Get some Bitchy Waiter in your email!

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Danger: Broken Heart Ahead


So you know, I actually pretty much like my job these days. Of course it does help that I only work two days a week so it makes it a lot easier to tolerate the overall employment thing. For the most part the clientele that come in are pretty respectful and nice. I said for the most part. A few nights ago the Queen of the Cunts graced us with her presence. She had a made a reservation for the show because she was dear personal friends with the performer. Like we give a shit. She had requested a booth when she made the reservation, but a request is not a guarantee. For the sake of anonymity, let us say that her name was Laverne Defazio. Well someone else had also made a reservation that night and her name was very similar, like Laverne Defazia. So guess who didn't her booth. Well, the host offered her another booth but that one wasn't good enough. All the other booths were full because other people got there when the doors opened like they are supposed to and not five minutes before the show starts. This is when she opened up the floodgates to her true cunt power. She unleashed a tidal wave of cuntiness and we were suddenly up to our knees in her bitch juice. (I just couldn't say cunt juice. Cunt juice is too disgusting even for me to type. Hee hee...cunt juice.) She started bitching and moaning and whining and basically getting on my nerves. She was finally sat at a table which was actually better than the booth because it has a direct sight line to the stage and no waiters pass in front of it a thousand times during the show. But it still wasn't good enough. She headed back to the host stand to start complaining again and this is when our dear mild-mannered host looked at her and said "get outta my face!" She stormed over to a bartender to try to complain to him too. Like what the fuck do you want us to do, lady? Build you another booth? Or maybe we can make you a balcony or a box seat? Or if you're such dear personal friends of the performer, just have them sing at your fucking apartment. She stomped back to her seat to wait for the show to start. Of course she was in my station now.

I went up to her table with my biggest phoniest smile and acted like I had no idea what had been happening and started kissing her ass to try and smooth her ego. I took the order for her and her four friends. She ordered her Campari and soda and the show started. Then she had another Campari and soda. She asked me to bring her the check early so about ten minutes before the show was over I gave it to her. I leaned over and put my hand on her forearm and whispered in her ear. "I just wanted to let you know that we comped three of your drinks in order to make up for the misunderstanding at the beginning of the evening." Her bony hand latched onto my wrist and she hissed back at me.

"I want you to know that your host was very rude to me. What he said to me hurt me. It hurt my feelings and it hurt me deeply. My heart is hurt and I am very offended by it. I made these reservations for an evening of happiness and now it's ruined. My heart is hurt!" Meanwhile, her friends are still watching the show like they don't give a rats ass about her heart or how badly it was hurting. I looked at her and said, "okay."

She got up and went back to the bartender to complain again. By this time the host was gone because his shift was over. We told her that he was asked to leave and he may be fired. (Not true. At all.) She was reiterating what had happened as if we had forgotten it in the last 45 minutes. By this time, the Campari was doing all the talking. And the show was still happening. You know, the show? The show with her dear friends singing that she wanted to see so badly? It's happening as she is in the bar having a mini stroke. The bartender tells her to go sit down and enjoy the end of the show and she finally does. What a pain in the ass. And the tip? She gave me $30 which was way more than 20%. I think it was because out of all that commotion, I was the only one who didn't care enough to get involved, but from her point of view I was the nice one. Apathy wins again!
Share/Bookmark

14 comments:

Lauren said...

Gee sounds like you got a visit from Kate Gosselin.

dirtydisher said...

No shit, Lauren. So, Bitchy, what did you spit in?

The Bitchy Waiter said...

I did not spit in her drink. I have not done that since 1991-ish.

dirtydisher said...

Okay then. Sure. I can't afford to go out much, I have to spit in my own drinks now. :)

BB said...

I have no words for how bitchy she sounds. But I will say, you know how to tell a kickass story, that's for sure.

shmedelle said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
shmedelle said...

A broken heart, so fucking funny.
I can only imagine what the people in her personal life have to listen to. Thanks for the story, I laughed and felt like I was there--only better, I didn't actually have to deal with her crustiness.

purplegirl said...

Oh god, people are SO melodramatic!

MaryCCBC said...

That story was GREAT!! I laughed outloud! Thanks....you express yourself like I would want to. Again, thanks! I enjoy your stories.

Noelle said...

Good writing keep up it up!

Over reacting, over sensitive, it is just so tiresome.

Cielo Gold said...

It's hilarious at what little things people get themselves so worked up about.

And why do people feel the need to complain to everyone on staff? Like they care and will do something about it.

My heart hurts for your staff and that chick's friends. How does someone like that even have friends in the first place?

Melody said...

Good story. I wish you could meet this guy Ron that comes into my restaurant. He and the heartbroken hag would be quite the pair.

mike. said...

I am SO stealing that line for my next meltdown. "It hurt my feelings and it hurt me deeply. MY HEART IS HURT." :D

Anonymous said...

Why can you touch customers (as you mention in many posts as well as on the list from Bruce) but god forbid someone even think about touching you? What makes you think anyone wants your hands on them?