or what?" she yowled, again while I was attending to other people.

"As soon as it's cooked, ma'am." I tried to be polite. Finally, they got their salads, and I hoped she'd be so busy stuffing spinach in her pie hole she'd be quiet. After they'd had a few minutes, I asked how things were; they both said they were fine. I then turned to talk to another table, but ended up standing in place for a moment waiting for a coworker to move. So I was still standing next to the old hag, just with my back turned to her ... when I felt a thump! on the back of my arm.

The old bitch fucking smacked me! She didn't even try to get my attention by speaking--if I was close enough to touch, I was close enough to speak to. Instead, she reached out and smacked me with the back of her hand, hard enough I heard it as well as felt it.

I rotated slowly on the spot as she withdrew her claw. "Yes?"

"Isn't there supposed to be some sauce or something to dip this in!" she jabbed at her salad, and I saw that yes, Idiot Expo had forgotten her dressing. Which she could have asked me when I was talking to her fifteen seconds before, instead of fucking smacking me.

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Geometry FAIL

Every night at work, my coworkers demonstrate that they failed geometry. Apparently, it's really difficult to match up shapes. Every damn day, I see where somebody has stacked a kidney-shaped plate on top of a medium round. Or a medium round on top of an oval. Or a plate on top of a pasta bowl, maybe with a gravy tureen on top.

Is it really so fucking difficult to match up shapes? Did these people never watch Sesame Street as children?

And they seemed like such nice, normal people!

Last week I had a table of two that was really pleasant to wait on. They didn't ask for much, said please and thank you, and generally were just not a pain in my ass. As they left (without camping!), the woman told me I'd been a great server. Nice to hear, of course, but right away I thought I was getting the verbal tip.

I was starting to get really annoyed when I saw she'd left one of those annoying "God bills" on her side of the table--I thought for sure I'd been stiffed. When I opened the book, though, I had an $8 tip on their $30 bill! I was pleasantly surprised. I also laughed--apparently they didn't communicate about their attempts to recruit for the lord, because he'd put a similar one in the book as well!

Maybe something about me just screams "HEATHEN"!

Six more hours.

Just six more hours of crappy music, a cranky Lapdog, the threat of a secret shopping bigwig, stupid customers, and the smell of grease. Six more hours, then 48 of freedom.
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Douchebaggery at the host stand.

Twice in the last week we've had customers who were just plain obnoxious from the moment they walked in the door.

The first happened during a lunch shift, when one of the hosts didn't show up. That left Dumb, who's a very sweet girl but doesn't always pay attention, on her own. Unpredictably, the place filled up and went on a wait on a day when we had minimal staff coverage--it was only a Tuesday lunch! Everything just went downhill--long ticket times, screwed up orders, huge waits for tables, etc. People were impatient and rude waiting for tables, servers were pissed about when they were getting sat, and Dumb was just about at breaking point. S had called the next person on the list, had two menus in her hand, and was peering around trying to see which table was open (she knew one was, because somebody had hollered at her). A middle-aged couple comes in the door, and the man walks right up to her--no pause--and pushes past the people she was trying to seat.

"Well, are you going to put our name on the list or just stand there all day!" he snarls at the poor girl. She patiently told him she'd be right back after she sat this couple, at which point he turned to his wife and said "She just doesn't know what she's doing at all, does she!" Keep in mind this girl is about four foot five and 90 pounds, she looks like she's twelve, and this big grizzly old jackass is talking to his wife as if our hostess was a dog or something who couldn't understand him.

Well, she just burst in to tears. Someone saw and came and helped her, but she had to go to the bathroom for a few minutes to calm down. And our manager at this point? Oh, GM was in the office, having a text message fight with her boyfriend and crying. Awesome.

Not two days later, in the middle of a surprisingly hectic Thursday dinner rush a table of two had someone join them. They asked to move across the aisle to the booth that had just opened up, so naturally we accommodated them.

A few minutes later, Pennsyltucky used the walkies to summon GM to the front, where she was thoroughly bitched out by some high-strung middle-aged woman.

