If You Are a Latecomer, I Hate You

I encountered a man last night who clearly had a knack for getting on my nerves. I find it incredibly annoying when a customer gets to the club after the show has started and then gets irritated with me because they missed the first portion of the show. Not my fault, sir, that we started the show on time. It's called being professional. He told the hostess that he wanted a pinot grigio and she took him to his seat at table 11, which is right by the entrance to the room. We save that section for latecomers so we don't have to drag their tardy-to-the-party asses all through the room disturbing the performer and the rest of the audience who know how to tell time. When I went to take his wine to him, there was no one seated at table 11. I scanned the room and saw the man wandering around looking for a better seat. Keep in mind, he is about fifteen feet away from the performer and he is walking around like he's looking for a seat before the Saturday matinee of Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked. I went up to him and whispered, "Can I help you with something, sir? I just set your wine down at table 11." He kept looking around the room as the performer on the stage sang a beautiful ballad with very intense lyrics but half the audience didn't know that because this man was distracting them.

"I'm trying to find my friend, Michael Scott Davis."

"Alright, well your wine is at table 11."

"Where is Michael Scott Davis?"

"I don't know the name of everyone here in the room, sir." I looked around the audience of 35 people to prove my point. I gently took his elbow and guided him back to his seat. "I'll find out out where he is, sir."

He finally sat his ass down and I went to the host stand to see where his friend had been seated. I went back to the man and explained to him that his friend was indeed in the audience but there were no empty seats around him so he would have to remain where he is. This was my sub-text: If you would have gotten here on time, you asshole, you would not be having this issue. Drink your fucking wine and watch the show. He had his second glass of wine and gave me no more trouble for most of the night. Until it was the last song of the show.

I suppose he wanted to remember this evening for eternity so he pulled his camera out of his bag and made his way to the very center of the room. Standing in front of several people who were being good audience members by simply sitting and listening, he snapped a few pictures. With the flash. Again, had he been there on time, he would have heard the announcement that said something to the effect of "Please turn off your cell phones and refrain from the use of any goddamn fucking flash photography." But he got there late, so whatever. He shuffled back to his seat and then two minutes later he decided he needed more Kodak moments and went to the center of the room to take more photos. With the flash. This time when he got back to his seat, he was reprimanded by the tech guy in the sound booth.

After the show, I gave the man his check. "Here you are, sir. I will take that whenever you're ready."

He called me back over. "Hey there, buddy? What's your name." I told him. "Well, it's nice to meetcha, but you gotta stop calling me sir. It makes me feel old."

"I'm sorry, sir. I call everyone sir or ma'am because I'm from Texas and that's how I was raised." "Plus you're old," I thought to myself.

"Well, I'm only 66, just call me Donny."

"Yes, sir, I will, sir. Thank you, sir." He's 66. I'm pretty sure that when I'm 66 even I will consider myself old.

The show now over, I began to clean my station as he carried on conversations with anyone who would listen. "Well back then when I was doing a lot of television work, I was much more handsome. Hell, I was hot," I heard him say. He snapped more pictures with anyone who would pose for him. He was the last one in the room, of course, talking to whomever would listen. Every conversation he had was ended by the other person, I noticed, and I never did see him talk to his friend Michael Scott Davis. Poor guy. Probably lonely. He seemed nice enough, just a little too eager to please. You know the type? As he waved good bye, he thanked me by name. I smiled back at him. "Have a good night, Donny," I said. "Come back and see us some time, alright?"

Just get here on time.



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Robot Waiters: The Wave of the Future?

Restaurants are always trying to find new ways to make the dining experience better for their customers. In the future, waiters will probably be replaced by robots and iPads so that restaurant owners won't have to pay a wage to us lowly servers. Well, the future is here. Thank you to reader Adam, who writes the blog Hair-Raising Hell, for alerting me to a new-fangled contraption he encountered while dining at Pizzeria Uno. (I know that it is now called Uno's, but when I worked there it was called Pizzeria Uno and that is what it will always be in my heart.) It's called a kiosk and it basically lets you do away with your waiter for a good portion of your meal. Having never seen one myself, I can only assume that it lets customers order more drinks and dessert and then pay their check. That's just great. We servers are soon to be relegated to food runners and if you think people are going to tip after using a kiosk, you can think again. But what about all the things that servers do that a kiosk can't? Let me count the ways:

1. A kiosk will never be able to give you a warm and thoughtful hello that you in return will ignore completely.
   
2. A kiosk will never be able to compliment your pantsuit in an effort to get a 1% higher tip.
3. A kiosk will not be able to flash its tits to straight guys.
   
4. A kiosk will not be able to give a big fake ass laugh when a customer says, "Why is my burger taking so long? Did you have to go kill the cow?"
5. A kiosk will not be able to turn down the air conditioning because you are sitting directly under a vent and you just got over a cold and it's very important that the temperature of the whole entire restaurant be determined by you and only you, you fucking bitch.
   
6. A kiosk can't give you a coloring book so that your kid will draw on paper instead of the fucking wall.
7. A kiosk will never be able to tell you discreetly that your credit card has been declined. It will just flash DECLINED so that everyone at your table will know that your broke ass can't keep up with your minimum payments. A waiter would be able to hand you your declined card discreetly and save you the embarrassment.
8. A kiosk can't give you more lemon wedges and I bet there is not button on there that says "My coffee isn't hot enough" or "The Coke is flat."
   
9. A kiosk will not be able to accept phone numbers.
10. A kiosk will not rush to your table when your child knocks over the glass of milk that you wanted in a "big girl cup" instead of the one with the lid.
    
11. A kiosk will never be able to feed your ego because a kiosk won't be impressed when you whip out your black American Express card.
12. A kiosk will not respond to finger snapping or whistles and I know a lot of customers really enjoy doing that. Those assholes will miss that.
13. A kiosk will not be able tell you how good the special of the night is. It will only have a written description of it but a server will have tasted it and be able to give you a first hand description of it.
14. A kiosk can't flirt with you.
    
