A good night, and yet ....

Tonight was a good night for me. Not so much for the rest of my coworkers. Our kitchen went down in fucking flames during the dinner rush! Oh, it was a fucking mess. 30 minute ticket times on stupid shit. Rehab held it together fairly well -- although I am getting damn tired of her screeching, "Hot food! PurpleGirl! Accent Girl! Wannabe! .... fine if you don't want to fucking listen I'll just tell Lapdog!" Bitch, when I'm putting together three desserts you have no right to be fucking yelling at me! Yeah, yeah, hot food is important, it's a "priority". But so is every other fucking thing according to corporate. 15 minute dessert times are no more acceptable than 30 minute dinner times!

Anyway.

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 boiling living kittens my 'gratuity' mishap the other day. And he actually maintained his mood all night. Oh yeah, the wife's putting out again, for sure.

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.

Come on! Do something interesting!

What am I supposed to write about if nobody does anything rude, aggravating, or cheap?!

Thank you for the new word!

Had a table of assholes tonight -- they always demand their beer with no foam and send it back if it has the slightest head. When I rang the ticket in I typed a little message to the bartender:

"FAT TIRE TALL
No foam
srsly these
people r
such
cocksmacks"

Thank you Matthew for the excellent word. It was a hit with my coworkers. :)

Night of the bullshit complainers.

People were really flipping out over stupid shit tonight -- and in some cases they were just plain lying.


The first dumbass complaint was against a fellow server, Crystal. Some of her friends were at one of her tables, and one of them was on the phone with Crystal's boyfriend. He handed the phone to Crystal, who said "Hi, I'm really busy, tell the kids I love them!" or some such and handed it back to her friend. But this bitch-ass cunt woman at the next table told CL that Crystal stood in the middle of the dining room, talking on a cell phone, for 15 minutes! Right, because nobody else would've noticed that? The topper, though, was when Crystal heard the snotty bitch tell one of her crotchspawn, "I got Daddy free food!" Oh yeah -- and CL believed the woman at first! Dumbass.


Around the same time, I answered the eternally ringing phone.
"How long is the wait for a table of nine?" asked the woman on the other end. She had one of those sickly sweet, overly polite voices that you just know means she's actually a total bitch.
"Well, we do have a wait right now, I think you'd be waiting about twenty minutes."
"Do you do call-ahead seating?"
I hate that question. "No ma'am, we don't do call-ahead seating or reservations. I can take your name and let the hosts know, and we'll do what we can. But if we have another rush or another large table comes in, they'll be on the list first."
"So can you put us on the list?"
Sigh. "I can give your name to the hosts, but we don't take call-aheads so I can't promise."
"Okay, well we live about ten minutes away. So we'll be there soon."
"Alright, if you'll give me your name I'll talk to the hosts and we'll do what we can."
"It's Sandra. We'll be there in ten minutes, will that be okay?"
I was getting the feeling she was willfully not hearing me. "We'll probably still have a wait then, but that's fine."
"Okay, we'll be there in ten minutes!"
I meant to tell CL about the phone call, because I just had a feeling that woman was going to be trouble. Oh, how right I was -- unfortunately I got so busy I didn't have time to talk to her. About thirty minutes later she comes out of the manager's office irritated.
"Who answered the phone and told a party of nine we'd put them on the list?"
"I did not tell her that!" I went through the entire thing, and luckily CL believed me. She said the woman was yelling and saying they were going to our competition because we "pissed her off". Then CL said that at the end of the call, she'd told the woman she'd find out who told her she was on the list, and the woman immediately backed down: "Oh no, no, I don't want anyone to get in trouble!"
Right, because nothing puts a damper on your lying little scheme like the truth coming out! Later I found out that her husband had come in and gotten in the host's face, swearing and yelling, because they were "supposed to be on the list"! And twenty minutes is too long to wait at seven o'clock on a Saturday night!


Then, during bingo tonight, we had two different tables pitching a fucking fit about the "noise". Because god forbid people go to a restaurant to have fun! If you want quiet go to a fucking library. One of the tables complaining was about ten feet from the bingo podium; but of course, when we offered to move them to the other side of the restaurant, they declined. Guess they only wanted something free! The other complainers were on the far side of the restaurant from the bingo podium -- with the bar, two rows of tables, and a glass partition between me and them. They complained the entire fucking time, demanding it be turned down -- but then people wouldn't have been able to hear the numbers, and would have been able to hear the cooks yelling. So we didn't turn it down. Actually both of them "inspired" me to turn the music up just a little louder in  between rounds. Ha! After bingo, they started bitching about the regular in-house music. Their server asked me how to turn it down -- so I cranked it up several notches above normal first. Fuck 'em. No surprise, they sat in their corner talking until ten minutes after close.


Wannabe had a super fun table during bingo too. Their entire order was ready except for the french fries with one item, so the kitchen sent everything out except the fries. Whoever delivered the meals told them the fries would be out shortly; three minutes later Wannabe came out with said french fries and was greeted with a whole lot of swearing about "this is bullshit" and "this food is fucking gross". Wannabe got CL, of course, who was treated to the same thing:
"This food looks like shit! And we're not going to eat some of it while waiting for more! That's stupid! Every damn time we come here things suck! We always have to get everything re-done!"
I guess CL had had enough at that point, because she point-blank asked him, "Then why do you keep coming back?"
The guy stuttered and stammered, then lamely said, "Well, it's always good the second time."
"And we buy it." CL said flatly.
The guy actually fucking smirked and said, "Exactly."
What a fucking tool! Then he got angry and accused CL of "causing a scene" when she stacked up their plates and they clanged together -- because he demanded she replace all four meals because of the fries they waited for! So he asked Wannabe for CL's boss's number. CL took it to him and told him she's the GM, this is her name, this is her boss's name, go ahead and contact him.

