Definitions, part two.

in·at·ten·tion
noun \ˌi-nə-ˈten(t)-shən\: failure to carefully think about, listen to, or watch someone or something : lack of attention

Not included in this definition: "server who was set up to look inattentive."

I recognized these bitches when they sat down, but I wasn't sure why. One was a white-trash looking blonde with smeared eye makeup, and then other was a pretty black women with get hair up in a painfully tight looking bun. Getting their drink order required four trips to the bar to confer with the bartender over cheapest options, pitcher vs. glass, etc. They seemed irritated by me trying to get get them the best deal, even though they asked what was cheaper. I don't know what was up with that.

It was shortly before the switch to dinner crew, and we got hit hard. I had seven small tables and an eight top, and during the rush to get them all greeted and get their orders in, I did forget one thing - white trash chick wanted a straw for her beer. I noticed she had one and I immediately apologized and said, "I was going crazy for a minute there, I'm sorry I forgot that!"* She just said it was okay ... but from that point on, they pulled a total passive-aggressive bitch move.

*Important later.

I checked their beer levels and made eye contact with both of them before I started taking an order at the table next to them. I had just begun speaking to my new table when bun chick reached out and grabbed the arm of a passing server; when I chased her down, I was told the woman's glass was dirty. I took her a fresh beer and asked if they wanted to order appetizers or anything; White Trash was picking at her bowl of soup and Bun was playing on her phone. Without making eye contact, they both said no.

I started taking an order at my eight top - and again saw them flag down another server out of the corner of my eye! When I chased him down, I found they'd ordered appetizers.

It went on and on like that for the next hour. No matter how close an eye I kept on them, how many times I checked on them, they would wait until my back was turned and then grab the nearest other server - or go to the bar and bug the bartender! I was getting really fucking fed up with it .. and then Harley rushed in to the kitchen yelling, "Who has table 70? Why do they want to talk to me?"

I tried to explain to her what they'd been doing, but when Harley gets in a rush she'll just take off in the middle of your sentence. So she goes and talks to these bitches, who tell her I was inattentive and rude and that I told them I was crazy. When she finally listened to me, Harley seemed to believe they were just trying to get something free - but demanded "why would you tell your tables you're crazy?!" and was all upset with me about that. She also reduced their $24 bill - already a fucking steal - to seven goddamn dollars and made me go deliver it.

She told me to apologize to them, and that I could absolutely not do with sincerity. So I told them "I'm sorry you weren't happy today" and that I'd be their cashier, and I took their last plates to the kitchen. I had no even finished dropping off those plates at dish with Mr. Rumple Minze came in to the kitchen .... with their ticket. So I took it, cashed them out, took their gift card back to them, and went to get a drink refill ... and before I'd even finished pouring that Pepsi, they had asked Wife for something. It was fucking ridiculous.

Naturally, they left me a two cent tip, but they can go fuck themselves. I wrote down a description of them and stuck it in my book, and if I ever see them again I'll refuse to wait on them.

Here's the real kicker, though, and this relates back to my last "definitions" entry: Both these tables bitched to the manager and had already gotten something free for it. A week later, I discovered that they really went the extra mile to get more free shit, or to just plain fuck me: they both did their corporate surveys and wrote paragraphs about how awful I was. So guess who got a fucking writeup and a lecture from Lapdog? Yeah.

I just don't understand these people. Who do they lie? Do they really not think they're hurting anyone, do they not realize they could be jeopardizing my job? If I had fucked up, then sure - rake me across the coals. In fact, the day I was so "inattentive" to those two bitches, there was another table that I truly was inattentive to - they were tucked in a corner and my eight top was being demanding, and I just plain fucked up and forgot about them a couple of times. If they had complained, I would not protest it in the least.

But these other people, who just want something free? They can go die in a hole.

Definitions, part one.

Well, I left the top post as something positive for as long as could. But it's time to resume my regular scheduled crankiness.

rude[rood]adjective, ruder, rudest. 1.discourteous or impolite, especially in a deliberate way:a rude reply.

Notice how, nowhere in there, does it say "not giving your entitled ass free dessert because you thought you should have it"?

At first, it seemed like an ordinary afternoon table: two couples in their sixties, meeting for lunch. Because I'm not feeling very creative today, we'll call couple #1 Ed and Edna and couple #2 George and Georgina. They ordered their waters with lemon and their lunch specials, reminded me to give them their precious senior discount and split their tickets, and began talking about their grandchildren or whatever. 

When I went to plate up their lunch, I discovered that we had just run out of clam chowder, which Edna had ordered. I apologized to her and she chose something else, and everything seemed fine. Then finished their lunch, declined desserts, and I brought them their tickets.

As I finished my usual ticket drop spiel, Georgina suddenly piped up. "I think she gets free dessert, doesn't she?" She pointed at Edna, who just looked at her.

Thinking maybe it was Edna's birthday, I laughed and said, "Oh? Why's that?" 

"Well!" Georgina huffed. "Because you were out of the soup she wanted! And it says it right there on your specials board! It still says it! You should erase it!"

This just irritated me. Had Edna asked, I probably would have gone to Uncle Fester and relayed the request. But Edna was not contributing to this at all, and in fact was looking at Georgina like she was crazy. So I apologized again, gently explained that sometimes we run out of things and we'll have more ready soon so we wouldn't be changing the board. Georgina seemed mollified. Edna still didn't seem interested.