15. A kiosk will never be able to tell you thank you for coming in and really mean it. Every once in a while I truly enjoy the interaction I have between a customer and I actually mean it when I tell them "I am glad you came in tonight. Thank you."

Here is the picture Adam sent in. Beware. If you see it, ask for a real server and let's keep these things out of restaurants.

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And The Winner Is...

"What's brown, bubbly and taps on windows? Baby in the oven!"
and
"It's like the veal of people."

Yes, two winners! Congratulations to Suzanne and Josh who came up with these witty and disgusting comments. I like them because they remind me of those good old-fashioned Dead Baby Jokes. Or a Helen Keller joke. Tasteless and rude just like me. Thank you to everyone who submitted a comment. Suzanne and Josh, you will be contacted via Facebook with details on how to obtain your brand new shoes from Shoes For Crews!

And Now a Word From Mr. Burns

I can't stop writing about the multi-millionaire John Castle who allegedly broke the finger of his waiter, Paul Kucik, when Kucik brought the check to Castle's table. Read about it all here. So far, I have been on the side of the waiter, but in an effort to play fair and in light of new news claiming that Kucik is a convicted fraudster, this post will be from the point of view of John Castle himself. I got a hold of his diary and found the entry for the night that it all went down. His diary has My Little Pony on it and he writes in big flowery cursive.

(Lawyers of John Castle, please note: I am making this shit up so get over yourselves.)



January 7, 2012

Dear Diary,

After an exhausting day on the yacht with all the underprivileged orphans I sponsored for the day, I took the wife to dinner tonight at Club Colette. I picked out all of her clothes for her and she looked positively fabulous. It has been a while since we have eaten there but I was happy to see that the wait staff was the same as it was the last time we had the pleasure of dining at Club Colette. They are so wonderful and attentive, especially our waiter Paul. I sure do like that Paul. His smile is so sweet and sincere and his fingernails are always impeccable. When we got there, they had our regular table ready and I gave the host a $100 tip for his trouble. Golly, I'm generous! The host is named Albert and he looks like a mature Zac Efron. Really very friendly. I love his dimples, hee hee! I ordered a Fruity Patootey Cosmo (pomegranate vodka with lime juice, pineapple and a pink paper umbrella!) and my wife had a beer. (Gross. Gag me with a spoon, ha ha ha!)

Throughout the night, people kept coming up to me and thanking me for various reasons. One lady was thanking me for the monetary donation I made to her school for the blind and another woman thanked me for the hours I volunteered at the food pantry and then a man I HAVE NEVER MET came up and thanked me for something that he said occurred in the rest stop on Highway 95 at the North Congress Avenue exit. I have no idea what he was talking about. I repeat: I DO NOT KNOW WHAT HE WAS TALKING ABOUT! I AM MARRIED! Anyways, back to my dinner at the club. Everything was just okey dokey until the very end when Paul brought me the check. Usually, I just have it added to my account and pay it at the end of the month, but I think my beautiful and gorgeous wife who I love to have sexy time with asked Paul to bring it to the table. I was a teeny tiny bit surprised to see it there, but you know me. I just go with the flow. I'm easy like Sunday morning. No biggie whatsoever. I paid the bill and carried on with my dessert of chocolate pot de creme and fresh whipped cream. Fattening city, but I couldn't resist. I will just have to work extra hard at my Zumba class tomorrow, huh? Ha ha! Right after Paul left with my credit card, I heard a commotion coming from the kitchen. It sounded like someone was in some kind of pain. A bus boy named Julio (who looks just like Ricky Martin during his "Living La Vida Loca" days!!!!) told me that Paul had smashed his delicate and lithe fingers in a drawer, poor dear. I hope everything is alright. It would really be a shame for Paul to lose the use of those perfectly shaped digits even for just one night. How else would he write his orders and carry food to the table? I'm sure he's fine and dandy and is back to normal by now. I will send him some flowers tomorrow just to let him know I am thinking of him.

Good night, dear diary. Thank you for listening to me and for always being my best friend.

Love,
Johnny

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Customers Can't Answer Questions Correctly

I don't expect customers to be very smart, so it's not surprising when people give the wrong answer to this question: Hello, how are you tonight? There are so many correct answers to that question such as "I am fine" or "Very well, thank you," but one that is most assuredly incorrect is "I want coffee" or "what's your special?" People, just take a fucking moment to acknowledge your server and at least pretend for a hot second that you're not completely self-absorbed in your own life and have no concern about anything else. Coming from someone who always says good morning to the crusty ass bus driver on the Q32, I know it's not that hard to mumble out a simple salutation whether you truly mean it or not.

Last week, a woman came into the restaurant. I immediately went to her table. "Hello, how are you tonight?" I asked." Without looking away from her stupid cell phone, she said, "Do you have any bread? I'm starving!" Lady, please. You aren't starving. People in Africa are starving. Children in the Appalachians are starving. Supermodels are starving. You are not starving. You do not have a swollen belly nor do I see Sally Struthers anywhere trying to give you some canned goods. What you meant to say was, "I am good, thank you for asking. I am waiting for someone and I'm a bit peckish. Would you mind bringing me a little bit of bread, please whenever you get a chance? Thank you." Customers notoriously give the wrong answer to a myriad of questions. Here are justa few that make me want to pull my hair out but I would never really do that because my hair is sorta "my thing."

Q: Hi, how are you?
A: Do you have a bathroom?
✘ WRONG

Q: Would you like to hear our specials tonight?
A: It's cold in here.
✘ WRONG

Q: Are you ready to order anything?
A: Yes, I am. (And then to friend) What are you having? I have no idea.
✘ WRONG

Q: Did you get a chance to look at the menu yet?
A: I want steak, well done.
✘ WRONG

Q: Can I get you anything to drink?
A: No I don't drink, I'll have water.
✘ WRONG You do drink water, stupid.