"Those people are at our table!" she screeched, gesturing at the guests who had moved. "We've been waiting and they just moved and took it!" The entire lobby was packed at this time, and GM tried to politely explain to this nutcase why the other guests were sitting at the booth. "But he said it was ours! He said we could have it!" The woman pointed at Pennsyltucky. "He promised!"

This woman just could not understand that they weren't even at the top of the wait list--and that people already sitting had priority. She just kept going on and on about how it was "their" table, and how "he promised" and that they were going to leave. GM told her she could either wait for another booth or leave, but the guests already seated took priority.

After bitching and making a scene some more, the woman finally dragged her husband out the door. Naturally, she was threatening to call "the manager" the next day--GM hoped she would, since, you know, she is the manager. I'm just glad the woman left, I'm sure she'd've been a horror to wait on!

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Guest post: Epic Satay Battle

Today's guest post comes from ♥ Caz, who's just joined our little bitching/blogging community!

I was waiting for dreading the clock hitting 7:30pm. Why? Because I had known for TWO days that a booking had been made by "Dunk". There are so many many stories about this group of people that usually consist of eight couples, friends and family around 50-80ish in age.

So this entry is about the one thing that started me on dreading the Dunks. Also the fact why I have lost respect for people like this in society. It started with a complaint about our Satay Chicken.

The sister of the main hostess, had decided that she wanted Satay Chicken. No problems, it was cooked, served and nothing out of the ordinary happened with it. It was then she proceeded to pick up her Satay Chicken and take it to the bar were I was currently standing.

I've dealt with many complaints before, they range from quite understandable ones to crazy completely stupid ones. This one is my favourite to tell because it is on the outer edge of completely stupid.

"Satay Lady" decided to tell me that she did not like the Satay. Which is fine, not everyone enjoys everything. I apologised for the fact that she did not enjoy it but also told her that there was nothing wrong with it either.

She continues to complain telling me that it is in fact NOT Satay. Here is where I start getting a little dumbfounded... NOT Satay? It clearly was and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. She explains to me that she has had Satay before from other places and that our Satay did not taste the same. I try, and believe me I truly try, to explain to her that different places do different types of Satay and no two independent restaurants will have the same flavour. She of course, does not accept this logical explanation.

By this time I am annoyed by her complaint stupidity and her inability to even comprehend what I am trying to tell her. I keep my cool for as long as I can and then tell her once again that I apologise (which at this point I do not really mean at all) that she didn't like the dish. She now decides to tell me that she does not want to pay for something that she does not like. I refuse to let her off as once again there is nothing wrong with the dish and that it was just the fact that she, personally, did not like it. I also tell her that in fact Satay is among one of the most popular dishes on the menu and which in fact is still true.

And here is the kicker for me. She then tells me that maybe my customers do not like it either. So does that explain the fact that its a popular dish? Once again, lady, not listening to me. I tell her once again that a lot of people order it and re-order it quite often. Apparently in her head and she also voices this out aloud, that my customers do not tell me that they do not like the Satay. Oh yes, that also explains why they continue to buy it right?

By this time, I've had enough. I'm not angry or annoyed anymore. I'm just tired exhausted by this lady's explanation. Her reasoning was ridiculous and unbelievable. If it was me I would have just looked at her dumbfounded because I think its the only way to fight stupidity.

In conclusion of this epic argument over Satay my boss lets her off by replacing the meal. If it was me, I would have fought tooth and nail. The one thing that I really cannot believe about this battle is that she thought she had the right to claim insult all the my other customers by claiming that they proceed to order a dish that they do not like over and over again. Lady has complete logic, complete.

After making a fool of herself, the whole table of course at the end of it is quite embarrassed by Satay Lady's show, she now still comes in regularly with the group. And let me tell you, I have not let her live it down since then. If you want to insult my customers to fight you're own personal battles I don't particular think you deserve my utmost attention.

So this is what I have learnt as a waitress to such insane complaints.

1. All restaurants will not cook food exactly the same to suit your needs.
2. Disliking a dish, which has no problems with it, does not mean you get a free dish.
3. You are embarrassing yourself, even your table party are pretending they don't know you.
4. Do not insult other customers claiming that they continue to order the same dish to torture themselves.
5. If you wish to come back and be treated with perfect waitress hospitality causing a scene over Satay Chicken will probably not achieve that.