Ed and George both gave me credit cards, which I scanned and returned. At that point, Ed pointed at a little blurb on the table tent and said "we get free dessert, right?"

Ugh. Fucking corporate and their genius ideas. In this case, it was printing "FREE DESSERT! If we don't offer a Sam Adams!" on one of the ubiquitous table decorations. Figuring Ed's eyesight might just be not so good, I said politely, "Oh, that's if I don't offer a Sam Adams like I did when I first came to the table." Ed just said "oh" and thanked me when I handed him his black book.

At that point, these folks were my only table and my bladder was about to revolt. I dashed in to the bathroom and when I came out .... Ed and George were gone, but Edna and Georgina were talking to Uncle Fester, who stomped back in to the kitchen looking pissed and then took them something.

Turns out that the lovely ladies told Uncle Fester that they had a "horrible experience" because I was "incredibly rude" and that I "argued" with them when they said I didn't offer them a Sam Adams. Fester was pretty annoyed at me and told me to never argue with guests, and said he'd given them dessert coupons. I relayed the conversation to him - specifically the complete lack of arguing - and showed him my credit card slips where both Ed and George had tipped me more than 20% and he calmed down.

Sadly, the story doesn't quite end there. To be continued.

This is not an allergy attack.

(Managed to tether Internet through my phone, hooray! Have some negativity! ;) )

Tonight at work I was standing on a bench, wrestling with the retarded fucking excuse for blinds that our store has, when Nick interrupted me.

“Do the fajitas have mushrooms in them?”
I looked down and saw him and his table staring expectantly up at me. “Nope, no mushrooms.”
The biker-looking guy at the table promptly snapped, “I just ate two of them!” He then reached across the table and started stabbing at the fajita veggies, searching for mushrooms. His wife just sat there staring at Nick.
“Well, they're not supposed to have mushrooms.” I said pleasantly.
“Should I get HotPants?” Nick asked. I looked at him quizzically. “They said she's allergic.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Yeah, get HotPants.”

From then on, it was just a fucking circus. The couple insisted that there had been mushrooms in the fajitas – yet conveniently, they had already eaten all of them. The woman made a big show of holding her head in her hands as if upset, running to the bathroom with her hand clapped over her mouth, pacing up and down the aisle nervously, and even retching in the bathroom – with the stall door open – a few times. Meanwhile Nick is worried, HotPants is digging out the customer injury forms, and I'm laughing my ass off at the woman's over-acting.

It was just stupid on so many levels. First of all, if you're “deathly allergic” to something, you don't just forget that. Anybody who actually has a severe, life-threatening allergy to a common ingredient fucking asks if it's in every item. Even if it's stupid. If she were really allergic to mushrooms, she'd be asking if the fucking lemonade came in to contact with mushrooms – let alone sauteéd vegetables! Secondly, when you have an allergy like that, you carry an epipen and you whip it out to be ready for use at a moment's notice. Thirdly, severe allergies manifest as swelling, hives, closing air ways, etc. This chick had no visible symptoms and could obviously breathe just fine.

But of course, the real clincher came when I heard her tell HotPants, “I don't think we should have to pay. It's not fair to us.”

Allergy my ass.

Don't get my hopes up.

Tonight was super fun. And by that I mean ridiculously fucking slow. I think I had five tables, one of which was my mother and some other family members. One of the four other tables was seemed okay. They looked vaguely familiar, but then again so do 90% of our customers after three years.

It was a table of four: a twentyish girl with a very little baby, her friend, and a couple around the same age. I wasn't really expecting much from them; they had a slight white-trash vibe going for them. But you never know, so I was polite as always. But, sure enough, when I went to clean their table a few minutes after the left, I'd gotten screwed. One cash payer left his coins, the other left nothing, and the one credit card slip had a big angry zero slashed across it, and said “should read -->” on the front. Oh, the bitchy customer note. Fucking fabulous. In loopy, high-schooler looking script, it read:

“WE COME HERE ALL THE TIME AND NEVER HAD THIS MANY PROBLEMS. OUR FOOD DIDN'T COME OUT AS APPETIZERS AND MEALS. $MESSED UP OUR TABS LEFT WATER GLASSES EMPTY WE WILL NOT COME BACK IF THIS IS OUR SERVICE”

Oh, fuck you, fucking bitches. I assume the second sentence means they didn't think there was enough of a gap between their appetizers and dinners arriving. It was only a five minute gap, but with four people sharing, it didn't seem at all hurried. Silly me.

One water glass was empty for a few minutes while I was taking an order at another table; nevermind the fact that two of them were sucking down a soda each every five minutes and they never ran dry.

As far as the tabs being “$messed up”? Here's what happened. I printed out their three separate tickets and delivered them. When I came back they had two credit cards, and the only guy had set five dollars on top of his tab. I did a double-take on that, and saw that our computer had quite strangely rung in his food, and sent it to the kitchen … but then didn't charge him for it! It was a freaking $12 meal! Now I admit, if it had been a friend of mine, or even somebody who wasn't sneering at me, I might have let it slide. Then again, with Lapdog and HotPants working and having their respective panties in a twist over shit, maybe I wouldn't have.