Q: Would you like some more water?
A: We ordered like an hour ago.
✘ WRONG

Q: Here is your food. Is there anything else I can get for you right now?
A: No.
✘ WRONG You need A-1, more napkins, more butter and more bread but you will ask me four separate times for them.

Q: How is your steak?
A: Tough and dry.
✔ CORRECT Your steak is tough and dry because you asked for it to be well done, stupid.

Q: How was everything tonight?
A: Oh it was horrible (as they hand me a plate that was licked cleaner than the balls of a yard dog.)
✘ WRONG AND STUPID

Q: Would you like dessert tonight?
A: No, I'm on a diet.
✘ WRONG There is no diet that lets you eat fried calamari, mac and cheese and steak for dinner and three Diet Coke does not mean you are on a diet. It means you are in denial.

And what questions do customers routinely answer incorrectly when you ask them?



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How to Win Free Shoes

I am giving away another pair of fabulous (FREE) work shoes from my friends at Shoes For Crews. They gave me a pair a few weeks ago for writing a review about them and I, in return, asked for a few pair to give to you guys. I already gave away two pair and now I am giving away another one with this contest. Very simple. The best caption for the picture below will win the free damn shoes. In the words of Barefoot Contessa, "how easy is that?" Just write your caption in the comment section and the winner will be decided by a group of esteemed individuals of food service industry professionals (just me and a friend of mine...). Make it it witty, make it funny, make it yours. Or you can post your comment on the Bitchy Waiter Facebook page. All captions will be considered. The deadline to write a caption is Monday, February 6th at midnight EST. I will announce the winner some time on Tuesday, February 7th.

Important: if you write it in the comment section of this blog post, please make sure you do so as a registered commenter and not Anonymous. I must be able to get in touch with you. No anonymous entrants will be considered.

write your caption, bitches

Yes, I know someone is going to bash me for posting a picture of a baby that appears to be on the verge of becoming dinner, but get over it. I am sure this did not really happen. Worst case scenario: it did really happen and the baby was over-cooked and gristly and they had to throw it out leaving them with no dinner and no baby. Bummer. Please share this with your friends because it isn't just baby who needs a new pair of shoes. (The baby in the picture actually does not need a new pair of shoes. He needs butter and salt.)



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I Hate Morning People

I am up at the ass crack of dawn today. If there were roosters in New York City, they would be cock-a-doodle-dooing right now. Instead, the rats are looking at me like, "Why the fuck are you up so early, lazy ass?" No, I am not serving breakfast or still up from my night of drinking. Alarm goes off at seven and you start uptown. You put in your eight hours for the powers that have always been. Till it's five P.M. (Bonus points for you if you know what that line is from.) I am taking a break from food service in order to pursue my other calling for a few days, selling pottery. And when I say "pursue my other calling" I mean "this job I got off of Craigslist." Twice a year, I am a sales rep for a big time pottery company and sell plates and vases and crap to the likes of Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel and little old ladies who own stores in Cape Cod. It's a sweet little gig except for the whole getting up before the cows come home thing.

I am not a morning person as is evidenced by the scowl that is on my face right this second. I once lived with a friend who worked the breakfast shift and she had to be at work at some crazy fucking time like 5:30 AM. She would be done with her day by 11:30 and come home with a fist full of dollars, take a nap and be good to go. I never could do that. Morning people are just as foreign to me as those who have children. I know they exist but I can't wrap my brain around how they do it. Kim would pop out of bed and be on her merry way to the breakfast shift at the diner while I would on my water bed asking her to please hurry the fuck up and turn the light out. I always envy morning people. They seem so productive, getting their laundry done before The View and all, but I just can't do it. I've tried, believe me. My aunt is a morning person who wakes up before the sun has even thought about rising and has a cup of coffee and does the crossword puzzle and then will have all her household chores done before 9:00 AM. The downside of being a morning person is these people have to go to bed early to do it. Do they know what wonders they are missing that only happen after 10:00 PM? Like the news, or Jimmy Kimmel, or House Hunters International on HGTV?

My point is, today I am a morning person. Since I don't drink coffee, anyone who sits next to me on the 7 train better watch out. My grump could accidentally spill over onto them and cause second and third degree burns. I cannot fake a smile or have a conversation and during my shower this morning, I don't even think I had the energy to use soap. If you happen to see a guy today selling pottery who looks like he is one grumpy ass bitch and who's hair is matted down in the back because it took too much effort to wash it, that would be me. Come up to me. Say hello. And if you see a rooster who is trying to cockle-doodle doo, punch it in the gut for me will you? And speaking of roosters, click here to see one big cock.

(Yes, this was a re-post, but I am selling pottery again at the Jacob Javits Center all day...)



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Another Broken Finger Update

Yes, another update about the asshole customer, John Castle, who allegedly broke the finger of his server, Paul Kucik when the waiter had the nerve to present the check to him. The waiter sued the asshole customer and now there is word that the asshole customer is counter suing the sever. I won't get into the details again because you can click the links above to read the original story, but why the hell is this asshole counter suing? One report said that the server was suing for at least $15,000 but the asshole who allegedly broke the finger is a multi-millionaire. Wouldn't $15,000 be chump change for him? If he is worth $10,000,000 then $15,000 is .15% of his wealth. Let me put into terms we can understand: if we made a $100 and had to tip out .15% to the busser, that would be fifteen whole fucking cents. His wife probably uses $15,000 for her weekly "fresh flowers in the bathroom" budget. He probably has a tie that cost that much money and whenever someone compliments it he says, 'Oh this old thing? This is what I put on when I don't care what I look like." Hey, John Ass'le, we already know you don't care what you look like, you Mr. Burns doppelgänger, you.