Why are people such lying douches?

Thanks, Dallas.

We have a table of regulars that everybody hates to wait on. Oh, they tip fine -- sometimes quite well -- but they just give everyone the creeps. It's 20ish woman and what we thought were her grandparents; turns out they're her parents! Either they started old or they didn't age gracefully. Anyway, the dad is quite a nice old man; the mother talks over you and doesn't let you get a word in edgewise; and the daughter used to twitch and act like a strung-out crackhead all the time. She's gotten better lately, but she still is just ... odd. I can't even describe what else is wrong about them, they just weird everybody out.

Not regular sweet tea, but doesn't it
look delicious?

I groaned when I saw them settling into one of my booths, but of course I put a smile on. The daughter, when we got to her drink order, asked for "sweet tea and water."

"I'm sorry," I said, "but we don't have sweet tea."
"Uh, yes you do, actually." she snipped. Excuse me? Which one of us has worked here for five years? I think I'd know if we had a vat of sweet tea in the back, especially since it's suddenly all the range up here.
Even thought I wanted to throttle her, I calmly listed our flavored teas, which are the closest we have to a sweet tea.
"Well, I've had it before," she insisted.
"Yes, that other little girl got it for us!" Mom chimed in.

Something deep in my memory stirred .... oh god dammit, Dallas! So I had to ask around and see if anyone knew what she had done to make sweet tea for this bitch. Turns out, she used our expensive bar syrup! Instead of just telling her customers that we don't have sweet tea, because we fucking don't, she used the bar syrup with regular tea. We charge $3.99 for our drinks with bar syrup! And knowing Dallas, she didn't even charge them for the regular iced tea. She's in the camp who gives free shit to get tips -- something I've found doesn't really work because people don't even look at the ticket or notice half the time!

So I made the bitch her "sweet tea" -- not the super-saturated tea you get when you make proper sweet tea, but fucking tea with sugar, which she could have put in at the table her damn self. But I also used the sweet tea button in the computer (yeah, I don't know why we have a button but don't serve it. We also have a button for salmon we don't have, and tap beers I've never heard of). Hope you enjoyed that $3.30 glass of tea, bitch. Next time, try this instead:

Oh look, a moron.

ETA: I knew you guys would like that one! Brian posted another comment, on the original post instead of here where it would be seen: "Yeah, because all the words I typed are completely untrue. The truth sucks, doesn't it waitresses of the world. Get a job at a restaurant that pays a decent wage if you have to work a restaurant job. Or, maybe, go to college and get a degree, and stop being a dumb, whore waitress. "

I received the following comment on my blog entry about not believing in tipping:

"I, for one, believe that any job that doesn't have a set pay standard high enough for you to live without having to put on a fake smile and kiss ass to get your income is not a job worth having. Ya know, if waitresses unionized and insisted... on fair wages like back of the house employees get then it might be alright for some people to not have to tip. I believe that the cost of the meal is what i should pay. I don't tip the dishwasher for doing his job. I don't tip the manager for doing his job. I don't tip the cook for doing his job. Why? Because they get paid to do their jobs. I don't get a tip for the work I do, I just get a pay check. So, fuck YOU waitresses of the world. Either stand up for yourselves and organize, or get different fucking jobs that don't make you rely on asskissing to pay your damn bills."


Fuck you, "Brian". Everyone's job involves a certain amount of smiling and asskissing, even if it's to your boss or a coworker. You, for one, are just a cheap and selfish dick.

Lapdog's got my back.

I'm as surprised as you are!

I wrote last week about the teenagers who left $3 on $80. It was late when I wrote that, and I forgot to mention what happened after they left. I was scraping up the soupy mess they'd left on the table when Lapdog came over and started helping.

"This is why we need auto-grat, Lapdog." I grumbled.
He looked up at me. "Didn't tip you?"
"Three bucks on eighty." I shrugged.
"Did they pay cash? We can void off some of their drinks."
I about dropped dead from shock! "Oh, they all had water and I already closed it. But thank you!"

This weekend, I had a family of six that I had a good time with. They had three daughters, one who was a teenager and seemed to take a shine to me -- she talked to me more than the parents, and they weren't quiet. They had a perfect experience, no empty drinks, no delaying or incorrect food, etc. They told me everything was delicious; they told Lapdog everything was great; they told HotPants their food was awesome. Their tab came to $73, so I was hoping for a nice 20% tip.

My first inkling of oddness came when the mother and the three daughters left before I brought the bill. I delivered a drink to them, went in to the kitchen for a box, came out, and they were gone. It just seemed strange to me, and in retrospect I think they were preparing for a quick get-away! As I set the bill down, the little boy ducked under the table, announcing he was going to the bathroom. Daddy didn't look pleased, but let him go. I gave him the bill, and while he fumbled with his cash I attended to another table. He put the cash on the table, and I picked it up with my usual "I'll be right back with your change!" He responded he didn't need it, and I wished him good evening with a smile.

That smile died when I got to the back. Ticket of $73.25, and he had put down $74. Irritated, I stomped back out front just in time to see the little boy coming out of the bathroom, and HotPants up by the front door. I high-tailed it to the front door.

Bet HotPants wears these under
his triple-pleated slacks.

"HotPants!" I hissed. "They guy who's coming up here with his son, talk to him. He stiffed me, there might have been something wrong."
HotPants blinked at me intelligently and pointed. "That guy?"
"Yes!" I hurried away so it wouldn't be obvious. HotPants came and told me later that the customer told him everything was 'excellent' but the guy seemed drunk. I didn't get that impression, but the dad was the quieter one at the table so maybe.

