Thanks for kicking my ass.

This night totally exhausted me. The first two hours dragged like crazy--I had three tables. After first cuts it continued to be less than exciting. When we cut to closers it still would've been fine if it weren't for a number of converging circumstances.

The first is who I was closing with--Perpetua. Despite supposedly being a server most of her life, and despite being a nosy, bossy bitch, she can't really handle more than four tables without panicking. So when she got to five tables, she started freaking and the manager asked me to get the next one even though I already had five as well, including one outside.

By the end of the night, I'd had one table on the south side of the restaurant, three on the patio (west side), four on the north side, and one in the bar. Most of them overlapped at least a little. And that still would've been fine if it weren't for three tables:

The "Oh THERE you are!" bitches: Three people who said something snotty every time I stopped by. "I was just about to give up on you" or "We thought you forgot us" or "We're bitches who think the whole world revolves around us and don't care that we can see you running laps around the entire fucking restaurant or that we just watched the table next door take up five minutes of your time." I had apologized and politely explained to them we were busier than we expected. And in any case, it's not like I was abandoning them. I was literally making circles around the restaurant, picking things up in the kitchen, and then making another lap. They didn't care. They sucked.

(Which is too bad, because we got off a really good start--one of them ordered hot chocolate, and then asked me if I'd ever been to the Alps because I had my hair in two long pigtail Heidi braids. I laughed and said "No, but I can yodel." They didn't believe me, even after I explained about calling our goats in from the back field as kid. So I yodeled for them, sort of (I wasn't going to do it properly and have to explain it to everybody in the restaurant). Of course, I can't really properly yodel, not like this guy. But I can do a decent yo-yo-de-lay-little-lonely-goatherd. Anyway.)

The "we hate half your staff" people: They've been coming in for several years, and have tried to get several waitresses and at least one manager fired. I can't even remember why, it was something really stupid. They're always sorta grumpy, and they always ask stupid questions, and they always take forever to order (while not letting you leave the table) and get irritated about anything they can.

The "we love one person" people: They think one of my coworkers in the greatest thing since sliced bread, but apparently think I'm only too. They insist on sitting on the opposite side of the restaurant from anybody else, which of course means going way out of your way for anything involving them. They ordered soups, and after that it took them another twenty minutes to order (I checked the ticket time). Three different times I went back to get their order, and each time they'd start bickering with each other and playing that "what are you getting/no what are you getting" game. Eventually they'd let me leave, and I'd run laps trying to catch up.

The last time I went to get their order, one mother/daughter set ordered. The other one were a huge pain though.
Mother: "Tell her what we want."
13 year old daughter: "*rude noise*"
"Tell her!"
"Why can't you!"
"Because I don't know what we want."
"*strange whining noise*"
"I don't know what you want, tell her, I don't want to go home with somebody who's unhappy."
"You tell her!"
Me, in my head: "HURRY THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID BITCHES I HAVE SIX OTHER GODDAMN TABLES WAITING ON ME!"
Mother: "Why can't you?"
Daughter: "NO!"
"What do we want?"
"What we just finished talking about!"
"Well have the chips and dip."
"WAIT WAIT NO AND--"
"That will be fine."
At this point the daughter starts screeching for hot wing, and the mother keeps telling me just the dip. I just walked away--I was about to punch somebody.
After they finally finished being a pain in my ass an hour later, the mother who wasn't fighting with her daughter staretd telling me how she waitressed for most of her life, and I needed to wear wrist braces so I don't get nodules on my wrists from the weight of the tray. She left me a dollar.

So basically I had two whining time-wasting tables preventing me from getting to the rest of my tables, who then got pissed. Plus the stress and the running around in laps, from the hot kitchen to the cool dining room to the hot outside patio and back, made me nauseous and started to give me a migraine.

At least we had Pot Smoking Manager, who's laid-back and doesn't flip out.