Well, that could have gone better.

First real shift today, and while I didn't go down in flames, I didn't exactly hit the ground running either. I had the section farthest from the kitchen, plus a couple of tables on the patio, and that stressed me out right away - I assumed since I was "new" I'd have three tables right by the kitchen. The extra time to get to that station, plus the extra time it took me to ring in a few orders due to the slightly different computer system ... it put me behind and I felt that all day. Most of my customers were totally cool and tipped me well. And despite my stress, I was still glad to be there. But there was one table where I done screwed up. It could have been fixed, had they not been passive-aggressive ijits.

First of all, the woman wanted nachos, which aren't on the menu anymore, but there's still a button in the computer. So no problem, I thought. But when they went out, it turns out that we don't have the ground beef for it anymore and apparently we just send it out now without it which makes no sense to me because a) it's the same damn price as it used be and b) we have damn hamburgers so why not use one.

Mmmmmmmmm.

Anyway, the woman insisted, insisted, that it was fine, she didn't want beef or chicken, she just wanted some salsa. Okeydokey. The little girl didn't look thrilled with her macaroni and cheese, I assume because it's not Kraft kind, but instead our version on cavatappi noodles. But her mom helpfully told her it was
yummy and I thought all was well.

Mistress J was on expo, so I let her know all of this - she still has managerial powers, and I didn't feel like talking to Lapdog (oh, yes, Lapdog is still there. He comes with the building lease at this point.) about it. She said if we needed to we'd take something off the bill, just to let her know.

I made a point of checking back early and a little more often than usual - first checkback, everything was fine. Second, they had gotten very quiet but said it was good - I asked specifically about the nachos and the macaroni and was told they were fine. Third, they wouldn't even answer me other than to ask for the bill. In retrospect, I should have sent Lapdog to check on them. But I figured Mommy and Daddy had argued or something, because the kids were suddenly quiet and subdued too, and also because they had told me their food was fine.

Imagine my surprise when I picked up the ticket after they left and had a two dollar tip on $55 - okay, that didn't surprise me after the nacho problem, and I wasn't upset or anything. What did surprise me was that they'd left passive aggressive notes on the check: "8.99 for chips and salsa??!" with the nachos circled (yeah, sure, there was nothing else on them ...) and then "NO CHX!!!!!" with the little girl's macaroni circled. I don't know if that meant there was no chicken in the mac and cheese or the little girl didn't want chicken - neither of which was communicated to me. Neither was their displeasure with the cost of anything.

I felt bad after they left, because I didn't handle it well. But I also felt like they should have spoken the hell up at a point where something could be done.

Speak, don't point.

I had one of those tables last week who just don't like to communicate. It's apparently too difficult to say words like "chicken" and "salad", because this guy freaking grunted at me and said, "We'll both have that." He jabbed his finger squarely in to the picture of a salad.

"Okay, two (Fried Chicken With Sugar Dressing More Calories Than A Cheeseburger) Salads," I said very clearly. "Would either of you like some soup before dinner?"

They ignored me. Okay, whatever. Patio dwellers are usually giant pains in my ass, so I just continued on about my business. Ten minutes later, another server comes up to me with two salads and asks where they go. Grunt Man and his silent wife had said the salads weren't theirs--"we ordered pasta!"

Nothing galls me more than to have to apologize and kiss ass to the person who was actually at fault, but I did my best. They weren't satisfied, and bitched out the manager, and demanded free food and free dessert. They refused to make eye contact with me the rest of the time they were there, and they stiffed me.

Because, you know, I should be able to read minds--both when they order the wrong thing and when I repeat it and don't get corrected!

Assholes, assholes everywhere.

Last night is pretty much a blur; I was upset for a lot of it, aggravated for the rest. Three tables stand out, though.

The first was an older couple. The woman was looking at our lunch special menu, even though it prominently says it's only available until three. One of the options is two mini burgers.

