Wednesday, January 14, 2009
When you wait tables you have to get used to dealing with annoying, idiotic stupid-ass bitches and douche bags because you are surrounded by these people constantly. Maybe it's not nice of me to talk about my co-workers that way, but it's true. And then on top of that I also have to deal with the retards who come into the place to eat. This bag of bones came in yesterday with her husband the fossil and fell into my station. She perused the menu for about a hundred fucking years like she thought it had the answer to the Mid-East peace crisis in it. She points her bony ass finger at me to come over to her. I plaster my smile on my face and say, "Can I answer any questions for you about the menu?" She does in fact have a question because all old people have a question. Like do you have hot tea? Or can you turn down the music? Or what should I do to keep from tripping over my titties? She wants to know about the Pad Thai entree. You should know I work at a restaurant that although not Asian, serves several Asian dishes, Pad Thai being one of them. "So the Pad Thai. I don't understand. Do you just order it from another restaurant?" I look at her. "What?" She repeats, "When people order the Pad Thai or the Red Curry, do you have it delivered it from somewhere else?" Is she fucking kidding me? No bitch they make it in the kitchen. We have a kitchen. With ingredients and recipes and people who don't speak English. We make the food here, lady, don't make me cunt-punch you. What does she think? Like when someone orders a burger we call McDonalds and when someone orders spaghetti we just call The Olive Garden? What a dumb ass question. Meanwhile her Fossil Husband is just sitting there probably taking a crap in pants. She ordered the Pad Thai once she was assured that it comes from our kitchen. She eventually ate two bites of it and said how full she was and made me wrap it up. Old people always get full after two bites and make me wrap up the rest. Their stomachs must shrink as they get older and if that is the case this lady must have a stomach the size of a pea, she was so ancient. They left me a decent tip and we talked about the economy before they left. I was bored and there was nothing on television except C-Span or CNN so I actually chatted her up for a while. Her husband didn't say much. He might have been dead, not sure. They shuffled out the door, the lady holding on to her bag of Pad Thai and the husband holding onto his bag of bones.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Perhaps you have noticed in previous posts that I hate children in my restaurant. This applies to anyone under the age of 18 and pretty much anyone over the age of 18 as well. Recently I had a table of five girls who were all about 15 years old and were hopped up on hormones and the Jonas Brothers. They crammed into my prime real estate booth and started yapping away about who has the prettiest hair and who had a crush on who and who would get their boobies first. I know they will not order much and then they will not tip and they will keep real customers from sitting there instead. One table that was right beside them asked to be moved because they couldn't tolerate the overwhelming stench of annoying that was coming from the prepubescent bitches at Table 204. One of the little darlings announced that SHE was ready to order as I breezed by. I snapped back that I would not be taking an order until all of them were ready to order. Finally, they reached their decision. I heard one girl say she had ten dollars to spend so I was not expecting much. The order: five waters, two orders of wings, a quesadilla and an order of fries. Wow. How would the kitchen ever be able to accommodate such a vast array of food? When their food was ready, I threw it onto the table along with the check. Done with them. On to real customers. They eventually handed me their money and told me they did not need change. The bill was $24.57 and they gave me $25.00. What would I ever do with that forty-three cent tip? Three of the girls left while two stayed to go to the ladies room to put on more lip gloss and brush their hair. They left their things at the table. I started to clear it and noticed a cute little lipstick on the table. I pushed it under a plate so maybe they would not see it and then just leave it so I could feel okay about throwing it away. I eyed the cell phone and decided that was too mean even for me. Their bags were strewn all over the seats and on the floor. A light bulb went off. I ran to get some honey from the kitchen and headed back to the table to continue clearing it. I kneeled down to pick up some discarded french fries and at the same time slightly lifted the backpack off the ground. I poured the honey all over the floor. I gently placed the backpack back onto the floor. And the honey. People really should be more careful about placing their things on the floor of a restaurant because you never know what might get on them. I went along clearing the table as the girls came from the bathroom. "Bye bye," I said. "And thanks!" Five minutes later I came out of the kitchen and they were gone, sticky backpack and all. They did leave one thing behind though: a cute little lipstick that was hidden behind the one plate left on the table. Into the trash it went. I felt better.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Sometimes a restaurant runs out of something. It's just like at your house. You may think you have enough Crisco for every possible need, but one day you need more Crisco than you thought and before you know it you are so totally out of Crisco and you have to use Pam instead. Or Vaseline. Or whatever. The point is, it happens. So the other day we were getting ready for brunch and lo and behold we were out of regular coffee. We had decaf but not regular. We had enough for two or three pots but we go through ten or fifteen pots on a good brunch and we were really worried. Like freaking out what the fuck are we gonna do kind of worrying. We scoured the basement storage for regular coffee and even went into the back room behind the storage where we keep mugs and bowls and huge ketchup cans and shit. No regular coffee. By this point all three of us were sweating bullets. I mean we opened in ten minutes and we didn't have coffee to satisfy our customers-what the fuck were we going to do? Okay, really we were fine. We never looked for regular coffee past the shelf that it is usually on. Someone said "maybe we should just use decaf all day" and someone else said "who cares, I don't even drink it" and then someone else farted and we all giggled like little girls. So yeah, we used decaf all day. And not one person said one word to us about how the coffee seemed less caffeinated that day. They all drank it and asked for seconds and thirds and imagined the effects of all that caffeine pumping through their veins. And therefore proving our theory that all customers are stupid douches who will drink and eat what we tell them to. "Would you like some more coffee, Mr. and Mrs. Douche?"