I continued being irritated for about ten minutes; honestly it had ruined my night which had been going so well! I know I shouldn't let one table affect me, but damn, that was a big chunk of my sales for my night! So I was moping a bit, and Accent Girl suggested (without an accent!) that I ask HotPants to do a discount on it. I was fairly sure he wouldn't be receptive, because he's a dick, but I hit him up for it -- I asked if we could pretend they were seniors.

He didn't even fucking answer me! Just kind of grunted, cocked his head at me, then started twiddling his pen and staring off into the distance. Fuck you, man! I finally said, "If it's not cool, that's fine." and stomped off. When Accent Girl asked about it, I told her his response. "Try Lapdog! He might, he does it sometimes!"

That was a damn good point. He was in a great mood that night. so I gave it a try.

"Hey Lapdog, remember last week when you were going to help me out with that table of teenagers?" He just looked at me. "Any chance of that now? Table ten stiffed me and they told HotPants twice that everything was great!"

He laughed and went to the computer. "Yeah, they told me everything was great too."
"Maybe they just don't believe in tipping," I said.
After tapping a few buttons and swiping his card, he said, "She didn't like the sauce on her ribs tonight, didn't think it was sweet enough."
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. "She never told me that! Not any of the times I was there!"
"She didn't tell me that either," he said with a smirk.
"Oh." I felt stupid. "Thanks!"

So at least I got 12%, thanks to Lapdog. He gave me my regular shifts again this coming week too! His wife must be putting out again, I'm sure he'll be back to his usual surly self before too long.

Above and beyond.

We've all been there: we have a table that, for whatever reason, we go beyond the usual for. And when one of these tables turns around and shorts us, they might as well have pissed on our shoes. It's absolutely galling, and after enough disappointments, eventually the long-time server can become jaded and .... you know what, fuck this third person crap. After so many customers being absolutely thankless fucksticks when I gave them more than my best effort, I totally went and got cynical. And yes, eventually I stopped doing extra things for my customers. I think it was about the 20th time that I scoured the kitchen looking for ingredient lists and attempting to create substitute seasonings for someone with an allergy (or "allergy", who knows), and got shafted for my efforts, that I quit caring quite so much.

That's not to say I wouldn't answer requests -- if someone needed directions, wanted to know just what was in a sauce, had a million modifications, I would do it. But I wouldn't offer. Does that make me a bad server? Some would say yes. Does it affect my tips? That's harder to say. I don't think it has; the shittiness of tips has increased and the economy's health has decreased. Anyway, this mental shift happened a long time ago, and if my tips had been this bad the entire time I'd have participated in some retributive arson a long time ago.

Sometimes people really surprise you, like my new favorite customer who gave me $18. And sometimes they at least fail to disappoint you, like a couple I waited on earlier that same night.

The first thing I overheard was that they'd just come from a Weight Watchers meeting, so I was anticipating bullshit. At first this seemed confirmed when the woman asked for "iced tea with LOTS of lemons!" (I took her at her word and brought her a whole sliced lemon, which she loved.) But their order was simple and basic enough, a chicken dish for him and a small steak for her. Out of habit I asked if she wanted sautéed mushrooms or onions on her steak, and her face lit up ... then fell.
"What are they sautéed in?"
"Garlic butter," I said, then realized that wasn't going to work so well with her diet.
"Oh, okay. Then no, I guess not."
"You know, let me find out if we have something else we can do them in."
"Oh, that's wonderful! Thank you! That's great!" She was so pleased it made me smile. Luckily for me, Lapdog was our expo that night, and one thing he's very all about is making things however the customer wants them. So at least I didn't have to argue with Rehab or a non-English speaking cook to get vegetables sautéed in foul PAM spray -- which is why normally I may not have bothered.

Both my customers had ordered salads without bacon, cheese, or croutons. I thought their salads looked a little naked, so I got the cooks to put extra vegetables on it (since I know through my cousin that vegetables are "free" on the weirdass WW points plan) - if I hadn't been paying attention I wouldn't have overheard they were on WW. Again, my customers were just thrilled. They gushed about how good the salads looked, they didn't think they had so much on them, last time they didn't, so I told them that was my doing.

"Ohh, that's so sweet!" The lady enthused. Insert diatribe about points-free vegetables and more gushing. Now that I'm thinking about it, I get the impression her husband was along for the WW ride for support rather than because he was really in to it; or maybe she just does most of the talking.

When their food came, she thanked me for the mushrooms and onions some more, and asked if we had printed nutritional information because she'd like to convert everything into WW points. I said we don't, but it's online. But after I walked away from the table, I went to our computer, pulled it up, and wrote out all the info on their two meals.

Then when she mentioned they come in every Monday after their meeting, I got them both repeat customer punch cards. I made sure Pot Smoking Manager stopped by their table; I said a few conversational things about the difficulty of dieting, although I really hate those kinds of talks. Normally I would've asked PSM to take the cards, but not got them myself. I may or may not have asked him to do a table visit; and I definitely wouldn't have engaged in diet talk.

When I delivered their ticket, I was debating if I wanted to tell them I worked every Monday and to ask for me. What if they were shitty tippers? But they said they might, and when I saw the 20% tip I was relieved. Maybe I'll wait on them again, maybe I won't; but I'll remember them because they didn't treat me like shit when I treated them well.

Event planning.

(Sponsored.)