Anyway, I made a big show of looking at his ticket and laughing and saying how weird, I'd never seen that before. He gave me that “shit, you caught me” look, and I said I'd be right back with the right copy. So I rang the item in again – and this time it did show up with the correct charge, took him his change, and then took care of the other two tickets. When I came back I realized I'd brought back the zero slip and the original slip for one cash payment, rather than the two separate slips. I said, “Oops, grabbed the wrong one, be right back!” and scooped the appropriate slip up off the counter and was back in literally five seconds. So to sum up: almost, but didn't, give them the wrong receipt for one payment, and fixed a computer error. That's “$MESSED UP OUR TABS”. So basically they're pissed off that I made their buddy actually pay for his food!

The last part about not coming back? Please, don't get my hopes up by making promises you won't keep. You're exactly the kind of bitches who do come back and bitch every time about stupid shit that didn't actually cause any problems.

That was subtle.

I waited on a woman by herself today, who immediately rubbed me the wrong way. And I don't mean in the way that every customer rubs me the wrong way, either. I dislike dealing with the general public, but I really dislike being talked to like I'm a piece of dirt by some snotty woman with a Delta Burke hairdo and extra-thick eyeliner.

But I was polite, and got her the medium well ribeye she ordered. She wanted extra butter for her potato, she needed more tea every five minutes even though her glass was ¾ full, etc. Every time I passed her table it was some bullshit request, but she at least assured me that her meal was good. So I wasn't expecting a tip, but I wasn't expecting any drama either.

When she had finished every last bite except for a stem of broccoli, she pushed her plate to the side. I approached and opened my mouth to ask her about dessert, but she had other plans.
“How much is that ribeye?” she demanded.
“Uhh.” I blinked, not used to getting that question after the entire thing is gone. “It's $16.99, ma'am.”
“HUH!” She snorted. “Well! I'm not paying for it! That wasn't even a ribeye!”
Oh, Jesus H. Christ on a goddamn pineapple, I thought. “We only have ribeyes and sirloins here, ma'am, and I can assure you that was in fact a ribeye.” I thought I was quite polite.
“No, it wasn't! It didn't have a bone in it, ribeyes have bones in them!”
“Some do,” I agreed, “but some don't.” I didn't bother explaining the difference between a ribeye and a Delmonico to this particular steak expert.
“Whatever! That was the worst steak I've ever had, and I'm not paying for it! I don't expect to have a bill!” She glared at me through her smudged eyeliner and mascara.
“Why don't I get the manager for you,” I suggested through clenched teeth, not waiting for her response before I turned on my heel and left.

Lapdog went to deal with the charming witch, and while he did comp her steak (I assume just to shut her the fuck up), he did not comp her drink, salad, or the extra toppings she put on her steak, potato, and vegetables. So the bitch did get a bill. I just hope I don't get her the next time she comes back – because the whiners who get something free always come back – and claims her chicken breast was actually a wing.

This is why I get managers involved.

I think Lapdog is faster.

A lot of my fellow servers are very hesitant to tell a manager when there's a problem with a table, whatever the problem may be. Almost everyone is afraid to tell Lapdog when something is wrong, because the man is ridiculously volatile. He can go from zero to bitch faster than any PMS-ing broad I know. A lot of people are scared to go to CL with problems because she'll sometimes be fine and other times, well, there's a reason I call her Chicken Little. HotPants is just plain annoying to take a problem to, because he hates talking to customers so he'll stall and stall, hoping they'll leave or someone else will fix it or something. And some of my coworkers even are scared to go to Pot Smoking Manager, which I don't understand. Even people he doesn't like, he never says a cross word to when they make a mistake.

I'm the other way around, if there's any hint of a problem, I go right to whichever manager I can find. I've gotten screwed enough to know to cover my ass with managerial notification.

So tonight, I didn't hesitate to get Lapdog when I had a problem with a table. To begin with, they'd sat themselves. And not even in the bar area, in a corner booth. So I rushed up with usual “I'm so sorry you didn't get menus, I don't know why the host sat you without them.”

I knew they were going to be trouble as soon as they started talking. They proceeded to tell me that they sat themselves, because everyone was “engaged in conversation” and they waited for a second and nobody paid attention to them so they just walked by and sat down. I just said okay, because we had two hostesses on duty and even if they were both away from the door, they weren't “engaged in conversation.” So clearly these two jerks had just decided to plop their asses down wherever they wanted.

But my “okay” wasn't enough for them; they continued carping on about this supposed mistreatment. I just gave them a vague smile and said I'd be back with menus and silverware. When I came back, I asked what they'd like to drink. They said they weren't ready yet, so I went to the back to look for Lapdog to tell him about these sunshiny folks. One of my friends, Mistress J, said she recognized them and that every time they come in they do nothing but bitch, which is pretty much what I was expecting anyway. I conveyed all that to Lapdog, who said he'd stop by while I was running another table's credit card. He laughed when I told him they'd sat themselves in a big hurry but didn't know what they wanted to drink.

He came back thirty seconds later, smirking, and said they were ready to order. I wasn't surprised. Then he said they'd asked him if he worked there. I just shook my head. I took their drink order (water and a Sprite, tough choices), but of course they didn't know what they wanted for dinner. I absolutely smothered them with attention; I was not going to give them a chance to say I'd neglected them in any way. They finally ordered, mumbling the entire time and then looking at me like I was stupid when I couldn't hear them.

Another server delivered their food while I was taking an order a couple of tables down; I rang that order in and then went back to check on the jerks. She'd chopped up everything on her plate, and his plate seemed like he'd taken a few bites, so I asked how everything was. They stared at me. I smiled.

