Bitches, bitches everywhere and nobody to punch.

Bitch #1:

An older couple who were short with me the entire time. The wife sent her steak back because there was a piece of connective tissue in it--you know, like meat sometimes has--and it "just turned [her] off it". Of course, she'd told me everything was fine, and didn't complain until Lapdog stopped by the table. Fabulous. I was heading up to my station when he stomped by with her steak, and when I was refilling her coffee she asked if "he" had told me about her steak. When I said no, she sort of harrumphed. $2 tip.

Bitches #2 and #3:

Three old biddies at a table--never a good sign. They waited for ten minutes for a fourth to show up before finally ordering--salads, naturally. Two ordered smaller versions, one didn't. They were about halfway through their dinner when bitch #2 crooks her finger at me and asks "Don't you have some bread sticks or something?" I told her we have focaccia bread sticks, knowing she wasn't going to know what focaccia was. She sort of stared at me and then asked for two of them, one for her and one for the quietest of the three. This was the middle of the rush, people everywhere, full lobby, etc. I spent the next few minutes refilling drinks, etc., and then bitch #2 stares glaring a hole through the back of my head while I'm talking to another table. When I approached her, she sniffed and said something like, "Forgot our breadsticks, huh?"

I smiled politely and explained that they were being toasted--we're not the fucking Olive Garden, we don't keep bread fresh in case some random old hag wants it. Her response? "Well, you can go check on it now, can't you!" -- paired with a dismissive flip of her wrist. So I got her the fucking breadsticks, which weren't toasted on one side, because fuck her. When I came back with them, she demands a box. Bitch #3 stares into my soul and says "I meant to order the small one!" I asked if she'd like a box, and she sighs dramatically and sort of flutters her hands. "Oh, I suppose. I really just meant to order the small one!" (STARE)

I love when people do that: "I'll stare at you until you DO MY BIDDING!" Ha! Yeah, let me just give you half your salad for free because you ordered the wrong thing. While they were putting their stuff in boxes, I asked if they wanted dessert. They all said no, but then Bitch #3 says, "Oh, are you sure you two don't want something? They have those little ones! Why don't you ask us again in about fifteen minutes?"

Because you're taking up a third of my section, the entire lobby is full, and I'm tired of looking at your cheap old asses, that's why.

Bitch #4:

Had a penis, but was still a bitch. "I'll have the steak with seafood topping," he says, followed by something that sounds like "with onions". I quickly repeated that, because it's unusual--"With onions?" Bitch #4 nodded and said "and mashed potatoes". Alrighty then.

So imagine my surprise when Lapdog passes me, carrying this guy's steak which I was about to go check on. Bitch #4 insisted he didn't order onions, and threw a fit and wanted an entire new steak. Lapdog naturally didn't believe me when I told him I repeated the order--making him Bitch #5 for the evening--and made a bunch of passive fucking comments. Another server was having an issue, and he says to her (while looking at me), "Just make sure you get the guest what they ordered." Of course, any time I'd look directly at him, he'd look away. Pansy ass pansy.

Bitch #6:

"These buns on my mini sandwiches are just way too soggy! I just can't eat this!" Okay, fine. I take them back; Lapdog had left by this time, leaving us with Bitter Divorced Man (which was a-okay by me), who said he'd take her sandwiches out personally. Which he did, and took them off the ticket. The woman still acted like a frigid, fake bitch the rest of the time, refusing to make eye contact with me, interrupting me when I spoke, not acknowledging me when I said thank you and wished her and her family a good evening. $2 on a $40 ticket. Thanks, bitch! Why don't you go home and wash the two cans of Aqua Net out of your Dolly Parton hairdo now?

Bitch #7 and #8:

I had a bad feeling as soon as I walked up to this table. I recognized the woman, though not her husband or her son. She's delightfully stuck-up, the kind of person who purses her lips when she speaks to you, weighs every word as if you're too stupid to understand, and ceases to acknowledge your existence the instant she's done talking to you. She also had one of those stereotypical snotty Mexican woman accents--I don't mean that in a racist way, I really just don't know how else to describe it. I wasn't expecting a tip from them, based solely on having waited on the woman before, but they still wanted for nothing.

The husband rates as Bitch #7 because of his beer. The bar was totally full--this was again during the height of the dinner rush--and so I brought him a water and told him I was just waiting for the bartender and it would be just a minute. Then I asked if they were ready to order. "No. I want my beer." I sort of blinked at him. The woman started ordering--the entire time he keeps saying "Beer, where's my beer. Beer." When I asked what he'd like for dinner--"I want my beer." I about lost it. Of course, when I did go snatch up his beer and bring it to him, he didn't even acknowledge me.

The wife is Bitch #8 because of her general attitude, and also because when I asked her what she wanted on her baked potato she said sour cream. Several minutes after she gets her dinner, and after they all they me everything is fine, Bitch #7 waves me over and his wife says, "Yeah, can't I get some BUTTER?"

What really put me over the top, though, was when after they'd eaten, when I was clearing the plates, he informs me his potato was "kind of hard". I don't think I even responded--I just sent Lapdog to talk to him, after saying "Yeah, this guy says his potato he ate every last bite of was hard, can you go talk to him? They're grumpy." So Lapdog pads up there--and hey! it's his buddy from the grocery store! he's so helpful! he sees him all the time when he goes to the store after work! what a nice guy! here, let's give him a 10% discount for being so cool!

My tip was $2 on $55--less than the discount Lapdog gave them.

There were others--I don't think I had a single non-bitchy table all night, honestly. I had eight comp tickets to turn in at the end of the night--none of them because I screwed up. But I just can't even remember the rest. Bastard coated bastards with bastard filling.