According to reports, both side have witnesses to back up their claim. Allow me to imagine how that might go down.

John Ass'le's witness on the stand is a 62 year old woman who was dining at the next table:

Yes your honor, I had just put a bite of caviar into my mouth when the incident happened. I could barely see what was going on because I just got an eye lift three weeks before and the skin around my face hadn't really settled in yet. But from I what I saw, the lowly waiter practically threw the check at my dear friend John Castle. John politely explained to him that he wasn't ready for the check yet and asked that he just add it to his monthly account. The waiter became very irate at this point. I took another sip of champagne and adjusted my Spanx and the next thing I knew the waiter was howling in misery the same way I do when my maid touches my jewelry box. He was screaming that John had hurt him but I simply don't believe it. John would never hurt a fly. He is the kindest , sweetest most thoughtful multi-millionaire I have ever met.

Paul Kucik's witness on the stand is a 38 year old waiter who was also at work that night:

Yes your honor, John Castle is a regular and he is a rude arrogant man who we all hate to serve because he treats us like dirt. I cannot be certain, but I also think he likes the smell of his own farts. His wife asked Paul for the check which is unusual because we normally just add it to the customer's monthly account. But since she told Paul to give the check to her husband, that's what he did. Mr. Castle called Paul a schmuck and grabbed the check with his left hand. With his right hand, he squeezed Paul's hand and then started to bend his fingers back. It wasn't really that surprising because we all know what a prick he is. Same shit, different day, you know your honor? Paul fell to his knees and that is when Mr. Castle let go of his hand. Paul went to the side stand and his hand was all swelled up like Mrs. Castle's lips are every other week when she gets her bi-monthly lip injection of virgin sheep collagen. Paul, finished his side work and then punched out and went to the hospital for an x-ray which is when he learned his finger was broken by the biggest asshole who ever comes to our restaurant.

The whole thing will probably be settled out of court unless Mr. Ass'le wants to bury this guy in legal fees simply because he can afford to do it. Why can't he just admit that he lost his cool and then shell out the money for the guy? This is the kind of person who gives the 1% a bad name. I will try to keep an eye out for updates on the story, but quite frankly, the whole thing pisses me off.



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And the winner is...

After days and days of anticipation, I can finally announce the two winners of the ever-so-popular Bitchy Waiter Shoe Giveaway. I am giving away two free pair of work shoes from my good friends at Shoes For Crews. I have a pair myself and could not be happier with them. All entries submitted a photo and the top two that received the most "likes" is the winner. After tallying all the votes of the 16 entrants, the winners are:

First place, Christy T. with 147 votes

Second place, Sam K. with 126 votes

You will each be contacted via Facebook and I will let you know how to go about claiming your news shoes. Or if you are reading this, email me at side of mustard at gmail dot com. Thank you to all who participated. I have two more pair to give away and have not decided on the contest yet. Open for suggestion, so do you have any ideas? Thanks!

The Bitchy Waiter

Waitress Kicks Some Ass

Another hero waitress has been discovered! In Cookeville, Tennessee, a customer thought she would be able to eat at Mandarin Palace and then slip out without paying for her meal. "Not so," said waitress Susan Wang, who had other thoughts. I mean look at her picture there. Would you mess with anyone who can give a side-eye like that?

20 year old Sonya Allen gobbled up three plates of egg rolls, orange chicken and monosodium glutemate at a Chinese food buffet and then tried to be all sneaky and slip slide out of the restaurant without paying her $13 bill. That is when Wang went into action. Her family owns the newly opened restaurant and she was all, "I don't think so, lady. This ain't no dine and ditch, bitch." The 5' 1" and 110 pound bundle of waitress screamed out to call the cops and then took matters into her own hands. Literally. She grabbed Allen and whipped her around in an an arm hold worthy of a NYC dirty cop and then pulled her hair until the thieving customer fell to her knees. Wang then put her knee of the back of the customer and that is where she stayed until the cops came and arrested her. Allen was charged with disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, failure to eat at a Chinese restaurant with a decent name and drug possession when police found Xanax pills on her without a prescription. Way to go, Susan Wang! You are one tough chickie. If I saw you on the 7 train and you had your eyes on the last seat in the car, I would defer to you immediately.

Since Hero Waitress owns the restaurant with her family, she was a little (a lot) more invested in it than I ever would be. Had it been me who saw the customer exiting sans payment, I am not quite so sure I would risk life, limb and lazy to chase after the patron. Since it's pretty much illegal to make a server responsible for walk-outs, I would have been like, "Um, manager? That lady driving the green Honda out of the parking lot? Yeah, she just stole thirteen of your dollars. She looked like a cheap ho anyway so I wasn't expecting a tip, so I'm cool. No worries."

What about you? What would you do if you saw one of your customers trying to leave without paying their check?



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Grumpy Ass at Table 12

Honestly, most of the people who come into restaurants are pretty nice. It's the other 5% who are assholes. And one of those 5% was sitting at table 12 last night. I work in a music venue where we have a showtime. If the show is at 8:00, we ask people to get there by 7:30 so they have plenty of time to check their coats, find their seats, order their cocktails, chat with friends, douche, etc. We also have a two-drink minimum as is customary at many of these types of clubs. Two. Drink. Minimum. We tell them when they make a reservation, it's on any postcard or flier that the performer passes out, it's on the menu, and we tell them when they get there. The only way we could make it any clearer is if we tattooed it on their faces which would be a truly wonderful thing.

The show started at 9:30. At 9:40, the door opened and in dragged a latecomer looking all pissed off that he had missed the beginning of the show, as if it's our fault for starting on time. "Hello, sir. Welcome," said the hostess. "Do you have a reservation?"

"I was told I didn't need one," he said. It sounded like he was pushing out a really solid piece of poop as he said it because his teeth were grinding and he had a serious constipation face.