“We haven't tried it yet,” she finally said, giving me her best glare. Whatever.
The guy stabbed his (extra well done) steak and said, “Don't this come with tortillas or something?”
With a fucking steak? Really? I politely said I could get him something else if he'd like.
“Well! I'm not trying to pay extra.”
I blinked. “Tortillas was 99 cents for four if you'd like some.”
They looked at each other and he said no. Okay. I told Lapdog about this, too, since the guy was still listlessly stabbing his charcoal briquette. Apparently when he asked how things were, the guy was all “do you really want to know?” “Yes.” “*stare* Everything is good.”

They continued to stare at me like I was stupid as I checked on them regularly. They acted like I was insane when I offered them boxes. I gave them their check, picked up a credit card next door, walked to the computer in the back …. and Lapdog told me they were up front looking for me to pay. Seriously? In no hurry, I ran my credit card, took it back to the two very kind ladies next to the jerks, and then went next door.

“Are you ready for me to take this?” I smiled and gestured at the crumpled-up wad of bills. He stared at me and finally nodded. “Okay, I'll be right back with your change.”
“I don't need change. But I'm taking this.” He held up his receipt, folded so the corporate survey was in my face, and stomped off.

I laughed after he got out the door. You do that, jackass. You take that receipt and go the survey and complain to corporate about … who knows what. I'm sure they'll find something. I know they were pissed we didn't give them any actual reason to complain – Lapdog was at the table three times in addition to my frequent stops. But it they write a nasty note to corporate about some imaginary mistreatment, I'll have managerial proof that they're just grasping liars.

Sometimes, managers come in handy.

A tale of two "dogs".

My tables last night were all full of the crazy. Just bad attitudes and weird requests at every table, and topped off, naturally, with bad tips. But one bulldog-faced bitch of a woman stands heads and swinging jowls above the rest.

At first, I thought I was just getting another table of cranky old people (who had apparently sprung a mass break-out from the home). He was a scrawny quiet old man who I think was blind in one eye, and she looked like the lovechild of Jabba the Hut and a bulldog. In glasses and a flowery shirt. This mental image wasn't helped by her barking voice and general rudeness, either.

They ordered two glasses of wine; someone else delivered them while I was taking an order. As I turned around with a stack of menus in my hand, Bulldog snarled at me, "I need another wine! This glass is dirty!" I picked up the offending glass, not seeing where it was dirty, and assured her I'd get her a new glass right away. "It's dirty!" she repeated, and again I said I'd get her another glass.

When I came back, she didn't even give me a chance to ask if they were ready to order before beginning to do so. She ordered for her husband (riblets) and acted offended when I asked him directly which type of sauce he wanted. Then she jabbed a square, garishly painted nail at a picture in the menu and grunted "I'll have that."

My server intuition niggled at me; I just had a feeling she was going to send it back. So I repeated her order very carefully to check that she wanted the steak and garlic shrimp, which she confirmed. She then said she wanted her steak cooked medium, and asked if she could get onion rings. When I said it was a dollar to substitute onion rings, she got all huffy and sourly informed me she'd choke down the vegetables. I was already ready to tell her to choke on her vegetables at that point.

Five minutes later, I'm again just barely leaving another table when she hollers at me, "can we get another glass of wine!" Her glass was empty; her husband's was half-full; and since she had used singular words, I foolishly assumed she actually meant another glass. Of course, when I took it to them the husband asked, quite bitchily, "what happened to mine?" I apologized and said I misunderstood, and would be right back. "Well! I said can we get another glass!" was Bulldog's huffed response. Whatever.

Well, we were absolutely slammed, and the bartenders were buried, so it took a couple of minutes for said wine to be poured. Not more than five -- and remember, he still had wine left! -- but that wasn't acceptable. As I watched one bartender pour the wine, I saw another contending with a familiar bulldog-faced bitch who had wandered to bar to personally bitch at the bartenders! You'd think the fact that she had to shove her way through a full lobby, and then through a layer of people all the way around the bar, might have clued her in as to the fact they hey, cuntbag, we're busy! But noooo. I don't know exactly what she said to the Lawyer and Chrissy, but they were both really offended.

Two minutes later, as I was entering an order for a five top, I saw Pixy standing at my table, being berated by Bulldog. Then she came back -- surprise! -- carrying the beautifully prepared steak and shrimp.

"Alright, what's the bitch's problem?"
"I didn't even get to set this down or anything before she started yelling! 'What's that, I didn't order that, I don't want that!'"
"Oh for Christ's sake. What did she say she ordered?"
"Plain grilled shrimp, an appetizer of onion rings, and a salad with Italian."
I literally stood there and stared for five seconds before I started laughing. Then I took the plate back to the kitchen. "Rehab, we're up a steak because this crazy bitch said she didn't order it." I ordered the new, completely different order and then went to tell Lapdog -- making sure to tell him that I repeated her order and she was just crazy. He said he'd take her salad out when it was ready, so I got a refill for another crazy table and then stopped and braved the dog.