"Well, I want mini burgers, but I don't want two!" she jabbed her finger at the menu.
"The lunch specials are only available until three, but we do have the burgers as a meal of three burgers and fries," I informed her pleasantly.
She, of course, started rolling her eyes and sighing, then told me she needed a minute. Her husband glared at me until I went away. When I returned a couple of minutes later, they both said they were ready to order. I don't even remember what her husband ordered, but I knew she was going to be a pain in the ass as soon as I turned back to her. She was still looking at the lunch menu.
"I really don't want two. (stare)"
Didn't we just cover this? I thought. "Well, we have the regular meal of three--"
"THREE?" She screeched. "Who could eat three!"
I tried to explain to her that they're fucking mini burgers. They're about one and a half inches across. She was having none of it. She started flipping her menu around, slapping her hands on the table, sighing and making those little "ugh!" noises teenage girls are so good at. "Can't I just have one?" She kept demanding. I finally just ordered the bitch a kid's meal and modified the hell out of it. Her husband glared at me the entire time they were eating, and she kept giving me this self-satisfied smirks. Yeah, good for you; you paid four times more than that two ounces of ground beef was worth.

My last table of the evening seemed nice enough. They ordered nice big meals, had a couple of drinks. Nothing went wrong, no waits or mistakes. So it really felt like a punch in the gut when they stiffed me on their $60 check. Took the time to write out "zero" on the credit slip and everything. Bitches.

The biggest asshole, though, was this fiftyish biker-looking dude who came in with his wife and daughters. I got a bad vibe off of them to begin with, I guess just because they wouldn't make eye contact when I spoke to them. I knew he was going to be a problem right away when he cut me off to demand "A margarita. A big one."

Well, that's not exactly specific. So I started to list the various options. He finally waved his hand in my face and said "Yeah, that one." Okay, whatever. His daughters ordered a milkshake and a smoothie, and as his wife was ordering he cut her off. "Don't you have a cheese and chips or something?"

"Yep, we have a spicy queso and chips." I confirmed.
"What's that?" he grunted. It took all my self-control not to say something smart-alecky. I reiterated what, you know, cheese and chips, is and he ordered that and mozzarella sticks. A few minutes later I was pouring drinks for a different table when the carside girl came up to me with a wild look on her face. Apparently this guy had totally bitched her out because his daughter's shake tasted watered down and they needed ranch. So I delivered the ranch and said the replacement drink was on the way. He grunted at me like a caveman. "Can I have a straw and my water?"

I love it when people do that--"my water" or "my ranch" or whatever, like they just own it and have every right to expect it right the fuck now even if that was the first time they asked for "their" water.

Then it was time for their dinner, and it started again. "Don't you have any bread? Don't you have any gravy? Don't you have some A1?" Everything was "fine" or "it's okay" while stabbing his food around on the plate as if dissatisfied. I finally asked CL to check on him, after being grunted at and ordered around and talked to like a dog who couldn't understand him.

When CL asked how everything was, they all started laughing. Everything she asked, the daughters giggled, the wife smirked, and the husband answered with "it's okay" and the like. CL finally asked what could be made better, and was told, "you can get me another margarita."

She verified the type--"A stellar margarita?"
"Well, I don't know if it's stellar, but a margarita."
At that point, CL came back with the same look on her face as the carside girl. "They're all a bunch of assholes!" When I took him his second margarita, which comes in a metal shaker with a separate glass, I started to pour it in to the glass as always.

"Don't do that," he snatched the shaker out of my hand. "I'll just suck it out of there."

One of the hostesses came up to me somewhere in there and asked "What the hell is wrong with the guy at twenty? Their bill ended up being $91.95, and asshole left me the change from a hundred dollar bill. Thanks, asshole.

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Non-verbal and verbal communication.

There are certain things, as a customer in a restaurant, that you're not obligated to respond to. It's polite, for instance, to respond to your server's polite smile as he/she walks by to check on you. But you don't have to respond. If you see your server's eye twitch when you order something, you don't have to ask about it--although you probably should.

Other things, however, you need to respond to. Nonverbal things that require a response are things like your server stopping at the table. Shut the fuck up and answer my question, okay? You can continue bitching about your neighbor in a second.

The appropriate respond when your server speaks to you? A goddamn answer. I had these two women last night, one of my last tables. I delivered their food and asked if they would like anything else. One told me she'd like another beer in a few minute--hers was still half full. I smiled and said okay, anything else when I come back with that? Nope.