If you'd like to submit a guest post, please contact me at slightlycranky at hotmail.com!

Self-preservation vs. income.

Apparently, the new vice president of our division is coming to visit our store on Thursday. And Chicken Little is working. I don't know if he'll be there during the day or at night, but either way, she's going to be freaking the fuck out.

So do I try to give up my shift, and avoid her psychotic break, or do I soldier through it because I need money? It's only a first cut shift, so I wouldn't be giving up much, but at the same time I'd only be saving myself a few hours of skull-shattering anxiety.

Pissing off everybody.

Seemed like every time I turned around Friday night, I was angering one coworker or another.

The first was Idiot Expo. I had an order that was missing two things, which both came from the cook's side--and during the rush they will totally ignore the waitresses, so I had to get him to ask. He wasn't answering when I called his name, and I got frustrated and yelled "Hey!" really sharply. I should have apologized, but by the time my irritation wore off I kind of forgot. I just get so sick of fixing his errors--he's incapable of paying attention to extra plate mods, or sides of ranch. This one was missing vegetables and .. I forget what else, but something rather significant.

The second was Bitter Divorced Man. I had a four table section; due to some prior stupidity on Brainless II's part another server had one of my tables. Then another two were taken up by a bunch of women out for a birthday. That left me with one table, and the customers there finished and left while I was still trying to get orders out of the noisy, constantly-moving birthday group. Brainless II was standing there, so I asked her to give me just a minute before she sat that table. That's all I asked for, a minute.

I don't know if she went to BDM and told him what I said, or if he asked why the table was empty. But it was less than a minute later, and Brainless II hadn't even gone back up front yet, when I heard him say, "I've got people waiting for tables! Seat it and I'll get someone else to take it, we just can't have empty tables!" I was sweeping by to pick up more margaritas, so I told him "No, I'm not giving up any more of my tables. I'll take care of it."

When I turned around with my tray of drinks, he was glaring at me, clenching his jaw. "Sorry," I said, "but Anna has 20 and the fifteen top is taking up two of them and being a massive pain in my ass. I'm fine though." Still grinding his teeth, he repeated he'd get someone else to take it, but we just couldn't have empty tables. I told him I was fine, I'd take care of it, and that I had asked for a minute, not fifteen. I took the table, and the next one when Anna's people left, and everything was fine. Still, it was about an hour before he stopped being pissed at me.

The third person I pissed off was Pot Smoking Manager, which I didn't know could be done. I was actually not even really involved in what pissed him off, he just thought I was. He had cut to the two closers, plus one extra. Well, apparently that extra person didn't want to stay. So she and the other closer, Rachel, decided she'd only take tables if we were busy--if that was okay with me. I wasn't privy to this, just to the girl asking me if I minded. Well, I don't go around assuming people are making decisions like that without talking to the manager--at least whent he manager just cut. There have been plenty of times we've phased somebody out after a while when CL or Lapdog have forgotten they're still on, or whatever.

Anyway, another part of the confusion was that I'd never seen a new, three-section floor chart. So I thought we were just rotating tables. It was all a big mess, and when PSM figured out that the extra girl wasn't taking tables, he got pissed. First he ripped her a new one. Then he came over to me and started saying not to make those kinds of decisions without him--I told him I didn't, that I wouldn't have done that. He said something about "it's hard to believe people will do that with GM" blah blah. I chose not to mention we would, because he probably would have thought I was just trying to placate him.

He was perfectly calm with me, which I think means he likes me and not the other two. Because he freaking shredded Rachel. She was sitting down for a minute, and he told her "First, go find something to do. Second, go find something to do. Third, go find something to do. And don't cut people without talking to me, I need to make those decisions." He then continued on to threaten to take her shifts when he takes over the schedule, and various other very Lapdog-like things. Twenty minutes later he started apologizing, but it was tense for a while there.

