Those who jack tables deserve what they get.

The other night I had a table of five that sat down before the floor was cut. After the cut the table was in Native's new section, but as they'd been there for twenty minutes already, it was my table. Three of them were there; a fourth showed up shortly after cut, and ordered a drink for herself and the one who hadn't arrived yet. I delivered those drinks and went to deal with my other tables. They looked slightly familiar, but I didn't place them until the mother walked in. She's rather distinctive, with long hair she keeps pulled over her shoulders, big sad eyes, and a nasty expression perpetually glued on to her face.

As she came in, I was greeting another table, and I went to get their drinks to get the newly completed five-top time with the menus. But when I came back out of the kitchen, Native was at the table doing her eager beaver suck-up routine and taking their order! At first I thought that Chicken Little had sent her to the table -- CL was on the edge of panic all night and was micro-managing shit, she'd already sent two other people to two of my tables thinking I needed help. But when I asked if she'd sent Native to the table, she said no.

I watched Native for a minute; she took ages to take their order, frantically nodding with her weird beehive hair-do flopping, laughing way too loudly, and generally being obnoxious. When she came back in to the kitchen, I asked if she was transferring the table to me.

"What?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"They were there before cut and I'd been waiting on them for twenty minutes, so I didn't know if CL had sent you to take their order for me or what," I bluffed.
She started stammering and finally said, "Oh, I guess I can, yeah. Someone told me to take it because they hadn't been waited on."
When they all had full drinks in front of them? Riiiiiight. But I just smiled sweetly and said, "Oh, it's no big deal. You've already got their order, so you keep them. I'll go ahead and transfer their drinks to you!"

I could have insisted on taking them, but really I just wanted to make her feel like an asshole. I also could have told her that those particular bitches come in every Friday, drink fucktons of soda, and share two appetizers. I could have told her that Basset Woman would glare balefully at her the entire time, until she came to the table, when she'd suddenly become invisible. I could have told her they'd want separate checks, and that they camp out for ages. I could have told her they consistently tip 5% on a bill of about $20.

But I didn't.