I've never hosted a party before; part of this that's because with five pets running around my house it would be an utter disaster. The other part is fear that nobody would come! But also, I suck at organization. Hardcore suck at it. Any attempt I made at event planning would be, I'm sure, disastrous. I have a friend who's a wedding planner, and I don't know how she can possibly juggle all those details. I know there are plenty of sites for sending online invitations, etc. -- like Eventish.com -- and I think that's the only thing that would save me if I ever decided to try to throw any sort of large-scale event. I can hardly keep track of where I put my bookmark, let alone a paper guest list. If it's not on a document on my computer, I'm going to misplace it. Hell, I'll probably misplace it then. Guess it's lucky that, in the unlikely circumstance that I'm in charge of something big, I'll be able to utilize online event planning services to help me.

Now to find a pet sitter ....

Still in shock.

My second-to-last table was a motherly woman on her own with a book. She asked what I'd just carried by, and was disappointed when I told her it was a Cajun steak because she thought it would be too spicy. I told her we had another steak that wasn't marinated that we could do on a skillet with the same vegetables and sides, and she decided on that right away.

She said her dinner was wonderful, and ordered dessert. I brought her check at the same time as dessert and she right away started rummaging around, saying she'd pay right away so I wasn't waiting on her. I assured her I was there until midnight anyway, so she could stay and enjoy her book as long as she'd like.

About ten minutes later I walked by and saw she had $40 out for her $22 check. I reached to pick it up, starting to say I'd be right back with her change. Without really looking up from her book, she said "No change, thank you." I froze in place! I asked her if she was sure, and she assured me she was, she appreciated me helping her figure out what steak she wanted. I was just stunned, and said it was too much, really. She insisted.

I hugged her, I couldn't help it. An $18 tip, for doing basically, um, nothing.


On a totally unrelated note, Google image search cracks me up. Click here and here (supposed to be gargoyles, that's why it's funny) for two hilarious NSFW images. These came up when I searched for "shocked" and "in shock".

I am your waitress. Order from me.

It drives me fucking insane when I see my tables stopping other people to order from them, or walking up to the bar to order their drinks. Now, if I'm totally slammed, that's one thing. If I've just been at the table, there's no reason to flag someone else down to order a salad. Newsflash: You're still going to pay for it. I'll see you eat it, and I'll make sure it's on your ticket.

Going to the bar is another dumbass thing. I had a table last night that had literally just sat down -- in fact, three out of four were seated, the fourth didn't even sit down before going to the bar to order his beer. I was approaching the table as he walked by me to order from the bartender. I felt like grabbing him by his poofy, scraggly mustache and dragging his ass back to the table. Because the bartenders don't need any more sales. They get away with ringing in groups of bar guests under one guest number, and they by default have a lot more drinks; so they're already at the top of the damn upselling game. I need that point for a beer under my name so I don't get fired for something retarded!

And that aside, since I know most customers wouldn't have a clue -- it's just plain fucking rude.

Between a rock and a 20-top.

I had my least favorite section tonight, because I hate any section with a high likelihood of getting sad with a large table. The bastard motherfuckers at my company don't let us add gratuity, and most of the time that's a very bad thing. But sometimes, with that section, I luck out and get a steady flow of smaller tables.

Of course, that couldn't happen tonight. Early on, I heard Lapdog saying we had an 18 top coming it at 5:30. Fuuuuuuck. There's exactly one place in the restaurant where a table like that will fit, and that was in my section -- or half of it, anyway, plus half of another server's section. Normally in that situation I'd cheerfully shove the large table off on the other server and take their smaller tables; most of my coworkers feel like big tops are a fair risk. Sadly, the other server in question was Wannabe -- who can barely manage her regular tables. Her working an 18 top solo was so not going to happen.

Technically, according to the last corporate policy update, a table that size should be shared between servers. At least two, possibly three, servers in fact. But I already knew what would happen. If Wannabe had 9 guests at the big top, plus her other two tables, she would be flipping out and useless. I would end up doing all the work for the big top, my other two tables, and likely her other tables, and would still have to share the tip with Wannabe. Fuck that. Fuck it right in the ear.

So instead I mournfully agreed to take the entire table myself. When they showed up, I still had two tables of two; Wannabe would've melted down in a panic. For me it wasn't a problem, especially since the 18 top showed up in groups -- including an extra two people. They were nice people, although sometimes hard to talk to -- they were quite busy babbling amongst themselves. Luckily they were all adults, so I wasn't dodging flying bits of macaroni and cheese. They did have seven separate tickets though. I hate separate tickets on big tops. Everyone always thinks somebody else will make up for their shitty tip!

When my other two tables left and were re-sat, I gave them to Wannabe, even though she didn't really want them. She doesn't like having more than two tables at a time. But they were both sat as my big top was getting ready to order; plus I don't trust Wannabe not to run to Chicken Little claiming I took over her tables and "wouldn't" give her mine! Plus it would probably have set Lapdog over the edge. The entire time I could see he was watching me, hovering, offering to help, worried it was too big a table for one person. HA! No problem. I even had time to run other peoples' food and drinks, because I am just that good.

Okay, not really. It was a just case of being well-organized and anticipating needs. It might have taken me a couple of extra minutes to get their order, but I knew nobody else wanted salad before dinner; I knew who wanted what sauces; I knew who belonged on tickets with whom. It all went very smoothly.

I hate putting in that much effort not knowing if it'll be worth it; so many times I've ended up getting screwed. This time, I got $40 on a total bill of $226. Not as much as I deserved (is it ever?), but at least I wasn't screaming with fury in the dishpit again.

Location, location.

One of the reasons that my restaurant has suffered less during the economic downturn (dun dun duuuuuuunn!) is because of our location. We're really the only national chain restaurant in the main body of town. There are a handful of family-owned places, but even those are kind of scarce. There are quite a few fast food places, but pretty much if people want a cheap burger and fries or ribs, we're the nearest place to go for 3/4 of the town. Of course that's generally a good thing.