"That's fine. And what's your name?"

He gave her a look of disdain. Or maybe it was sign of relief that his poop had receded back inside. "Bobby Douchebag Face." (The names have been changed to protect the assholes.)

"Alright, and can I get a phone number for you, Bobby Douchebag Face?"

He sighed heavily and and furrowed his brow. "Why do you need my phone number?"

The hostess explained to him that we take phone numbers so that if something is left behind like a scarf or dildo, we can call them to let them know. This is true, but mostly we do it so that if some low-life scumbag tries to skip out on his check, we can track his cheap ass down. He gave her his phone number. "Do you need my fingerprints too now?" Such a charmer. The hostess then asked him what he wanted for his drinks that evening. Plural. Drinks. He ordered some wine and a cheese plate and was taken to his seat. The show was now fifteen minutes in.

I quickly placed his wine before him and told him I would be back shortly with his cheese plate, although cheese seemed like the last thing this constipated asswipe needed. He called me back. As I leaned in towards him, he jutted his chin forward and pulled the corners of his mouth downward. (Do that.) At the same time he raised his eyebrows really high. (Do that too. Doesn't it just make you look like an asshole?) "Might I get some water with no ice?"

"You might if you say please," I thought. "Yes, sir," I said. Of course he didn't say thank you for the water. He didn't say thank you for the cheese plate. He didn't say thank you when I noticed his water glass was empty and I filled it without being asked. He never said anything to me. I repeatedly asked him if he wanted another glass of wine and he never did. Since we have a two-drink minimum, I added the minimum charge to his check which is for $5.50. After the show, when he looked at his bill, he called me over.

"Excuse me, but what is this 'minimum charge' on here about?"

I switched on to automatic waiter mode and smiled brightly. "Well we have a two-beverage minimum and you only had one so I have to add the minimum charge."

"I had food instead of another drink."

"Right, but we have a two-drink minimum and I can't substitute food for a beverage." This is true. Even though the food is more expensive than a drink, the mark-up is not as high, therefore two drink minimum. Sometimes I can look the other way, but not for this asshole.

"I assumed that the food would take the place of the second drink." He now looked like he was full on taking a dump in his pants, his face was so red and veiny.

"No, I'm sorry, it doesn't. Did someone tell you that?" Still smiling, me.

"No, but I assumed."

"Would you like a bottled water that you can take with you?"

"Well I suppose so since I'm already paying for it. I just don't understand why..."

"Sparkling or flat water, sir and I'll be right back with it."

He agreed to a Pelligrino but I saw him go back to the hostess to complain. She told him the same thing I did. He stared at his check for about ten minutes. Maybe he thought his Douchebag Face stare would remove the charge from his bill, but it didn't. He finally handed me his credit card and I charged him the $50.00. Knowing I would get no tip, I placed it back in front of him and told him thank you and to have a good night and all that other bullshit. He left me four bucks, which was more than I expected.

Had he been nice at any point during the evening, I would have been happy to remove the minimum charge for him. Yes, it's a rule, but sometime they can be bent. If he would have been kind and smiled and said, "I'm sorry. I really thought that since I ordered the cheese plate, it could take the place of my second drink. I guess I misunderstood," I would have been apt to be kind in return. But he was an asshole from the second he walked in (late) and I had no reason to do anything for him.

Moral of the story: be nice. Just be fucking nice, you grumpy asshole.



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Bad Parenting Caught on Facebook

Some of my favorite posts to write are based on photos and news stories that people send in to me. Today's blog post is in thanks to Katharine who sent this awesome photo of a child caught in the act of making me hate her. Katharine herself is pretty awesome and if you need proof, check her out in the fabulously funny improve comedy show Naked in a Fishbowl. Anyhoo, on to the picture.

It comes from a blog called STFU, Parents which is kinda right up my alley. In the photo, we see an adorable little bundle of annoying expressing her creative side by scribbling all over the fucking wall at a restaurant. The mom thought is was so cute that she snapped a picture of it and then sent it to her Facebook page with the caption "She thought the wall was boring so she added a little color." She followed that insipid remark with the ubiquitous "lol." Okay mom-named-Karina, prepare for a thrashing from The Bitchy Waiter:

Who the hell do you think is going to clean that mess up, you horrible excuse for a parent, the Crayola Elves? Unless there is some fucking bleach in that Dora the Explorer cup and you plan on using it to remove your daughter's artistic interpretation of "Lunch With Lazy Mom" then you you need to put the camera down and explain to your daughter that this is not how children behave while at Denny's or IHOP or wherever the hell you went. Meanwhile, the waitress is probably standing behind you shooting you the crusty evil eye and giving the signal to Bubba the fry cook that it is okay if he wants to flip your pancakes with the broom and add some "special sauce" to your syrup. Your waitress hates you. I also see a few Equal packets laying there on the table which means there are at least five or six of them on the floor under the booth, because a sugar caddy is the perfect play thing for a two-year old, right? If your daughter found the wall to be boring, maybe you should have told her, "I know it's not as fancy as the wall paper we have back home in the double-wide, sweetie, but you just sit your butt down and wait for the food to get here." You do not encourage her to vandalize. I don't know the name of your daughter, but I am going to go with something like Tiffany Lynn. You are setting Tiffany Lynn up for a future of bitch. Anyone who allows their children to do whatever they want is going to soon realize they have raised a spoiled little brat who thinks she can get away with anything. Invariably, this will lead to a road of pole dancing and a six week contract with 16 and Pregnant. If your daughter was bored, I am sure there were other things you could have done rather than letting her draw on the fucking wall. I am not a parent and I just pulled these suggestions out of thin air, but what about these great ideas:

• give her a book to read
• let her color on a piece of paper
• tell her a story
• pour some NyQuil® in her sippy cup. (Again, I am not a parent. This may or may not be a good idea, but to me it sounds great.)
• play the quiet game
• let her play with whatever is in your purse. (Good parents would first remove their weed, vibrators, make up, condoms and flasks.)
• put her in her crate
• give her your iPad
  
• just fucking tell her she's not at home so she needs to sit her ass down and behave herself.