So I sat down and had a couple bites of my dinner, then rang in her beer when I saw from across the restaurant that it was getting low. When I got back to the table, maybe four minutes had elapsed.

"How is everything?" I asked as I set her beer down. I could see they hadn't eaten much, if at all, but they'd been talking to I assumed that was why.
"Well," said one of them, starting with the attitude. "We don't know, do we! We need some ranch, two sides of ranch, and two plates, and we need water!"
I blinked at her, said I'd be right back, and muttered under my breath the entire way to the kitchen: "Maybe you should've fucking spoken up when I asked you twice if you wanted anything else, bitch. Who the fuck sits there not eating because they don't have enough ranch, they already had some, Miss Thing should watch her fucking attitude or they can have two sides of my foot up their ass." Yeah, I get pissy when little just-turned-21 girls get snotty with me.

They didn't use the plates. They didn't use the extra ranch, only the one that was on their goddamn plates to begin with. And only one of them drank any water. Am I surprised? Ha!

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What mature people do.

When you feel your food was cold and your service poor, what's the proper course of action? Why, of course you and your friend should write on each of your separate tickets "cold food poor service." Then, on your way out the door, you should slam said tickets down on the host stand and bark at the hostess to "take these to your manager."

Nevermind that you told your server everything was fine. All four of the times I was there after your meal arrived. Nevermind the entire place was full, the lobby was packed, and your server had 23 people you were smack in the middle of and could see me frantically attending to. Nevermind you were never out of water, never said you needed or were missing anything.

Passive aggressive fucking bitches. One of them was standing in the entryway waiting for her husband to pull the car up (fucking princess, it's not even below freezing), and I couldn't restrain myself. I went out to her. In my most kiss-ass voice I said, "ma'am? I just saw these," I paused and held them out, hoping to let her feel nervous, "and I wanted to let you know that next time if you tell someone in person, we'll get the manager and he'll do whatever he can to fix it for you!"

I said it with a smile, in the most sincere tone I have in me. I hope I still made her feel like the douchesack she is.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

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Slap a bitch, part 2.

My whole work week was just full of people who were begging for a slap. Seriously, do people not know how to speak politely to others anymore? Oh wait, that's a stupid question. Bastard coated bastards with bastard filling and all.

First up, Sarcastic Witch. The matriarch of a family of five, she looked like a stuck-up snob right away. Her style was very early-90s soccer mom--slacks, turtleneck, small fake gold earrings, thoroughly average dyed hair color. They had five people jammed in to a four person booth because they didn't want to wait or sit at a regular table, so they were all grumpy and uncomfortable anyway. Besides Sarcastic Witch, there was her husband, two sons, and a daughter. When I greeted them, nobody but SW spoke--and she only made a "mmm" noise at me. She then proceeded to order everybody's drinks for them--which usually means five waters would've been in order, but I guess I lucked out this time.

"I'll have iced tea, he'll have pepsi, he'll have tea, and they're going to have a chocolate shake." She said the last while indicating her two youngest kids. That's exactly how she said it: a chocolate shake. So I politely clarified--"Would you like just one, or one each?"

SW snorts. "Yeah, just one. We just want one. Bring two straws, I'm going to make them share. Of course we want two!"

Well, maybe you should learn to say what you mean then, huh bitch?

Next up: Stupid Sarcastic Bitch. Another matriarch of another family, six this time, but at least in an appropriately-sized booth. Seemed nice and normal enough, if a little too wrapped up in their own conversations to focus on ordering. They placed their entire order at one time, six entrees and an appetizer; naturally, I made sure the appetizer goes out first. I was pouring drinks when it came up, and Bitter Divorced Manager ran it. He came back sort of smirking. Apparently, he'd set the appetizer in the center, politely set a side plate in front of everyone at the table, and then asked if they'd like anything else right now.

Stupid Sarcastic Bitch raises her eyebrow at him, cocks her head to the side, and says, "Um, the rest of the meal?" while slowly waving her hands back and forth to indicate everyone else at the table. I guess the appetizer was only for her?