I am seriously fucking sick of the teeny tiny sections. Four tables, okay, I can handle that. I'd rather have five or six, but I can live with four. It's a decent size. If I get one table of campers, I still have three others to rotate. But three fucking tables? Really? It's insulting to a server of my experience. Strangely enough, I don't go to work to not make money.
I had one of those sections tonight. On a Thursday night with a full lobby and a wait list, it is absolutely fucking ridiculous for every server in the place to be wandering around bored.
My first table was Salmon Guy. FML. Once he and his son finally left, I got sat with two old ladies who really just made me want to stab them. For one thing, they would not speak the fuck up. I was standing directly under a speaker, so consequently I couldn't hear half of what they were saying. One of them kept going on and on and on and on about ladybugs and some thing about the spots on their backs being spirits or some shit – my fault for having ladybug buttons on my shirt, I guess.
They sat for two hours, sharing an entree (awesome), sipping wine, and talking to me about ladybugs every time I walked by. After two hours of this shit, they finally left. Oh wait, no their didn't. They inched around the restaurant looking at all the pictures on the wall. I hate it when people do that, because I feel like I can't clean their table or pick up their book until they're out of the door. In this case, I'm glad I did wait, because if they'd still been in the building I might have lost my job.
Their bill for their two hour stay came to $20.15. The original tip written in was three dollars. Then that was scratched out, and two dollars was written in it's place. Two dollars, for two hours taking up my 1/3 of my tables. A six-seater booth, to be precise. During the entire dinner rush. The entire time we had a wait, their weird old asses were taking up my table. And for this I got two bucks.
But wait! I also got a note on the top of the receipt saying, “Nice to meet you ladybug lady!” and next to that a little sketched ladybug. Fuck you. It was not nice to meet you, because you cost me money with your camping bullshit.
That table was basically cursed. I just realized that my third table there also camped out, but at least it was after cut, when I had a six table section, and I got a decent tip.
Meanwhile I had white trash, teenagers, teenage white trash with their baby, a woman who was pissed her daughter's daiquiris were $6 each, hillbillies who ate their bites of steak off their knives, and another table that was angry their food wasn't half-priced (It wasn't on the half-priced menu, you dumb bitches, so don't fucking argue with me). I think you can imagine how well they tipped me.
I was just plain angry tonight because of all this. At one point I dropped a stack of to-go boxes, and instead of picking them up I stomped the shit out of them. Felt good!