The next person I pissed off was a friend of mine. She tried to get out of there without properly doing her sidework or cleaning up the floors in her section, which were just trashed. I asked her to fill the crackers, because they were half-empty; she filled it until they were spilling all over the place. When I gave her the benefit of the doubt and said she'd "forgotten" to do her floors, she got really pissed. She claimed she'd done them, and then started shoving things around, practically throwing chairs, and basically having a hissy-fit. The thing is, she's a closer and ought to know better.

Lastly, I really pissed off one of the cooks. Our last table came in at about 11:35. Rachel took them, and I kept cleaning up the kitchen. At 12:01 their food came up; I expedited and ran it, only to find that Rachel had totally forgotten to ring in an order of nachos. She rushed to the back and called for it .... only to be told by the remaining cook that he "couldn't" make them because two minutes after closing he'd already tossed/put away everything!

I know we all want to get the hell out of that place, but that seems a little ridiculous to me considering we still had tables in the place. Rachel just headed back to the dining room to tell her table they were shit out of luck--and that didn't seem right to me, so I went back to the manager's office. I didn't ask him to force the cook to do anything--I just said Rachel might need help, and this was the situation, and that she was talking to the guest now. I thought good old Pot Smoking Manager would just offer them dessert or something, but he went on the line and made the nachos himself--apparently all that had to be done was to fry up some chips.

Damn, the cook was pissed! I heard him and Rachel yelling at each other as I came back from locking the front door, and he spent the rest of his clean-up time slamming shit around and muttering. I don't think he realized I'm the one who squealed; and I sort of felt bad about it, but come on! It's not like it was a well steak, it was chips and cheese!

I think I'd have to make a concerted effort to aggravate people to beat that night's record....

220 minutes

That's how long one of Anna's tables sat. They got their meal free on accident 158 minutes before leaving. And they left her no tip.

Where the fuck do these people come from?
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

What mature people do.

When you feel your food was cold and your service poor, what's the proper course of action? Why, of course you and your friend should write on each of your separate tickets "cold food poor service." Then, on your way out the door, you should slam said tickets down on the host stand and bark at the hostess to "take these to your manager."

Nevermind that you told your server everything was fine. All four of the times I was there after your meal arrived. Nevermind the entire place was full, the lobby was packed, and your server had 23 people you were smack in the middle of and could see me frantically attending to. Nevermind you were never out of water, never said you needed or were missing anything.

Passive aggressive fucking bitches. One of them was standing in the entryway waiting for her husband to pull the car up (fucking princess, it's not even below freezing), and I couldn't restrain myself. I went out to her. In my most kiss-ass voice I said, "ma'am? I just saw these," I paused and held them out, hoping to let her feel nervous, "and I wanted to let you know that next time if you tell someone in person, we'll get the manager and he'll do whatever he can to fix it for you!"

I said it with a smile, in the most sincere tone I have in me. I hope I still made her feel like the douchesack she is.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

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Guest post: I'm sorry--for everything.

Today we have a guest post from CommonWaitress (aka OhioWaitress), who's just started her blog. Pop over and show some love!

Waitresses are always apologizing. They say 'I'm sorry' when they are in a co-worker's way, a guest's way, or trying to pacify an angry customer, even if it's not their fault. See, waitresses get the blame for everything- if the wait time is too long, if the food is prepared incorrectly, or if the bussers didn't wipe the table good enough. Therefore, we have adopted this personality outside of the workplace too.

I wish I could let my happiness facade fall as soon as I step out the workplace doors, but really I can't. I've found that not many people hold the door open for me when I'm leaving. What's that about? Still in uniform- I'm not a human? I don't deserve the same level of respect? Well, at least I know you're ten percenters. You'll tip just enough so that YOU don't feel bad. After all, you're more important than anyone else, right?

When I walk to my car, I'm still in work attire and I view that as still representing my restaurant, so, I'm just as polite as I would be inside- letting other cars go before me, not talking on my phone until I'm in my car, smiling at people...

Even when I'm not in uniform, I find myself stopping to let other people go before me. For instance, in the grocery store, if I'm moving down an aisle and there is someone trying to go too, I'll let them go. What really gets me is that I'm a naturally aggressive person, so I'll sulk in the fact that I should just go ahead and be the bitch. Another example is traffic. I'll let someone pull out in front of me and then get pissed off when they move so SLOW! It's like, 'I let you go, have some common curtesy and go fast enough so we both can make the light!' but they don't, and I'm stuck there for another turn of the light. A punishment for my good nature.

