Mozzarella jacking white trash bitches.

My second table last week seemed average enough. The had a little bit of trash vibe coming off them, mostly because the guy's shirt was stained and the women had identical mousy glasses and long, frizzy country hairdos (below the shoulder, clearly badly bleached, split-ended, with the top section pulled back tight with an ugly barrette). Now, we are by no means a fancy establishment, and I try not to judge people based on what they look like. But the fact remains that certain things are tip-offs of the peoples' lifestyles; doesn't mean I treat them any differently until their behavior warrants it, but I do notice.

These three people are sitting at table 63. The two women, who I'll call Bossy and Mousy, both ordered water; the guy ordered a beer. I brought their drinks, and Mousy looks scared and whispers that she didn't want lemon in her water. I scooted back to the kitchen and got her a new one, even though really, what's the big fucking deal, just take it out. Anyway, I get back, and they had a bunch of questions, but weren't ready yet, so I went next door to the family of three at 62 and took their drink order. Came back and they ordered burgers and mozzarella sticks, and I went back to 63.

Finally ready to order! Bossy orders an appetizer trio; the guy orders something I've forgotten now; Mousy orders a sandwich and then hesitantly asks if she can have salad instead of fries.

"It's a dollar more, but we can absolutely do that!" I hate telling people that, because they assume it's a rip-off, even though our salads are huge.
Mousy looks absolutely horrified. "Oh! No! No!"
"It's okay!" the man tells her--he seems like a nice guy. "It's fine."
"Oh no, no, I'll have fries. No." Mousy shrinks into the corner of her booth.

Not a good sign, possibly, depending upon who's paying.

Then Bossy decides to order a salad, so I ask "Would you like a house or a Caesar salad?"
"I don't know what a Caesar salad is. What is that?"
Now, I've gotten that question before. It still never fails to amaze me--where the hell are these people from? Still, I try to explain nicely. "It's romaine lettuce, with parmesan---"
"Is that the one with the croutons?" she interrupts me to ask Mousy, who nods. "I want a house salad."
"Okay, with what dressing?"
"What's a house salad?"
"Mixed greens wi--"
"Caesar."
"Okay, one caesar salad." I close my notebook. "I'll get that started for you." I turned, take a step, and hear ....
"With RANCH."
I turn back around. "Oh, you want ranch instead of the Caesar dressing?"
"I don't know what that is. Ranch." she says without looking at me.

So I get her her un-Caesar Caesar salad, and go about taking care of my other three tables. Then I ran food to another server's table and out of the corner of my eye saw the people at 63 jamming mozzarella sticks into their mouths at amazing speed. They didn't order mozzarella sticks, 62 did. Immediately, I thought I'd screwed up. I mess up my table numbers sometimes, see. So I run to the computer and check it out; nope, I put them on the right table.

Somebody took them to the wrong table, and that wrong table just started shoving them down their gullets right away. So I scoot back to the kitchen, yell for another order, and scoot back out to my table that didn't get their appetizer. With my back sort of to the thieves, I quietly told my family of three that another table had gotten and already eaten their appetizer, but we had another going right now and it would be out in just a moment. They weren't thrilled, but they were okay.

In the middle of this, from behind me I hear a laugh, and the guy says "I guess that was us!" No apology, he just thought it was funny. A few minutes later they've gotten their actual food--you know, the food that they actually ordered--so I go to check on them. Everyone says things are fine--except Bossy, who doesn't acknowledge me. She's eating slumped over her plate, with an elbow planted firmly on the table; she has her fork upside-down, and is using it to stab pieces of food and jam them in her mouth, utensil still upside-down. Then she sits there with her fork dangling from her fingers as she chews with her mouth open.

She continues to be rude and not acknowledge me the rest of the meal, except to bark at me that they need boxes. The entire time they're talking so loudly I can hardly hear my other customers, laughing and jabbering obnoxiously. I bring the boxes and the check, and tell them I'll be their cashier. They sit there for a good twenty minutes, before Bossy brandishes the book at me and yells "Do I pay up front?" I smile and tell her no, I'll take. She emits this hugely loud laugh and says, "OH! I don't know! I'm NEW!" Very strange. But I take her card and run it.

After another half an hour of being annoying, they finally leave. The mozzarella thieves gave me $3 on a $42 ticket. The people who had their appetizer stolen? $6 on $30. At least somebody in this situation wasn't a bitch.