What's not such a good thing is that we're right down the street from a high school. Which means that after their damn football and basketball games, the annoying little fuckers come in to yell across the restaurant at each other, shoot spitballs that I have to scrape off the walls, shred their napkins and throw them on the floor, drink eighty thousand sodas, and of course, leave a $3 tip on an $80 bill.

Yeah, I was a teenager once, but I was never a douchebag.

Sometimes there's nothing to say.

When I first started blogging about my job, I thought I would never run out of material. After all, people are always going to be jackasses, right? I always thought the servers who quit blogging quit serving or something. But I'm starting to realize ..... sometimes, you've just said it all. I've already written about water with lemon, about gallons of ranch, about shitty tips, etc. etc. It's getting more difficult for a guest to do something douchebaggy enough I haven't written about it before. I don't want to be writing the same stories over and over, after all.

Don't worry, I'm not hanging it up. Just pondering!

Could've been worse.

I accidentally picked up a shift today -- I forgot I had set up to automatically pick up any released shift tonight. I really didn't want to work a 5:30 first cut, because I knew I'd come in a full station and spend my first hour doing nothing that actually made me money. But it was too late, I was committed.

Sure enough, I came in to find my section full. If you call three tables a section. The first two were sat again within a half an hour; the other, a mother and her snot-nosed son, camped out eating a dessert at a rate of a bite an eon. My first table was five people, five adults in fact which I was excited about seeing as it was kids' night, the dreaded night where crotchspawn eat free. I was soon disappointed, however; they had two teas, a soda, chips and salsa, and cheese sticks. And that's all. They did leave me $4, a 26% tip, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

I had four more tables tonight; one which had a bill of $100 and tipped me exactly $15, which ended up being almost half of what I made tonight. I made $40, which isn't too bad for three hours of very minimal work -- we had so many freaking people on the floor, and my tables were so low-maintenance, that I almost never had anything to do. I was incredibly bored; my tables were all very busy talking to each other so I didn't have any success talking to them, and there were only two coworkers there I even wanted to speak to.

I could have picked up a closing shift, but the first karaoke song changed my mind on that in hurry -- plus I know from experience that there are usually few people who come in after nine on a Wednesday. I still picked up a closing shift next week -- because I was only schedule four shifts. Thanks, Lapdog. Grr.

Anyway, I made enough to buy a bag of cat food and do some grocery shopping, so I guess it wasn't a total waste.

My anti-New Years resolution.

(Sponsored.)

Guest post written by Carol Minton

I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions and I don't think that IÕm going to start anytime soon. Instead, I thought that this year I would try to keep up some good habits that IÕve picked up over the past few months. See they're not new things, but I just want to make sure that I preserve what I've been doing.

I had an argument with my brother back and forth via e-mail about a week ago hwen I was trying to explain this to him. He said that it sounded exactly like a New Year's resolution to me. So we just decided to agree to disagree on the matter. After we came to that conclusion, I was browsing online and randomly found some information about internet packages. I got some more information and decided to CLICK HERE to sign up for the service for our house.

My anti-New Year's resolution includes working out five times a week like I've been doing for almost a year now. i've also got an old-fashioned pen pal that I actually exchange snail mail with and I want to keep that up too.

That's a tip, of a sort.

I realize the actual definition of the word "tip" includes information. That does not mean that a pamphlet for $40/month old people insurance is an appropriate substitute for cash.

Especially not when the waitress is thirty years too young to qualify for it. Assholes.

(What's with the picture, you ask? I don't know. I plugged 'cheap health insurance' into Google image search and that came up. I guess if you have cheap health insurance you can afford an Audi and Krista Allen? Hilarious.)

If your friends don't tip then they're no friends of mine.

A group of seven college-age kids came in the other night; they're friends of one of the hostesses. She always puts them in the section of a server she likes because she thinks they're fun. Unfortunately, the other night that was me.

They ran my ass off for an hour, made constant just-kidding-but-not-really jokes about getting things free, sent back a steak claiming there was a hair on it, and spilled drinks all over torn up napkins and thrown food scraps while they ran up a $72.43 bill. They left $73. Then a couple of them sat at the bar to drink, and tried to wheedle the bartender in to serving them after close.

Since she's served them before and knows they don't tip the bar either, they didn't get any beer.

Bite me, assholes.

I was in no mood for peoples' bullshit yesterday. When I woke up my first thought was "fuck this day" -- I was just pissed off from the word go, for no particular reason. Naturally, my customers did nothing to help this. To be fair, most of them were garden variety jerks. By that I mean the kind of people who answer "how are you?" with "Water. Just water." and when you offer them soup or salad ask "is it free?" I don't even remember most of my tables last night, because they fell in to that category. Four particular ones stick out though.

One of them was my first table of the night. It was a couple in their forties, along with their daughter and her husband. They weren't rude; they answered my questions; they acknowledged my presence at the table .... except the mother. When I asked if they were ready to order, she immediately stated, "chicken salad with dressing on the side. So I was talking to your aunt the other day, and ...." Nevermind that I needed to get the rest of her table's order too, clearly it was more important to start her conversation right the fuck now. Oh, and did I mention that she didn't even bother to look at me while saying this? Yeah, she was the kind of bitch. The entire meal was like that. When she wanted more water (with lemon, of course!), she held her glass up in the air without looking at me, while talking non-stop. Her husband and the kids were very polite and friendly; I think if any of them had paid, I might have gotten a decent tip. But, of course, as soon as I approached with their check she thrust a credit card at me. I don't think she looked at me once; and "chicken salad with dressing on the side" were the only words she spoke directly to me. I'm sure the fact that she was hardly aware I existed explains the $4 tip on a $50 ticket.

