I honestly do not know where these people come from. They blow my mind with their retarditude.
The first one to make me roll my eyes on Thursday night was the woman who asked if the steak on our diet menu is small.
"No, it's actually a seven ounce sirloin," I informed her.
"Oh, well, if it's under (so many) calories it must be really small!"
"It's seven ounces, it's a very good size." I repeated.
"Well, what about that one?" she pointed to a picture on the flyer of diet menu items. I blinked. It was the same steak. Christ on a pogo stick. I didn't even know how to answer without saying snotty, so it took me a moment to decide to act stupid too.
"Oh, let me see." I peered at the menu with my best dumb-blonde expression. "Oh, yes, that's the (insert same damn steak name), so it's going to be the seven ounce steak."
"Well, how big is that? It must be small."
At this point her husband said in exasperation, "It's seven ounces."
The woman was peering at the table next to them, so I took advantage of it. "They're having the seven ounce sirloin, so that's the same size as the (diet steak)."
"But they have a baked potato!" she snapped.
"Right," I sighed. "It's the same size steak, not the same item."
She ended up ordering the regular seven ounce sirloin, with a baked potato, and not finishing it.
The next table wouldn't even give me their drink order, saying they needed a few minutes. They stopped the next passing server to snap that they were ready to order. Ten minutes later, the woman comes stomping across the restaurant to ask me how long their dinner is going to be because they have to be in the next town in 25 minutes. This was the middle of the dinner rush, with a full lobby.
Then there was the guy who, when I brought him the check, asked for a pen. I gave him one; he then opened the book, looked at the ticket, and asked, "Where do I sign?" I politely told him that he hadn't given me his credit card yet. "Oh, okay. So ... where do I sign?" Again, I tried to explain I couldn't give him a credit card slip until he gave me the fucking card. He then opened his wallet and gave me ..... cash.
Even more fun tonight: my work wife had a table ask her ... "do you have napkins here?"