However, in the midst of all this conceited, self-righteous inconsideration that I'm surrounded by, I occasionally get thrown a scrap or two. I'll get the guest who insists that I go first since I'm carrying trays (they'll leave 20-25%), or people who say 'no rush, take your time, I know you're busy' (15-30%), or when someone leaves me a big tip and I go back to thank them, they say 'your service was worth it' or even better 'you were worth it'. Those little rays of sunlight will glow even more brightly in contast to this dark serving world and I'll swallow my anger for one more day.


If you'd like to submit a guest post, please drop me a line at slightlycranky at hotmail.com

I hugged a customer the other day.

It was just so unexpected for these two high-maintenance, gossipy ladies to give me a twenty dollar bill as a tip! They'd been polite enough, but were totally absorbed in their conversation and had camped out for a while (though I had empty tables so that was fine). I was expecting ten or fifteen percent, but when I broke their hundred dollar bill one of them handed me a twenty. Their bill was about $30, I think.

Totally made my day, of course! So I asked if I could hug her, and I did. Guess that's one of the perks of being a short, chubby young(ish) girl--people don't think it's creepy if I do that!

Well, now you're just being greedy!

While talking about something the other day, Dallas casually threw the words "my girlfriend" in to the conversation. The day before she'd been talking about her baby's father, so I asked if she meant girlfriend or friend who's a girl. Apparently she's bisexual. She also still asking everybody why they haven't spawned yet.

Of course, I warmed up to her a bit when she thought I was lying about my age. Twenty-eight isn't old, but it's still nice to feel like I look younger.

The return of Chicken Little.

For quite a while now, our general manager has been acting rational and human. Of course, I heard that the other day while the place was totally falling apart she was in the office crying and having a text fight with her on-again, off-again boyfriend. But generally, she's been calm, rational, and helpful.

Well, not so last night. She was fine through the entire dinner rush, during which we had a wait. A few things even went wrong, and she was still fine. Then, when we cut to closers, we got a small pop. It really was not a big deal. We had a five, a handful of twos and threes, and one big table of about eight. Anna and I were perfectly capable of handling it.

But CL started freaking panicking and rushing around. She ordered another server, who'd been cut, to seat and serve a two top that walked in at the end of this "rush". I didn't hear that, so when the girl came back to the kitchen, I asked where she'd put them so I could greet them. She quietly explained, and I rolled my eyes and went to take the table. Meanwhile, CL was stomping back and forth in the kitchen, hollering about "we don't have anything I need! I can't handle this!" because the ranch and a few other things had been put away for the night. In the cooler, at the end of the counter. And the order she was starting to expo wasn't even ready yet.

She started yelling at the cooks, yelling for food runners with her eyes bugging out and her arms flapping. Then she yelled for food runners, then went out to do a lap of the dining room to do manager table visits. A few minutes later, while I was ringing in an order, CL came back in to the kitchen waving her arms and yelling. One of my other tables had asked for salt and pepper--we empty the shakers for washing every Tuesday--and she was just going off about "I can't believe we don't give guests salt and pepper! It's just (heaves huge sign) why? Why do we not give it to them? I know we have to clean them, but how do we not give guests salt and pepper?" She was holding her face in her hands by that point.

"CL, calm down! It's only salt and pepper," I said as soothingly as possible before taking the requested shakers to my table. When I came back, she was smiling and a lot more relaxed. "You're right," she said, "it's just salt and pepper, and we have to clean them."

Crisis averted.

No way, there's a world around us?

The last two nights we've had an early rush and then fuck all after nine o'clock. I closed both nights; last night we had everything done twenty minutes before close. All we'd've had to do was lock the door and flip the light switches. We would have been out of there at 11:02.

Except, of course, douchebags had to come in. There's this family that comes in at least once a week on a random night, and the earliest I've ever seen them is 10:40. The daughter is a whining, screaming brat; the mother is just sort of .... off, somehow. The dad looks like he wants to be a Sopranos extra, with the shorts and belt and polos. They're just strange all the way around.