Karina, I hope you will keep these points in mind the next time you take little Tiffany Lynn out to eat. It may be helpful if you print this out. That way, when you have a hankering for the Rooty Tooty Fresh 'n' Fruity your waitress won't have to spend an extra fifteen minutes scrubbing crayon scribbles off the wall. And one more thing Karina: you suck at parenting.

If you agree that Karina showed some shitty ass judgement, please leave a comment and/or share this.

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Update on Broken Finger Waiter

Remember that asshole, John Castle, who broke the finger of his waiter earlier this month? I blogged about it here. Basically, the asshole got all pissed off that his waiter, Paul Kucik brought him his check (how dare he!) and John Ass'le was so incensed that he grabbed the waiter's hand and ended up breaking his finger. As suspected, the waiter filed a lawsuit. According to the complaint, “Defendant Castle, without provocation or warning, intentionally grabbed Plaintiff Kucik’s left hand and began twisting, bending and squeezing Kucik’s fingers, causing a fracture. Castle’s conduct was of gross and flagrant character, evincing a reckless disregard for the plaintiff’s safety. Defendant also totally looks like Mr. Burns from The Simpson's and that's just plain weird.”



Is it John Castle or Mr. Burns?

It looks like the suit is for at least $15,000. I will keep abreast of the situation so that we will know exactly how this goes down. We servers are treated like shit plenty of times but we certainly don't need to have our fingers broken by every Tom, Dick and Hairless.



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Year of the Dragon

I don't really follow my horoscope so much. I am a Gemini which basically means I am two-faced bitch who likes to talk too much. Spot on. When it comes to Chinese astrology, I know even less. I do know that I was born in the year of the Goat which I presume makes me a stubborn old nag who eats tin cans for dinner and is always grumpy, so yeah, good call Chinese horoscope. A quick Google search also tells me that Goats "will only assume leadership roles when asked directly, they'll never volunteer." Right again. Good career options for us Goat Asses include "florist, interior designer, daycare teacher, pediatrician, actor, editor, hair stylist, illustrator, musician, and art history teacher." All Goats are gay men. Additionally, Goats "feel most comfortable at home and alone and they prefer the couch because there they can relax and explore their minds." The description of Goat Me is eerily correct leading me to believe I may be part Chinese which would explain my love for General Tso's Chicken. But today marks the beginning of a new year. It's not the eye of the tiger nor the hair of the dog, it's the Year of the Dragon so get your fire-breathin' asses ready for a phenomenal year. Since all I know about dragons is what I learned in 1977's Pete's Dragon, I did some research to see what the Year of the Dragon is all about other than Helen Reddy singing "Candle on the Water".

I doubt anyone who is reading this was born this morning but they are the newest Year of the Dragon folks. And just because we are Rats and Goats and Monkeys that doesn't mean we can't take some of the fiery characteristics of the Dragon and incorporate them into our daily lives. This is how I will do it for the rest of 2012:

• Dragons symbolize such character traits as dominance and ambition. Therefore I will dominate my tables with my keen sense of I-don't-give-a-fuck.
• Dragons prefer to live by their own rules and if left on their own, are usually successful. Therefore, I will decide when and how you will get your burger cooked and the rule is you tip me 25% so I can become the most successful waiter of all Dragons.
• They’re driven, unafraid of challenges, and willing to take risks. This means I will take the risk of drinking Chardonnay in paper cups while at work and accept the challenge of carrying a tray while totally buzzed on cheap house wine.
• They’re passionate in all they do and they do things in grand fashion. I am not passionate about waiting tables. Fail, Chinese Horoscope people.
• Unfortunately, this passion and enthusiasm can leave Dragons feeling exhausted and interestingly, unfulfilled. Oh, wait I take that back. Right again, Chinese Horoscope people.
• Dragons could benefit from incorporating mild activity into their lives like yoga or walking. Um, I will substitute yoga for Vodka and walking with Tequila.
  
• Dragons prefer leading to being led. This is why I am always striving to be Superstar Employee of the Month and/or head waiter. Right, uh huh.

If I am unable to fulfill these goals for the Year of the Dragon, then I will instead vow to be Shelley Winters as Lena Gogan in Pete's Dragon for Halloween.

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Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

What is the fascination that people have with the mystical creation of Ranch dressing? Where I come from in South Texas, it is the third favorite beverage right behind Lone Star and Dr. Pepper. If I had a dollar for every time someone said "Can I get a large Ranch dressing on the rocks, please?" I would have exactly two dollars. There was a time when I too was guilty of devouring huge portions of this delectable concoction and for the record, I will still stand behind the wonderful flavor combination of pepperoni pizza from Mr. Gatti's dipped in Ranch. Just thinking about it sends me back to 1983. Over the years, my tastes have changed and my craving for Ranch slowly waned. Some people, however, will never get over their need for the creamy calories.

The restaurant I work in has a very small menu. All of our sauces and dressings are house made so when people ask for 1000 Island or some other familiar dressing from the grocery store, they are out of luck. Since it isn't in Texas or nestled in a hidden valley anywhere, I have never had anyone ask for Ranch. Until last week.

customer: I'd like fried calamari, what does that come with?
me: It comes with our house made spicy marinara sauce.
customer: Okay, but I'd like Ranch dressing instead.
me: I'm sorry, we don't have Ranch dressing.
customer: What?
me: We don't have Ranch dressing, will the marinara be alright?
customer: Why don't you have Ranch?
me: Um, we just don't have it.
customer: But how you can not have Ranch?
me: We just don't have it. Would you like to order the calamari anyway?
customer: Where's the nearest deli?
me: There is a little grocery store right across the street that probably sells-
customer: Oh! Well?

long pause

customer: Well, I guess I could go buy it.
me: Yes, you could go buy it. Would you like to order the calamari?
customer: Yes, I'll have the calamari.