"We'll have your dinner ready shortly, ma'am." I said with my best smile, but absolutely without apologizing. "How are your riblets, sir?"
He just nodded at me with his mouth full, then spit out a little square bone. Classy. Bulldog, however, naturally had something to say. "Tell your chef that those aren't riblets!"
Oh jesus, here we go. I smiled the best I could. "They aren't?"
"We're from Nebraska and we know meat! Those are featherbones!"
"Oh. Would you like something else?"
"We know meat! We're from Nebraska! Those aren't riblets!"
"Well, they're what we call riblets." I said as cheerfully as I could. "Would you like something else?"
"He wanted something he didn't have to chew around! He has false teeth!" She continued. Lapdog walked up with the salad, so she re-directed her energy to him. "We're from Nebraska! Those aren't riblets!"
I walked away at that point, but heard him say "well, we've called them riblets for 15 years."

Next time I saw Lapdog in the kitchen, I grinned at him and he laughed and said "she's a real ray of sunshine, isn't she!" Then he said he'd deliver her food himself, which I was very grateful for. I was also not entirely surprised when a few minutes later he came stomped back to the kitchen, carrying the grilled shrimp and looking pissed.

"She decide she wants chicken now?" I joked.
"Apparently I need to re-train my staff," he snapped, "because she wanted cold shrimp and sauce."
"What?"
"Yeah, that's what she said, that I need to retrain my staff." He was really irritated, but I knew it was at Bulldog -- he doesn't like it when people say things like that. All I could do at that point was laugh. Lapdog took her a plate of shrimp on ice, like shrimp cocktail, and a side of cocktail sauce, and apparently Bulldog deemed that acceptable -- although I later overheard her bitching more, saying, "who serves shrimp on ice!"

When I offered them dessert, she snapped that they'd "had enough here." She looked over the ticket carefully, grumbling to her husband the whole time and looking even more sour. I'm sure she thought her food would be on the house because of all her griping, but for once Lapdog didn't buy everything just to shut the customer up!

I wasn't surprised to get no tip off the bitch. Actually, they left five cents less than the total bill, and if they hadn't already been out the door when I got to the table I would have stopped them and demanded they pay their five cents, the bitches.

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?

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 .....

Lying liars who yell across the restaurant.

About a week ago, I had a verrrry pleasant customer.

Actually, they started out fine. A husband and wife, they seemed pleasant enough, even though they had insisted on taking up a five-person round table for themselves. The guy was thrilled to find out that we had a really cheap, white trashy beer on tap.

And then I forgot to ring their food in for about five minutes. But they had an appetizer coming, and fly onion rings only take three minutes, so I wasn't worried. It still wasn't an extraordinary wait, considering the place was full and we had a wait at the door.

But right before their rings came up, I stopped at their table for drink refills and was asked by the wife "what happened to our appetizer!" Which just pisses me off -- "can you please check on our appetizer?" is the correct way to ask that question.

I just smiled and said the kitchen was running a little slow, but I'd go check right away. Thirty seconds later I was back with said onion rings, and things seemed fine. Then I realized I'd ordered the wrong chicken on one of their salads -- but again, I caught it soon, it wasn't going to be a delay. So I was surprised a few minutes later when CL came up to me with her face all red and practically shaking.

Apparently this jackass saw her walking by tables on the other side of the bar from him and screaming "HEY! Are you the manager? WHERE'S MY DINNER?"

Keep in mind they'd been waiting maybe fifteen minutes on a busy night! And CL was embarrassed and shaky and upset. I don't know why, if anyone should've been embarrassed it was the douchebag yelling across the restaurant! He said they'd been waiting half an hour (wrong, but people always exaggerate that) and that they'd asked me where their food was and I'd "shown no concern" and not answered them!

That right there pisses me off -- when people fucking lie about me it makes me furious. They had ignored my drive-bys and smiles, and definitely not spoken to me. Is it possible they talked to somebody else who didn't bother to check? Maybe -- but I was the only short fat blonde chick there that night, nobody else was even close to looking like me.

So at this point I'm pissed, CL is pissed and not really believing me that I only forgot to ring things in for five minutes and that I had not actually spoken to them. She bought the fuckers' entire meals, including their drinks, and totally had a spaz attack in the kitchen.

When the assholes got their food, they'd been waiting a total of 25 minutes.

As helmet-y as ever.

One of our late night things now is bingo. Yes, bingo. I guess we're just beginning for Helmet Hair-types in come in with this kind of stuff.

She and her husband came in for bingo this week; I'm the bingo bitch, so I had the misfortune of having to even acknowledge her existence. A few minutes after she came in, I saw her flagging down CL. For a good five minutes CL was trapped there, listening to Helmet's bitching. I knew right away it was about me--I could just tell from the look on her face. When I heard her shriek something about "sat there for twenty minutes!" I considered it verified.

Once CL finally got away, I asked her. I figured it I approached her about it, she'd be less likely to go off on me later, after all. She didn't even seem irritated, kept telling me it was fine, so I guess Helmet caught her on a good day.

Basically, the woman told her I was short with her and that as soon as they said they weren't ordering food my entire demeanor changed. Well, yeah! It changed from ready to take order to gathering menus and moving along to the next table! But I made very sure to smile as I took their wasted menus, and I made sure their drinks were filled most of the time. I had other tables to take care of, after all, all of whom were being demanding.

But apparently, I was rude and inattentive and sarcasm and basically the sheer incarnation of evil. Helmet also said that her son-in-law sat down and waited for twenty minutes before he finally got up and asked the bartender for a beer. Because, you know, all servers just vanish for long stretches of time when they have four or five tables to take care of! I made constant laps around the damn bar area that night--the first time I saw him I approached the table and saw he had a beer in his hand already. So most likely I was talking an order within sight of the bitch and he just decided to go see the bartender himself--probably in the hopes I wouldn't charge him for that beer!

