Helmet-haired bitches and trivia still blows.

Tuesday night, I thought I might stand a chance of making some decent money, because Pot Smoking Manager was kind enough to give me the bar area for my section. I had a total of six tables--which was more than the rest of the people still on--but I still didn't make jack shit. One couple stayed the entire time and left me three bucks on a $43 ticket. Thanks a lot, fuckers. Then a couple of barely-drinking-age guys sat the entire time, they at last gave me five. A couple of teenagers came in and had two drinks and shared a sundae, and I didn't even both to look if they left a tip because I was sure I'd just be pissed off. Another couple of guys came in and stayed until midnight--keeping me there till close even though I was supposed to be off early that night--for three bucks. There was one family who left me $10, so they at least didn't suck.

The biggest offenders of the night, though, were Helmet Hair and her lanky-haired friend. I was in the kitchen when Monty came up and jammed a towel at me, saying, "You're going that way right?"

"What way?"

"Their table is dirty."

"Whose table is dirty?" I was ready to start shaking him at this point. I eventually decoded the message that a couple of bitches had sat themselves at table 12, and were complaining it was dirty. I knew they were going to be trouble immediately, and when I saw Helmet Hair I decided to make them feel like assholes--politely, of course--because I recognized her. At about sixty years old, she has very bleached hair she teases in to a big lacquered dome all the way around her head. She's the kind of woman with grotesquely long fake nails, polished beige a couple of weeks ago, who wears big ugly rings on every finger. I don't even know what color her eyes were because they were so heavily surrounded by black makeup; I vaguely remember her outfit was loud and obnoxious.

With my biggest smile on my face, I approached the table. Helmet Hair pointed without a word at the obvious chunks on the table. "I'm so sorry your table is dirty! I don't know why the hostess would have set you here, we put the salt shaker out so everyone knows it's dirty!"

Helmet Hair admitted they had sat themselves, that they'd told the hostess they were here for trivia and were going to the bar.

"Oh," I said as I wiped crumbs away, "okay. I guess she thought you meant the bar itself! What can I get you to drink? One iced tea with lots of ice, lemon, and a straw? And a diet coke? Okay, I'll be right back with menus." I said all this as sweet as honey, but inside my head I was muttering about what a couple of bitches they were. They confirmed this when I returned with their drinks and Helmet Hair informed me they weren't eating, they were "just" going to take up a six-person booth while they tried to win money. Fuckers.

The lanky-haired one had about eleven diet coke refills (I'm not exaggerating), but other than that she was fairly inoffensive. Her husband showed up at some point and ordered a beer from the bar, telling the bartender he'd add it to the table's tab. Of course, he said nothing to me, so I had to ask Cali Girl if he'd paid her or not. He had another one later; that was the extent of their ticket.

Trivia started, and was slightly less loud and obnoxious than last week--the guy didn't crank the volume up quite so loud this time, which was nice. He still thinks he needs to yell into his microphone, though. We also had a restaurant team, although of course we couldn't win; we totally would have though, we kicked ass.

Slightly after this started, Helmet Head handed me a coupon for a free sundae. Right away, I noticed that the expiration date had been blacked out. Right, because that isn't suspicious. Also, the very first damn thing it says is "valid with purchase of entree". I politely pointed that out. She played the "Oh, really? So I can't use it? I have to buy an entree? I can't just get dessert?" as if staring at me hard enough would make me change my mind.

Now, if they'd been having a couple of bar drinks, or even some damn chips and salsa, or maybe if they hadn't been presumptive hags from the start, I might have let it slide. This is why you should be polite to your server, people. Of course, she later flagged down somebody else, who had no business taking her fucking coupon but did anyway.

The three of them sat for the entire damn length of trivia, almost three hours by the time they left. He had another beer; diet coke women continued to suck those down; Helmet Hair occasionally threw out things like "I'm going to NEED a LOT more ICE." Really, bitch? Are you going to die if you don't get some fucking ice? Is the a need like you need oxygen, or a need like you need three cans of Aquanet to stick your hair in place? Yeah, that's what I thought. I don't think "need" means what you think it means.

Needless to say, I was completely unsurprised when Helmet Hair stiffed me. The other two deigned to leave me a fucking dollar--probably pissed I charged them for both beers!

Although the entire trivia set-up wasn't as loud as last week, it still put me on edge. I felt like I do when my friends convince me to go to crowded bars--a slight flutter of no-reason panic, a tension all over my body, a general nervousness. I don't know why, it's completely stupid. I don't think it's the noise, because I'm fine at concerts. It wasn't crowded. I'm really not sure why, but it made for an uncomfortable night. I'm going to give it a few more weeks, but I don't know if I'm going to be able to hang with this. Especially since its driven away our regular Tuesday night people without really bringing in replacements.

I did get a laugh at one point though, when between trivia questions they played this: