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.