So yeah, five minutes of bitching because she didn't think they got adequate service on their $8 tab. Helmet Hair and her husband went out for a cigarette between bingo rounds, and because I'm a considerate person I stopped her before she tripped over something that fell in her way. She completely ignored me, stepped over it, and went outside.

After that, I wanted to surreptitiously look at their cards to see if there was a number they had in common--so I could remove that number from the final prize round (worth a lot of cash, actually). But I didn't. Instead, I took great, if petty, satisfaction from the fact that she and her husband didn't win a single round of bingo that night. I like to think it's because the universe realizes that they suck.

Of all the people to lie to, and disproportionate responses.

I'll never understand people who think that lying to try to cover their ass is a good strategy. Isn't it better to just say, "Yeah, I fucked up" and then deal with it? We weren't even terribly busy the night this happened. Wide-eyes, who I apparently went to high school with but don't remember, has worked there for going on a month. She supposedly has served before, but you couldn't tell it by how often she screws up. This particular screw-up was on a table of six. She forgot to ring their food in for ten or fifteen minutes, including their app. Hey, it happens sometimes, I certainly can't criticize based just on that. Oh wait, except she's done it every shift I've worked with her for the past two weeks.

Anyway, she finally rang it in, but ordered their appetizer at the same time and didn't hit the handy little "first out" button so they'd at least get something to eat. Then she didn't tell Lapdog about it at all. So when he was making rounds talking to tables, he got totally blindsided. That always pisses him off, but worse was when she first tried to say it hadn't been that long, then said she'd ordered their appetizer at the same time as their drinks and she didn't know why the kitchen didn't have it done yet.

Of course, Lapdog went right to the computer to pull up the ticket and look at the times. Then he motioned her over and held the print-out out to her. "You know I can check that, right?" Wide-eyes immediately tried to sink through the floor, then started stammering about she thought she had, she didn't mean, she didn't say ..... oh. I'm sure you all have read enough about Lapdog to imagine how he took that. For the rest of the night he ignored her unless directly spoke to, and then nit-picked every last little thing she did when it came time for her to check out. The rest of us thought that was pretty amusing, honestly, considering she acts like she's incredibly special.

It was just my bad luck that I had a table of complainers while Lapdog was still fuming over Wide-eyes' bullshit. I wasn't completely blameless on this one. I had only one table, and while the wife seemed a little uptight I didn't anticipate any problems. When I delivered their food they asked for ranch. I was on my way back to the kitchen when another coworker asked me something about the trivia we were doing that night, and I talked to her for a minute. Then she asked if I'd make an announcement about it, but when I got to the little microphone set-up I discovered it wasn't hooked up. So I plugged it in and fiddled with the dials got about two minutes before realizing .... shit, I forgot their ranch!

I dropped what I was doing and scurried to the kitchen, knowing I'd been in full view of them the last 3-4 minutes they were waiting. As I was pouring their ranch, Pennsyltucky came to the kitchen, talking on his headset to tell Lapdog my table wanted to talk to him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I thought I could get the ranch to them and get back before Lapdog came out, so I could give him a run-down; so I scurried to the table. "I'm sorry I forgot that for a few minutes! How is your dinner?"

The wife stabbed her steak and shrugged, so I asked if it was cooked properly. Yes. I asked if they wanted anything else. They said no, and I turned to go find Lapdog--only to see him three steps away. There was nothing I could do except leave the table and let them talk. I waited in the kitchen; he came back and, without explaining what they'd said, told me to take them to-go boxes, then turned around and went back out. He was still licking their boots, practically begging them to come back another time, when I dropped off the boxes and walked away to wait for my lecture.

The woman told him that I "didn't seem happy" to be waiting on them, that they felt like they were an "inconvenience", that my focus was "everywhere else" but on them. For about five minutes they told him how much I sucked, and so he bought all their food. Never mind that I was cheerful and happy and friendly--I was in a great mood! I was glad to have someone to wait on. Obviously I shouldn't have gotten side-tracked on the way to get the ranch, but how does that translate in to the rest of it?

Since he hadn't gone off on Wide-eyes, because he thinks she's useless, I got the brunt of it for my screw-up. Of course, I didn't think it through that clearly at the time, and I got a little aggravated. After hearing about how we have to be better than everyone else to keep people coming in, he doesn't like being the bad guy but he'll have to write me up, and I forget what else, I got aggravated. I told him, "If you want to write me up because that woman's a bitch, then whatever."

Maybe not the best thing to say. "I don't care what she is, she's not happy!" More lecture. Then he said he didn't want to write me up, but if he didn't it wouldn't be fair to other servers when he had to write them up. Following what I said at the beginning of this post about owning up, I looked him right in the face and said, "You know me well enough to know I admit when I screw up. I forgot their ranch for about four minutes, but that's it, everything else was fine. Her reaction is totally out of proportion to what happened."

By the end of the night he'd calmed down and he agreed with me. It still took the shine off my night though--people exaggerating to get things at my expense has that effect on me. Call me crazy, I just don't think a delay on a side of ranch should equate to $30 of food!

Goddamn liars.

A couple of minutes after I got to work, another server came rushing up to me. She said she'd greeted "my" tables and gotten their order and was transferring them to me. Turns out the hosts had sat my section about fifteen minutes before I got there, and nobody noticed. Splendid.