Then I had a table of semi-regulars. The wife is always sort of bitchy; the husband is very mellow; this time they had their two grandchildren with them. When I asked what they wanted to drink, the wife immediately started going in circles with the kids -- "what would you like to drink? would you like this? well what about this? well what are you having for dinner? would you like this? or that? what to drink? oh you want this to eat? are you sure? are you sure you don't want this?"

After easily a minute and a half of being ignored by her, I was a little more direct than usual. "Maybe I can get your drinks while you're deciding on the dinner part." She blinked owlishly at me but finally asked for water (of course). I got their waters; they finally ordered. One of the kids got something off the children's menu; the other ordered off the regular menu. The adults got our motherfucking despised "share two" discount meal. Fucking fabulous. Then they started whipping out the coupons. Most places don't let you use multiple discounts, but of course my restaurant is so afraid of losing customers that they'll let them. And they had a small gift card as well. So these fuckers ended up getting food for four people .... for 39 fucking cents. And I got a $4 tip. The guy made a big deal out of handing it to me too. Oooooh, four dollars, that's .5% of my rent! Thanks! Seriously, you fuckers? You got all your food for 39 goddamn cents, and you can't tip decently? FUCK YOU!

Still, I was really trying to not let my bad mood overwhelm me; I tried to shrug off these first two tables, and think that later tables would make up for it. They didn't, but I tried to think it.

Where I started to get really, really irate was with a table of two. We had a wait that night for a couple of hours, but things were going smoothly. For once, the kitchen wasn't fucking up left and right. People weren't camping out. Cheap-ass tips aside, it was a fine night. Then I saw HotPants get flagged down by one of my tables--never a good sign. So I scurried up with the water pitcher to refill the drinks next door, and listen in.

"That table over there has been dirty for 25 minutes!" My customer jabbed at a table in another server's section, several tables away and behind him. "Why can't somebody clean it? You have a serious problem in this restaurant!"

The table had been dirty for a while; I had taken a few items off it at a time, slowly clearing it off, because it was a new server's section and she was overwhelmed. A fifth table probably would have set her over the edge. But, um, who the fuck worries about something like that? If you're already sitting down, if you've already ordered your damn food, why would you even notice? The guy was perfectly polite to me, but HotPants told me later that he was really getting in his face about it, bitching about the lobby being too full and how ridiculous it was that we were so busy. What? HP had to walk away and come back because he was getting really pissed off' and the guy kept giving nasty looks to everyone who walked by. Except me, strangely; but I was still irritated by his busy-body attitude.

Not too long after they left, I got a table of two middle-aged folks. They were polite, seemed normal, and I anticipated no problems. The man ordered a pasta dish that I think is quite tasty; it has fettucine, garlic alfredo sauce, and then the meatballs have a mild marinara on them. The woman ordered one of our hideous new diet dishes. The menu clearly states that it is a diet item; it clearly states it has foul whole-wheat pasta, a bunch of veggies, and plain shrimp. But she didn't look displeased when I delivered their food, even though it's really a very small portion and I'd be pissed off if a restaurant brought it to me.

When I checked back on them, he said his meal was good. She said hers was "interesting". I asked if it was "good interesting or bad interesting"; she just repeated it was interesting, but she smiled. I asked if she'd order it again, and she immediately said no. I offered her a new meal, either the same or something different. Twice I asked what else she would like, and she just kept shaking her head and telling me it was okay. After confirming one more time that I couldn't get anything else for them, I went to my other tables.

A few minutes later, I saw that both their plates were half-full and pushed to the side. "Time for some boxes?" I asked with a smile. Oh, Christ on a unicycle.
"No." The woman snapped. "Everything was horrible. We couldn't even eat it. This," she flicked the edge of her plate," is entirely unacceptable for eleven dollars! And his was so disgusting he couldn't even eat it! Alfredo and marinara together, that's just ... who ... We are very disappointed in (restaurant)."

I ran for HotPants, I wasn't talking to those bitches any more! He spent seriously the next ten minutes kneeling by the table listening to them fucking rant and rave. Predictably, he bought their food and they stormed out without leaving a tip. I wanted to follow them, throwing things. RTFM! Read the fucking menu! If it says it has alfredo and marinara, and you don't like that, then don't fucking order it! If you're not on a diet, and you don't want to eat diet food, don't fucking order it! But that's just plain stupidity. What makes me think they weren't stupid, just assholes, is that they assured me everything was fine .... and then suddenly it wasn't. Hmm, could it be that they just decided they were full and wanted their food for free? Or that they just wanted to feel important by having someone be forced to listen to them? Those kinds of people make me want to go on an eye-gouging rampage.

The night ended on the same kind of note. The grizzled, camo-wearing, scowling "gentleman" at my last table was wearing .....

Bueller ..... Bueller ...

There's been a lot of restaurant turn-over lately, so I thought the time had come for a brand-spanking-new rollcall!

Managers:

GM/Chicken Little: Our GM, who regularly thinks the sky is falling. Possibly needs medication. Nobody trusts her as far as they could throw her, since she has a habit of gossiping about everyone to everyone else, where everyone can hear her!

Lapdog: Named after a "House" quote about "because I'm a very high-strung little lapdog!" Possibly needs medication.

Pot Smoking Manager: Almost too laid-back for his own good. Says he doesn't self-medicate, but cheerfully admits he doesn't remember most of the 80s.

HotPants: New manager in his early 30s who thinks he's hot shit. This is his second time working for the company; the first time he was fired for sleeping with hostesses.

Current Slaves:

Accent Girl: Her accent changes in the middle of sentences--she'll go from being Southern to being from Russia. She claims not to realize she's doing it, and yet it never happens when she's really involved in what she's saying.

Benedict Manager: Used to be just a server, until she threw numerous people under the bus to get a relief manager position. I think she's starting to realize that was a mistake.