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Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I have worked in a couple of restaurants that had their fair share of the Mickey Mouses. And the Ricky Rats. Every place has roaches, that is so no big deal. The rodents can be a big turn off to the customers though. Don't get me wrong, I am no fan of them either. When a customer feels a mouse run across their feet I can pretty much kiss my tip good bye. Rats are even worse because those bitches ain't scared of people. They will crawl up on the table and taste a fried cheese app and then send it back if it's not hot enough. One place I worked at had a real big problem with the rats. It is a restaurant that shall remain nameless, but I will say that it was on a pier next to a huge fish market. Let's just hypothetically say it is called Pizzeria Uno at the South Street Seaport in New York City. Damn, that place had some rats. I swear to God they were so bold that they had the right of way if you saw one coming towards you. We used to throw forks at them to get them to go away. The worst is when a customer would call us over to tell us they think they saw a mouse. Then we have to act all surprised like we have never heard of such a thing at our fine establishment. Meanwhile a manager is banging some pots on the floor hoping that the fucking thing would go back to it's nest under Table 27. Then the customer would always want a discount which ain't gonna happen. If we gave a discount to every person who saw a rat at that place, word would have gotten out that everyone eats free at the hypothetically called Pizzeria Uno at South Street Seaport. That place was full of laughs. I saw Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins eat there with their kids once. Everyone was all excited and I just wanted to ask her for my seven bucks back for Lorenzo's Oil. And another time a Muslim family ordered the Pizza Skins and then freaked the hell out after they finished and realized they had eaten bacon. That was some funny shit. Hey, is it our fault they didn't read the menu? I got over that place real quick. Between the ridiculously late hours, the tourist tippers and the nightly Rat Parade, I quit after about two months. I left 30 minutes into my shift. Another waiter saw me leaving and asked how I was getting to go home so early. "Easy," I said. "I punched out."
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
So I always feel like waiting tables is something I can fall back on. Not just because it pays so amazingly well and I am so wonderful at it, but also because it is so completely fucking fulfilling. But then I get word that there is this restaurant in Japan or Chinatown or some fucking place that has monkeys as waiters. As if the cafeteria and the buffet were not enough to do away with my profession of choice, now someone is hiring freaking monkeys to do my job? Okay, well this isn't really my profession of choice. It's more like it was handed to me on a silver platter but the platter was too hot to handle and no one told me it was that hot and I burned off my fingerprints and then after I dropped it, the silver platter broke into a thousand pieces and then they asked me to clean it up and they told me the cost of the platter would be coming out of my next paycheck. Anyhoo, I digress. These monkeys in Japan are getting paid with soybeans, peanuts and pats on the head. I get paid with nickels, dimes and the occasional pat on the ass (okay that never happens). What is this restaurant world coming to? A monkey can never replace me. Can a monkey draw little smiley faces on the check? Can he forget to ring in your food and then tell you that the kitchen printer fucked up and they never got the order? Can a monkey tell you "you can make your own fucking cocktail sauce, asshole."? I don't think so. These are things that make me and every other human waiter so special. The only monkey I want to see in a restaurant is a little pink plastic one that is hanging off my Mai Tai or one that is flying out of my ass when a monkey puts on my stained dirty apron and takes an order from Cunty McCuntcunt at Table 206. Check out the video of the bastards who want my job.
I am so fucking sick of hearing that phrase preface almost every single thing that anyone talks about. "Because of the current economic situation, we will be eliminating the W train" or "In light of the economy we must lay off a million employees" or "In observance of the economic climate, I will not be taking anymore craps." We get it, everyone is broke. That does not give broke ass mother fuckers an excuse to not tip their waiters. If you can't afford the tip, don't go to a restaurant, okay? Case in point: four bitches came in last week and I knew from the fucking get go that they were going to crawl up my butt and chew me a new asshole to get out. As soon as they sat down the Queen Beech snapped her fingers with her ugly ass fake nails. I sauntered over. "Do you all have turkey products?" "Yes ma'am, we do. We have turkey burgers." She brushed her weave out of her eyes and said "No, tur-key pro-ducts. Turkey bacon? Turkey ham? Turkey products." I guess the answer then is no. We will forget that turkey burgers are in fact made out of turkey. I walked off so they would hopefully decide to go elsewhere but they all took off the fur coats and decided to make do with our lack of turkey. When they were finally ready to order, they called me over and began to order all at once. No taking turns for these gals, nope. Just all say it at once and hope for the best. One lady wanted an omelette. With turkey in it. Hello?? We already went through this. Had the copious amount of make up that was plastered to her face somehow seeped into her brain and made her retarded? I reminded the dumb bitch of the turkey situation and she said to put a turkey burger in it. A well done one as opposed to the rare turkey burgers that I normally serve. Then the other lady asked for an omelette. With a steak in it. For real. And another lady wanted hash browns with onions inside it. "Well the hash browns are already prepared so I can't add onions." "You are telling me that you can't add onions to a hash brown?" That is exactly what I was telling her. Another lady ordered a side of over easy eggs with cheese on top. She practically had a baby cow when I told her we did not have American cheese. They had a waffle for the table but not with the berries that usually come with it of course. Bananas. And bottled waters. With straws. And sides of bacon. Crispy. Their bill was $81 which is a lot for four people in my cheap ass diner. They tipped me $5.00. Now remember I have to tip out 5% of my sales to other people. That is $4.05 that I give to someone else leaving me with a grand total of 95 cents for that awful table. Again, you have to be able to tip. In light of the economy, I hate those four ugly tacky bitches.