Still, those two tables ended up being just peachy keen and nice as can be. It was a third table, who'd been sat while my coworker was filling me in, who was the problem. They had an attitude from the beginning; they kept giving me "what, are you stupid?" looks every time I asked them a question. They were total white trash--a couple of about twenty or so, in huge baggy jeans and huge baggy shirts with super classy logos on them. And they had a kid of about two.

They didn't finish their first sodas before they got their food; they hadn't finished them when I checked back, or when I got her more salad dressing. I then got a little distracted dealing with Idiot Expo and the steak re-cook (see previous post, which I wrote on my phone while waiting for my dinner later on). When I'd returned the steak to the kitchen, I did a lap; Trashy and Trashy's Bitch and Trashies' Crotch Spawn all had half-full drinks and were still eating. I greeted another table, went to the kitchen, retrieved said steak, retrieved a box for another table, retrieved drinks for the new one.

Then I delivered all those things, and that's when I saw The Trash glaring at me. They were doing that peculiar sort of chin-in-hand, eye-rolling, contemptuous glare that always makes me want to remove somebody's septum with a fork. I ignored it and asked about dessert. They declined; I asked if they wanted refills, now that their drinks were empty, and they said yes. So I left their bill and went to fetch them a box and drinks. My new table still wasn't ready to order. I came back with the box, and Trashy's Bitch and her Spawn weren't at the table. Trashy was sitting there, staring at the spread of shredded napkins and macaroni on the table, probably contemplating how much happier his life would be if he'd used a condom.

My new table still wasn't ready to order; my two others were ready to cash out. Well, one was; the other was insisting on getting a senior discount on top of the 25% they got for their wait. So I had to go get Pot Smoking Manager, get him to discount it, take another copy to them, go cash out the other table, come back, pick up their check, run it, and return it. Somewhere in there Trashy's Bitch and Spawn came back, and they all sat there looking unhappy, the check sitting on the table untouched.

As I'm closing out Discount People's ticket, I see The Trash stop Bitter Divorced Man. He was still talking to them as I approached with Discount People's credit slips; I greeted my new table, then went to get the order from my other new table, who had finally made up their minds. Then I turned around, and saw that The Trash didn't have a bill. I thought I'd had a blonde moment, so I double-checked that I'd dropped it off. They just said "YEAH" with no explanation. Alright then.

I went to the kitchen to ring in food and my new table's bar drinks; BDM pulled me aside and that point and told me how The Trash had complained. They told him they waited forever and people ignored them, that I was "inattentive" and didn't look at them when I walked by, that they didn't get their refills until after they were done eating (well, yeah, you dumb fucking hillbillies, you don't generally get refills until you finish the first fill!), blah blah blah. I told BDM that wasn't accurate; he said "I'm just giving you their perspective." I countered with, "Well, their perspective is full of crap." He didn't like that.

That's all he told me. He didn't mention giving them a discount; he didn't mention taking them a new ticket. I discovered they'd gotten a discount by accident, when I was trying to select the table next to them. I was slightly weeded by this point, due to being taken aside and lectured after getting sat again; but I checked if they had a card or cash out as I was going by, and then didn't. I got more drinks, more ranch, etc., for my other tables, and as I was headed to my section I saw that The Trash were gone. Of course, there was no money on the table, and I almost hoped they'd done a dine-and-dash so BDM would see they were trash.

Then I saw Trashy's Bitch slumped against the front door, blocking anyone else from getting in and out, with a grip around her Spawn's forearm to try to control the shrieking thing. She was grinding her teeth and rolling her eyes and generally looked like somebody had tried to steal her child or something--wait, she'd probably be less upset by that.

"Did he take your bill somewhere?" I asked politely.
"Yeah," she snapped, with another death glare/eye roll. "To the bar."
So I scuttled down there, but the bartender had already given him change. "Thanks, Laura." I smiled at her, and completely ignored Trashy. I'd decided he could go fuck himself even before I knew for certain that they'd left exactly $9.12--their bill after getting $25 taken off.

It threw me off for a good hour or so, because I kept going over it in my mind, trying to figure out if I'd actually messed up. Maybe I could've gotten them refills even though they had soda left, but that's the only thing--it's not like they'd sucked them down right away and been waiting. They were just white trash ignoramus discount-seeking asshat high school dropout doucehounds.

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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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For the fourth shift in a row ...

the universe kicked my ass and took my name. $15 tonight. Blood fucking ridiculous. I was scheduled at 5:30, so I figured my section would be totally full. It wasn't; only one table was occupied, by two old people who sat there watching the goddamn baseball game until about 7:30.

After 45 goddamn minutes, I finally got a table ... who had an iced tea, a soda, and chips. And sat for an hour or more. Then I had a table of two old people who apparently didn't think my undivided attention was worth more than 12%. Then I had two tables of one elderly person each. After eight o'clock we finally had a first cut, and I got three tables after that. One was a young family that had desserts; one was a middle aged couple who seemed stoned; the other was two twenty-ish girls, one of whom had a kid. They were tables 1, 5, and 6, respectively.

A couple of minutes after table 1 ordered their desserts, 5 was ready to pay. I took their card back to the kitchen to run it, and saw Perpetua assembling my desserts. At first I just said thanks, but then someone else started by me carrying one dessert too many. I told him to stop, it only got one chocolate sundae, and Perpetua snips back "Well it said two!"