California Girl: Grew up in middle America, but seems like a surfer. Probably the best server in the place. Often calls me at three in the morning when she's had a few beers.

Cat-Eyes: Really nice woman who I close the store with several times a week, and who I went to high school with. But her eye makeup drives me absolutely insane, because she uses a heavy black kohl eyeliner all the way around her eyes, and then draws a think like sloping up from the corner of her eye almost all the way to her eyebrow.

Chrissy: She's Chrissy because she's from Ohio, no other reason! I'm not really sure what I think of her yet. Sometimes I think she's cool, and other times I think she takes this waaaaay too seriously.

Dolly: New bartender who is so far up the managers' asses she tastes their food for them. Thinks she knows everything because she "used to be a GM" at another restaurant. Claims she made $100k/year there. Uh-huh.

Flirty Priest: Cuter than a basket of kittens, foul-mouthed and foul-minded, flirts with everyone with tits .... and is attending a Christian college to be become a minister. Only works on his breaks from school, but still isn't an escapee.

Fringe: Really a nice woman, but her hair drives me absolutely insane. It's a medium length with lots of layers, and her bangs pretty much are always in her face and covers one eye. I want to grab her by the head and braid her hair back because I find it incredibly annoying to talk to someone when you can only see half of their face.

Fud: A nice woman, but has an annoying habit of expoing food and then yelling "hot FUUUUD" and standing there doing nothing waiting for someone else to pick it up. Unless it's for her table of course.

Miss Entitlement: One of CL's little favorites, she constantly pushes in front of people, demands other people do things for her when we're all busy, tries to skip out on her sidework, and acts like the world owes her something because she had a kid two years ago.

Mistress J: A good friend of mine who used to be a dominatrix. She's harsh, sarcastic, bitchy, and hilarious. She also somehow makes a ridiculous amount of money--once corporate called to have the managers verify her credit card tips for one day because they were so extreme!

Native: Dresses like an Indian; her goggle marks around her eyes are a hilarious contract to her 'native' skintone.

Pixy: I don't really know why she looks pixy-ish to me; she has chin-length straight brown hair and a septum piercing that she flips up into her nostrils while working. Kinda grosses me out actually.

Snitch: This girl is best buddies with CL's sister, and so of course with CL as well. You can imagine what working with her is like.

The Anti-Me: This chick has the same name as me, and she is a red hot fucking mess. A compulsive liar, a lazy sidework shirking fuckup, and oh yeah, a total psycho. She once put her hand between a table and the wall and repeatedly slammed the table on her wrist to get out of sidework! CL sent her to the ER, and Anti-Me came back with her wrist taped and a note saying her hand was broken but she could work. After a couple of days of watching her walk in circles demanding other people do her job, CL told her she couldn't work until her hand healed. Apparently ultimatums have the power to heal broken bones in a week, because Anti-Me was suddenly fine the next day.

The Lawyer: Very book-smart woman who finished law school last year, but makes just plain idiotic personal decisions.

Wannabe: Hostess who does productions with the local theater company and thinks she's going to make it big someday (despite, uh, sucking). Mildly annoying, but I was learning to live with it until it turned out she's a two-faced squealer who rats people out to Chicken Little! And then she became a server, so now every shift she works is like being stuck in an episode of "Glee".

Work Wife: She and I used to close together all the time, and whenever we work together we're constantly talking. We actually have very little in common, I'm just now realizing, but we're always giggling. She keeps saying she's going to quit and go to work at another restaurant next year when her oldest song starts first grade, and I'm dreading that day.

The Vomit-Worthys: Married couple. She never misses a chance to call someone out about something and is always on the warpath about some little, insignificant thing she thinks the rest of us should be doing. Her husband is a nice enough guy--slightly creepy, though, as he gives backrubs to the other waitresses when his wife isn't around. When she is around, though, they earn their moniker--I think I know more about their sex life than my own. They've recently spawned, which makes me shudder.

Escapees:

Bitter Divorced Man: Manager who's sometimes a riot, and other times won't speak to anyone the entire shift. Possibly needs medication. Left to take a job with the government. I miss him. And the shots of Patron he used to pour me after work.

Brainless: Not as bad as she used to be, but still a source of hilarity. And irritation because she tries to get out of her sidework every shift. Was promoted to bartender and fired the next day by the area manager because she received four guest complaints in one weekend.

Dallas: Worthy of her own entry. As of this post, she's pregnant again. She was fired basically for refusing to show up for mandatory meetings. Because she's special and shouldn't have to!

Idiot Expo: Started out as a cook but couldn't hack it; was moved to expo and sucks at that too. Apparently can't read, because every order that has mods is missing something--extra plates, three sides of ranch, whatever. After a month, I lost hope. Got a new job and posted "FUCK YOU (RESTAURANT)!" on his FB page, then called and pretend he was so sorry to be quitting without notice. Smart.

Judge Judy: Anyone who does anything differently than her is "a fucking idiot." Acts like she's so much better than everyone around her, and yet expects ridiculous amounts of sympathy for her personal problems. Ice on the counter pisses her off, and she sweeps it on to the floor; when I pointed out someone could slip, her response was "You should be wearing non-slip shoes." JJ was forced out by Chicken Little when she quit spying for her, it was a big to-do.

Monty: New server who has the same spiky hair and overall look as Ryan Reynolds did in "Waiting". He was originally hired as a manager; too bad about being on probation because of that DUI, Monty. After several months he was trained as a manager and transferred to another store.

Pennsyltucky: Grew up in this state, yet has affected such a banjo-twanging accent that I can't understand what he's saying most of the time. He's 19 and thinks he's got the world by the balls. Was fired for serving alcohol to an underage girl; he wanted to go smoke so he didn't want to take the time to find the virgin daiquiri button.

