Lapdog actually was in a really good mood tonight -- he actually patted me on the arm and smiled at me several times, so apparently he's forgiven me for
Still, I was lucky with my tables. None of them were freaking about the wait, none of their food went out wrong, basically it was smooth sailing the entire time. I had only one problem: campers.
My first table of the night was a couple who had clearly sat themselves. I like to make people like that feel like assholes, so I always approach in a super friendly way and simper something like, "Oh, I'm so sorry the host didn't give you menus! He's supposed to do that! I'm so sorry!" Sometimes I can hardly keep a straight face.
These people informed me with a laugh that they'd moved from the bar. That right there told me they'd be a problem. People sit at the bar for a reason: to drink. Or maybe they're by themselves, or they know the bartender, or whatever. But generally speaking, it's because they're drinking and not eating.
Well, at 4:45 these two ordered two double Stolichnaya drinks, which was great. Over the next four fucking hours, they had three more drinks and one appetizer. They sat down before the dinner rush, and left after it. And they left me a 10% fucking tip. Clueless motherfuckers! We were on a wait for three and a half hours while they sat there flirting, nursing their drinks, and ignoring the lobby full of hungry people, the screams coming from the kitchen, the harried and sweaty staff running around them. And the woman kept calling me sweetie. When I picked up their book, I wanted to follow them out and rip sweetie's fucking face off!
I left with $70, which isn't bad for four hours of work (and no sidework!). But if I'd been able to turn that table, I could've easily added another $40 to my total. Thanks a lot, sweetie.