I knew it didn't, and as I was directing what the correct desserts were, I was running this credit card. One damn second too late, I realized I'd run 5's credit card for 6's total. Fuck me. There's no way to cancel it at that point, so I let it go, then I ran it for the correct total. I took it out to the table and explained it to the table. I told them one charge would drop off, because it was voided, but if they were to go home and look at it right away, their statement would show two charges.

When I'd finished, they looked at me. And looked at me. There was absolutely no flicker of comprehension on either of their faces. I tried again; they asked me a couple of out-of-left-field questions that didn't match what I'd said at all, and I explained it again. I asked if it made sense; they looked at each other and didn't answer, or ask anything else. I apologized for it, told them one more time that they would only be charged once, and when they still didn't respond, I told them to have a good night and left the table.

Then I went to get the manager to pull back and void the first transaction. I didn't do it before because I didn't want the customers to wait while Lapdog lectured me about it--because I knew he would. He voided it after sighing as if it were the worst thing ever, and being bitchy, and I went about my business.

Ten minutes later, I realized I'm a goddamn moron. I was so flustered about the situation I'd screwed up again, and had voided the correct charge instead of the incorrect one! Fuck me, again. Sonofabitch. This is what happens when anyone messes up while working with Lapdog: we all get so fucking rattled we screw up even more.

Table 6 wanted dessert, and their ticket was still closed. In the past, the managers have said that in these situations there's nothing they can do. So I rang in table 6's food again, nomake, and then added the dessert. Once they had their dessert, and their ticket, I went in search of Lapdog.

I started by apologizing; I told him I knew it was a big pain in the ass, but I thought I knew how to fix it. I figured if I put in the excess difference as a "tip", and then gave him the cash difference, then the restaurant would be square. I knew it would be a paperwork mess.

He said no, he'd go in the back and get the credit card number off the computer and fix it! You know, like they always say they can't do! So he goes in the back, and I just lost it and started crying. Not because of him, but because all sorts of stress just seemed to come crashing in on me--and as I've mentioned before, I cry when I'm angry. I vented to my coworkers for a few minutes, and was okay.

So Lapdog comes out a few minutes later, and we get it all fixed. He voided the payment on table 6, so their check was there. Then he voided the items I'd re-rung. Then we closed the correct table number with the number he'd procured. He started lecturing me some more; and as soon as he paused to take a breath I jumped in. "I know. I used to have to deal with it all the time at (place I was a manager), I'm sorry. I know it's a giant pain in the ass."

He shut up then, and I figured that was the end of it. He tends to back off if you stand up to him.

A few minutes later, the snotty little girls at table six flagged me over to say I'd charged them the wrong amount for the damn nachos. Which I had--we had a special going on where people get happy hour prices, but the happy hour button doesn't work, and I forgot. I did not want to go find Lapdog and tell him I needed yet another thing. So I rang it in with the right button, and asked the cooks not to make it yet; then I transferred the old item to a separate table number so I could have it half discounted for my dinner later. I didn't want nachos for dinner, but it was better than another lecture from him.

Unfortunately, I did have to ask him for something later, because I needed manager approval for a second checkout. When I first got there, I accidentally hit "checkout" instead of "change section". I told him that, and he said something like, "Wow, you're really on top of things tonight."

Then he proceeded to tell me that the people with the credit card had called and complained that I was rude! I was so freaking pissed that I just very flatly told him I was not. He said they claimed I was rude and seemed annoyed I had to explain that I'd screwed up.

"No, I was not rude. I was frustrated because I'd explained it three times because they didn't understand and wouldn't answer me."

"Well, they said you were rude."

"I wasn't," I repeated, "and I'm done now except for waiting for silverware." When he didn't answer, I left the kitchen. I was so goddamn angry. If they wanted to bitch about me messing up with the credit card, that's fine. But to claim I was rude? Fuck them! And if I was so rude, why'd they leave me a 20% tip?

The weird thing is this ... I don't recall hearing the phone ring. It hadn't been that long since they left, and I hadn't been outside or anything. Suspicious.

I know I screwed up, really. I do. I was pissed at myself. But what pisses me off more is this: I should not have been afraid to go to the manager was this. That's what they're fucking there for! And if he hadn't been glowering at me, maybe I wouldn't have screwed up on which ticket was being voided. It's just ridiculous that every employees there is afraid to go to this guy with any issues. I've been a manager, in food service and in retail, and being a whiny bitch about things is no way to run the show.

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You're allergic to butter?

(I've been getting a lot of search engine hits from this, and I'd just like to point out that I am not cranky at people who actually have health conditions or allergies! In case it's not clear, I'm cranky at people who lie about it because they think I'll fuck up their diets or something otherwise.)

A customer told me the other day that she was allergic to butter. I wasn't sure how to respond, but I was thinking "you're allergic to saturated fat?" I kept trying to think of how someone could be allergic to butter. So I did a web search. A couple of recipe sites came up with people wanting substitutions because they're "allergic", but most of the sites came up with exactly what I was expecting ....

"Lie and tell the waiter that you're deathly allergic to butter" because you're on a diet or don't like it.

*headdesk* C'mon, people. Just 'fess up and tell us you don't want it! I get more pissed with people tell me they're "allergic" to something ridiculously common than I do when they nicely ask for it be left off. Crying "allergy!!!!!11!" just makes you look like a drama queen. We can tell when someone is genuinely allergic versus when they're just being twats. No, really.