They know damn well what time we close, because they've watched us lock the doors plenty of times. Yet they come in, shortly before close, and act like they're doing us a favor. If they do dessert, they order it after close. If it's just the parents, they sit and snuggle and kiss and giggle to each other. I once waited until quarter after midnight for these assholes to leave. Last night, they left "early", only forty minutes after close.

If I was annoyed then, there are no words for how pissed I was tonight. Tonight business died even earlier than usual. Cali Girl and I had 99% of our closing work done by twenty till ten, more than an hour before close. We'd even pulled the booths along the southern wall out so that the morning crew could vacuum behind them. That left us five small booths, three large, and ten other tables open.

We knew we might get another table or two, and that was fine. We got one, a table of three, which was Cali's. And then, two hoity-toity looking women walked in. The bartender went to greet and seat them. They told her there would be eight of them, and then they absolutely refused to sit in the bar area, where we could accommodate a larger group just fine. They insisted that they had to sit at the low long tables, on the closed side of the restaurant! Plenty of tables open, and they make us move the heavy booths back against the wall, and pull the long tables out. I was infuriated.

I pushed two booths back against the wall, making juuuuust enough room for their table to fit in to a sort of nook. I could walk back and forth just fine, so I left the rest. I hope they felt like assholes sitting there in the obviously closed area of the restaurant.

The first two to arrive couldn't decide what they wanted to drink. On the first trip, one of the bitches informs me there are more people coming. Really? I never would have guessed! I made two trips back, only to be met with blank stares. On the third trip, they started bitching about how the drink prices aren't listed on the menu. The bitchiest of the two says something like, "I can't believe the prices aren't listed on here! Don't you think that's so rude? Why aren't they listed?"

I fought not to roll my eyes. "I think it's because alcohol prices change depending on what contracts we can get, and it's too expensive to re-print the menus all the time." Yeah, I was totally bullshitting.

"Well!" she snaps. "They they should print it with $7 to $9!"

"Maybe," I try to pacify her. "I'm not sure why they do it, corporate doesn't confide in me." I said it with a smile, not at all sarcastically.

"Oh, they don't, do they?" she got all snotty and sarcastic about it, before running me to find out the prices of four different drinks. They finally ordered a sangria and a Long Island; then a third woman showed up. She, at least, knew just what she wanted. Once she had her beer and the other two had their drinks, they ordered a dessert and an appetizer. Another woman showed up and also ordered a beer.

By this time it's 10:40, twenty minutes to close. I'm fuming; Cali Girl wants to leave but feels guilty; the cooks are pissed; the bartender is ready to tear her hair out because our brain-damaged regular won't stop following her around the restaurant (even in to the kitchen) blathering; even Lapdog is irritated, and usually he's all about extracting the last drop of cash from anybody who comes in the door.

At ten minutes to close, I walked out of the kitchen to ask them pointedly if they wanted anything else before the kitchen closed. Well, Miss Bitch-About-The-Drink-Menus had finally surfaced from her Long Island long enough to want another appetizer. And instead of waiting for me to walk by, as I'd been doing every few minutes, she'd come to the bar and interrupted Lapdog's inventory counts.

Just before we were going to lock the doors, the carpet cleaners showed up. None of us knew they were coming, so me, the bartender, and Cali were suddenly scrambling around removing silverware from tables, putting chairs up on tables, etc. My table just sat there, oblivious, laughing and talking as if they were in their own private universe. For another fifteen minutes they sat, while the carpet cleaners dragged in equipment, starting turning booths on to their ends, starting moving tables, etc. They finally left when me, Cali, Lapdog, the bartender, and the two carpet cleaners were all just standing around because there was nothing we could do until they were gone.

It wasn't that late, really; but the fact that they demanded we open a closed section, ran me around, bitched at me about things not my fault, hardly ordered anything, and then camped out all combined to make me want to jam something pointy in each of their eye sockets. I personally think they didn't have eight people coming at all, they just wanted a big roomy table--because they never said anything to me about "oh, they're not coming" or "we're not going to wait for them".

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