In a flash, the lady had her coat on and was racing across the street to satisfy her need for Ranch dressing. Five minutes later, she was happily ensconced in her booth with a bottle of Hidden Valley Ranch proudly sitting on the table. I placed the calamari in front of her and she wrapped her fingers around the neck of the bottle of dressing and poured it onto the plate. "Is there anything else you need?" I asked.

She looked up at me with a grin on her face and a bit of Ranch dressing on her chin and said, 'I have everything I need right here." She poured a little more dressing onto her plate and swirled a forkful of calamari through it. "But you should tell your boss to order some Ranch dressing. It's delicious!"

"Yes ma'am, I'll do that. Enjoy your calamari."





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It's a Very Butter Birthday, Y'all

January 19, 1947 was a very special day. It was a crisp clear morning in Albany, Georgia with wisps of white clouds floating in the blue heavens. On one of those clouds was a stick of butter, sad and alone. On another cloud not too far away was a can of Crisco who was horny as all hell. The can of Crisco put a little bit of vanilla behind her ears and went out to find some action. It wasn't long before she spotted that stick of butter and she set her sights on it. "Hey, butter," she said. "Why don't you come over here and and let's see what happens when we emulsify." The butter, having nothing else to do thought, "Why not?" and jumped into that crazy can of Crisco. At that same moment, a cloud made of bacon happened to be floating by and caught a glimpse of what was going on. In an effort to get a better view, the bacon cloud swooped in a little closer and the next thing it knew, it was right smack dab in the middle of a three-way. The bacon, butter and Crisco all became one in much the same way that a turducken is created. When all three ingredients were satisfied, they each did the walk of shame back to their respective areas of the sky leaving behind a greasy wet spot on a tired used up terry cloth cloud. The sun shone on that that greasy wet spot and it grew into a bigger greasy wet spot and within twenty minutes it had developed into something the world had never seen. It took the shape of a Smithfield Ham and slid down a oleo-coated rainbow where it landed in a baby crib in the home of a young couple who were waiting for the stork to arrive. The couple looked down at the new arrival and said, "Well, I thought it would be cuter but I guess it is what it is. We shall call it Paula Deen." Today is Paula Deen's 65th birthday, y'all!

I ♥ Paula Deen from The Bitchy Waiter on Vimeo.

Paula Deen just announced that she has Type-2 diabetes. No real surprise there, seeing how we all know how she likes to eat. She teamed up with a pharmaceutical company and is now the paid spokesperson for Novo Nordisk, a diabetes medication. Is it wrong? I say "no, it isn't." She never pretended that what she was cooking was healthy and she never made anyone buy her cookbooks. It's all choice. And now she has the choice to ether keep eating the way she does and stay on medication or change her habits and try to get off the medication. Whichever one she chooses, I hope that today she is having a big birthday cake to celebrate. Might a suggest a doughnut covered chocolate marshmallow pudding pie with a side of sticky honey cake with caramel cream Rocky Road ice cream sprinkles on a bed of crushed Oreos and bacon? Happy birthday, Paula Deen!



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Waitress Hits Customer With Coffee Pot; Becomes My Hero

Not a day go by it seems where there isn't a waiter or waitress in the news for something. Either a waiter is having his finger broken by a customer or a waitress is winning $104,000 on The Price Is Right. Today I see in the news that in the sleepy town of Beaufort, South Carolina a waitress was sent to jail for hitting a customer up against the side of her head with a coffee pot. The story goes that it was the overnight shift at the Waffle House and after waiting for 25 minutes to be served, a customer got into an argument with the waitress resulting in the head banging with said coffee pot. The police were called at 3:20 AM and they found what was believed to be marijuana in the waitress' apron pocket. Wait, you mean a waitress who works the overnight shift at the fucking Waffle House in Beaufort, South Carolina has to be on drugs in order to get through that hot mess? Color me surprised. No medical attention was needed which basically means the waitress didn't hit the lady hard enough. She was arrested on charges of misdemeanor assault and battery and possession of marijuana and then released on her own recognizance. To top it all off, she probably had to go back to the fucking Waffle House and finish her sidework which consisted of filling the syrups, stocking the butters and mopping the floor.


This story makes me sad. As usual, I wasn't there, but of course I side with the waitress. I imagine that the customer was some tired old hag who was siting in the smoking section and had been nursing her black coffee since she got off her cashier shift at the Piggly Wiggly down the street. (Okay, just so you know, I totally made up that there was a Piggly Wiggly down the street but a quick Google map search shows that there really is one! Ah, the south.)


The customer probably ordered the chocolate chip pancakes with toffee syrup and whipped cream and soon started screaming that she was starving and it was taking forever to get her food. The waitress looked at the computer and saw it had only been eight minutes and when she told the customer it hadn't really been "forever," the customer got all whiny and bitchy and called the waitress a name insulting her position as head waitress of the overnight shift at Waffle House. You know, because in the world of Beaufort, South Carolina a cashier at Piggly Wiggly is way above a waitress at Waffle House but still far below the position of stock manager at the Walmart Super Center which is also right down the street in the opposite direction of Piggly Wiggly. (Seriously, I Googled that too.) Our waitress, who may or may not have been buzzed on A&W Root Beer, sub-par bacon and marijuana, couldn't take it anymore and popped that bitch in the head with one of those metal coffee pots and said, "Bitch your fucking pancakes will be ready when they're ready, now shut the fuck up." Again, I was not there, so don't quote me. (And if you are reading this and you are either the waitress or the customer, how you doin?)