Rehab: Incessantly screaming know-it-all lifer who was a lot more fun before she quit drinking. When she gets near me, my skin tries to crawl away. I have no idea why, just something about that woman is off. She was fired after screaming at coworkers for months, throwing ranch grenades at us, and finally kicking my work wife.

The Irrepressible L: One of my best friends, and one of only three people I know who I've trusted to know about this blog. I've written about her a few times, mostly notable when Chicken Little tried to force her out of the restaurant by making shit up. I miss working with her, because she's a riot, but she's much happier now -- she runs her own business, and I'm quite jealous that she has the guts and capability to do it! She's probably one of the most positive people I know, and one of the few I think I have absolutely nothing sarcastic to say about. Well, except maybe 'what a presumptive bitch for thinking she deserved her own bio'. ;) Hahaha! She's also written her own bio for us!

Wide-eyes: Has constantly bugged-out eyes she accentuates with tons of eye makeup, making her look perpetually shocked. Whines constantly about everything, shoves people out of her way when she wants to get to the computer, and basically acts like we should all bow down to her. Oh yeah, and she screws up non-stop. The managers finally realized this and she was eventually fired for not showing up to a mandatory meeting!

Entrances are hard to find.

Last night I was heading toward the kitchen when I saw two women in coats come out of the hallway the bathrooms are in. They stopped just inside the restaurant; since the door for our carside is there too, people with to go orders often come in that door and stand in the way looking stupid instead of waiting in their cars like they're supposed to.

Anyway, I approached them with a smile.

"Do you even have any empty seats with all those cars out there?" One of them asked.
I blinked and kind of laughed. "A few," I said. "Are you here for a to go order?"

"No."

I was starting to get that you're-an-idiot-aren't-you tingling feeling. "What can I do for you?"

They ignored me; the woman who hadn't spoken yet said, "Oh, I think we're in the wrong place."

"Well, how am I supposed to know that!" snapped Women #1. "I don't come here!"

I directed them to the host stand and went into the kitchen, shaking my head. What I wanted to do was walking them both outside some basic logical reasoning: "See this door? Which has no sign over it, which you have to walk over a bed of decorative rocks to get to, which has a big red "emergency exit" bar on the inside of it, and in general has nothing identifying it as an entrance? Good. Now look at that door over there under the canopy, that the sidewalk leads right to, which has a giant fucking neon sign over it. Which one do you think is the entrance?"

Cocktails to start off the year right.

(Sponsored.)

Guest post written by Aimee Rainwater

I love how into New Year's people get with the parties and the resolutions. I'm also really obsessed with the whole thing. Maybe the best part though is when you finally admit that you haven't kept up with your New Year's resolution. I think that people like to make almost impossible ones and then just admit that they can't meet them. But right now I'm focusing on the party that I'm throwing for New Year's Eve.

It's been a few years since I've thrown a big party like this so you could say I'm a little out of practice. I've been consulting the internet a lot for drink recipes and easy and cheap decorating ideas that include lots of silver and glitter. One night about a week ago I came across the website www.wirelessinternet.net/att-4g/ and after I looked through it some, I decided to sign up for one of the internet packages advertised on there.

One of recipes for NYE cocktails that I found to fix is something that I'm really excited about. It just sounds so different and I've never had it before, so myabe that will be a nice topic of conversation at the party.

I have a fucking name.

One word is all it took to send my blood pressure through the roof. I'd just returned a credit card and thanked my table, then turned to clean the one next to it. After about thirty seconds I hear..... "Waiiiiiiiiiiiitresssssss!"

I hope they saw me go stiff with irritation before I turned around. They're regulars, they come in two or three times a week, and I know they know my goddamn name. But the woman chose to be demeaning. The "problem" turned out to be that after paying their tab, she'd looked at the bill.

"There are two drinks here for fourteen dollars!" she said, tossing the receipt at me and sitting back smugly.
I took a cursory glance at the bill; I already knew what she was talking about. "Yes, the merlot is $7 a glass." All three people at the table stared at me, so I elaborated. "The other cabernet is on happy hour, the merlot is not."

Again, they're regulars -- they know this! So when their friend asked for red wine, and I offered him cabernet or merlot, and he chose merlot, they should have known what was coming. Instead, they all looked back and forth at each other for a moment. The woman finally stared into my soul and said, "We didn't know that!"

I let her stare me down. They didn't get a reduction in price.

I remember why I don't work trivia nights.

First table to leave after cut: came in for dinner, tolerated the noise. $4 on $45.
Second: here the entire length of trivia, more than two hours. Zero.
Third: pretty sure they'll be the same.
And that's all I've had since cut. Fuck this.

The royal 'we'.

I went up to a table tonight and before I could even open my mouth, the woman at the table says, "I'll just have water. We're ready to order, are you?" and she looks across at her husband.

Not sure if it's a royal we -- "We are not amused" -- or if she has multiple personalities.

Let's review.

Since I have some customers who seem to be confused.

This a plate of food:

And this is a live snake:

For one of these, it is entirely appropriate to recoil from the table in disgust, staring with huge wide eyes at what has been brought to you, as if at any moment it will rise up and strike you in the face.

Hint: it's not the goddamn chicken.

Pregnancy is contagious.

I found out tonight that two of my coworkers are newly pregnant. One of them I feel really bad for -- she just finished law school, she doesn't know who the father is, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't even want kids.

The other ... well ... Dallas and her baby daddy are having another baby. Wonder how his girlfriend feels about that!

I'm sure the entire staff is in for a lovely treat, working with a pregnant Dallas. Fuuuuuck.