The whole story leaves us with a lot of questions:

1. Why did the cops feel the need to search the waitress' apron?
   
2. Did they have a search warrant or were they just looking for a pen to take notes with?
   
3. Did the waitress get to keep her job?
   
4. Did the customer ever get her chocolate chip pancakes?
5. Who did the paper work and covered the floor after they carted the waitress' ass away? Surely there wasn't more than one waitress on the floor at the Waffle House at 3:20 AM.
6. Have you entered the Bitchy Waiter Shoe Giveaway yet?
   
7. Did the waitress learn that if she's gonna hit some bitch in the head with a coffee pot and go to jail for it, that she should at least do it hard enough to require medical attention?
8. Have either of them tasted the Steak Quesadilla Towers at the Applebee's across the street? (Seriously, there is an Applebee's across the street. Beaufort sounds like a little piece of heaven.)
9. Is marijuana really enough?
   
10. Can the waitress please email me and tell me what it feels like to actually follow through on that "I wanna punch this bitch in the face" feeling?

Best wishes, Waffle House waitress. We servers are on your side.

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Excuses For Not Leaving a Tip

I wasn't going to blog about this but I simply could not resist. There is a picture floating around on the Internet of what was left for a waiter instead of a tip on Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday. The person justified that since his ancestors worked for free, then so could that waiter. But they also added "God Bless" just to make sure everyone knows they're a Christian. Whenever someone chooses to not a leave a tip, they think they have a good reason. Deep down in their soul, they know it's because they are cheap ass mother fuckin' bitches who want to hold on to that last nickel until the day they die but they will come up with something to justify their no-tip behavior. Here are some of the excuses people tell themselves to make them feel better about stiffing their waiter:

• My waiter didn't say thank you enough.
• My french fries were cold.
• The restrooms were dirty.
• I didn't like the table I was sitting at.
• The Denver Broncos lost.
• I asked for two lemon wedges and he brought me three.
• They were out of the dessert that I wanted even though I am not sure this is even the restaurant that ever had the Death By Chocolate Triple Fudge Fried Sundae.
• My rent is due this week.
  
• Nobody tips me for doing my job so why should I tip a waiter for doing his?
• I left him Fake Jesus Money and eternal salvation is way better than the 25% tip I would have left instead.
• I saw that asshole waiter on the Dr. Phil show. Fuck that noise.
• I didn't have change for my hundred dollar bill.
• I am going to come back after I run to to the ATM.
• It took forever to get my food and I was in a hurry which is why I ordered a well-done steak and went with ten other people and we each asked for a separate check.
• I did leave a tip. It wasn't there? Someone must have stolen it then because I left a twenty dollar bill on the table.
• I told the waiter how great he was, that ought to be enough.
• His uniform was dirty.
• I don't believe in tipping money. Tipping is for cows.
• I am from Europe.
• I think that 40 years ago my ancestors were slaves who were owned by the ancestors of the waiter so I am not going to tip him even though in 1972 I don't think anyone owned slaves in the United States but since it's Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, I will go ahead and use that argument because it's worth a shot and maybe the waiter will think I am all historically accurate and shit since the waiter is probably too stupid to know any better because if he was smart he would have a "real job."

To the person who left that stupid note: that is not the kind of dream that Martin Luther King Jr. was talking about.

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Waiter Has Finger Broken By Asshole Customer

Whenever there is some story in the news that involves a server, people send me the link to make sure I have heard about it. Such is the case with the waiter who had his finger broken by an angry customer. John Castle, 76 and the chairman and CEO of Castle Harlan, a private equity firm was eating at some fancy ass place in Palm Beach called Club Colette. You can click here to see some of the folks who were at the club's New Year's Eve party. Most of the pictures are of rich old white men with younger wives who are all pinched, nipped and tucked. I particularly hope that picture #11 is a father and daughter because anything else is just too creepy. Anyhoo, Castle got all pissed off when his waiter brought him the check. Castle allegedly grabbed the hand of the waiter Paul Kucik, and yelled, "You schmuck, why did you bring the bill to the table?" He then proceeded to bend the waiter's hand and when the server went to a doctor the next day he learned that his fucking finger was broken off. What the hell is that shit? Kucik said that the asshole's wife had asked for the check to be brought to her husband and he was only doing what he was asked to do. And what kind of question is "Why did you bring the bill to the table?" anyway? The answer to that question is, "Because you have to pay for your fucking food, asswipe." According to reports, this John Ass'le (see how that rhymes with Castle?) isn't the friendliest of people. Just looking at the guy you can tell he's not a people person. He looks like Mr. Burns from The Simpson's came to life and went out to eat:



One is John Castle and one is Mr. Burns. Eerie, ain't it?

No charges have been pressed against John Ass'le yet because the waiter has not gone to the police. He's probably waiting to get some huge settlement instead because, um, duh. He had his finger broken by a rich person. This is America and his ship just came in. Say goodbye to your apron, Paul Kucik, you just won the lottery.

Of course I wasn't there when this incident allegedly went down so I can only imagine what the waiter said as his finger was broken:

Here you are sir, just as your lovely and not at all overly made-up wife asked, I have your check for you. It was my pleasure serving you this evening- arrgh! That's my finger sir! You are hurting my finger! It is not meant to bend that way, sir. Oh my God! Someone help me, this asshole is breaking off my fucking finger! And it's the finger I use to type orders into the computer-my livelihood! I am about to scream! Arrrggh! Oh my God! My finger is now hanging off my hand! It is definitely broken. John Castle, the incredibly rich CEO of an investment firm just assaulted me and broke my finger, oh my God! Call 911! CALL 911! (pause) Wait, don't call 911, I'm alright, I'm alright. Never mind Does anyone have the name of a good lawyer? And someone do my fucking sidework, I'm outta here, bitches.

Good luck, Paul Kucik. Take this asshole down for all of us who are shit on by people who think they are better than us.



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