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Monday, January 5, 2009
Our friendly neighborhood restaurateur, Bruce (of the Douchebags), has graced us with his wisdom once again in the continuation of his list of 100 things a server should never ever under any circumstances do. I published his picture so that you will know who he is if you ever see him. He sorta looks downright douchey, right? You can tell him The Bitchy Waiter said hello if you ever run into him. And when I say "run into him" I mean with your car. The New York Times must have had some extra columns to dole out this week, because they published this ridiculous list over two days. I say get this man a stone pallet and a chisel so he can carve these bitches out, because he is a genius. Moses may have had the ten commandments, but Bruce has 100 of them. Long live Bruce the Douche! Shall I respond?
51. If there is a service charge, alert your guests when you present the bill. It’s not a secret or a trick. Nope. They need to read the menu and look at the fine print. If some asswipe doesn't see that it says his grat will be added and chooses to tip again, do you really think I will alert him that he tipped 40% by accident. Please. Next.
55. Do not serve an amuse-bouche without detailing the ingredients. Allergies are a serious matter; peanut oil can kill. (This would also be a good time to ask if anyone has any allergies.) Not my responsibility to ask if they are allergic to something. They need to alert me. I don't have the fucking time to ask every single person if they are allergic to nuts or dairy. And if someone is going to die because they forgot to tell me about their peanut allergy, please do not do it in my station. Have the decency to die in the bathroom. Dead people in my station really bum me out and affect my tips.
58. Do not bring judgment with the ketchup. Or mustard. Or hot sauce. Or whatever condiment is requested. I will not judge you for putting ketchup on your steak if you don't judge me for being a waiter. Fair trade?
60. Bring all the appetizers at the same time, or do not bring the appetizers. Same with entrees and desserts. Unless people ordered all at different times because your asshole manager Bruce allowed incomplete parties to be seated.
61. Do not stand behind someone who is ordering. Make eye contact. Thank him or her. Okay, but this will make it extremely awkward when they can actually see my eyes rolling out of my head.
66. Do not return to the guest anything that falls on the floor — be it napkin, spoon, menu or soy sauce. Does he really think that if someone drops their spoon on the floor and asks me for another, I am just going to hand them the same one right after picking it up from the disgusting floor? No. I am going to carry that spoon to the side stand and pretend I am getting another one and then hand them the spoon that I just picked up from the disgusting floor. And how do you drop soy sauce?
68. Do not reach across one guest to serve another. Unless people have crammed themselves into a table that was meant for fewer people and there is no other way to get their food to them.
69. If a guest is having trouble making a decision, help out. If someone wants to know your life story, keep it short. If someone wants to meet the chef, make an effort. Okay, didn't he tell us yesterday that telling people our favorite dessert was irrelevant? Which one is it, Bruce?
77. Do not disappear. Unless you are busy steaming a label off a wine bottle.
87. Do not stop your excellent service after the check is presented or paid. This one is easy to do if you never start giving excellent service in the first place.
88. Do not ask if a guest needs change. Just bring the change. Just fucking ask if they need change. There is nothing wrong with asking. We don't have time to make change for every single person when most don't need it. It takes away precious time for us to pay attention to the other 99 things on the list.
90. If someone is getting agitated or effusive on a cellphone, politely suggest he keep it down or move away from other guests. Oh, I am sure that will go over great. Just ask the asshole to step outside because he's annoying other people. Don't ask him if he needs change but feel free to tell him to leave the restaurant because he is annoying.
91. If someone complains about the music, do something about it, without upsetting the ambiance. (The music is not for the staff — it’s for the customers.) And what are we supposed to do about it? Take time away from our station to go downstairs to adjust the volume on the sound system. Or call the satellite company that is piping the music in and tell then that Table 21
doesn't like Neil Sedaka? And wouldn't that contradict #77?
93. Do not play brass — no brassy Broadway songs, brass bands, marching bands, or big bands that feature brass, except a muted flugelhorn. The fugelhorn?? What the fuck is this guy talking about? And I speak from experience in saying that life is just better for all concerned when Dreamgirls is playing in a restaurant.
94. Do not play an entire CD of any artist. If someone doesn’t like Frightened Rabbit or Michael Bublé, you have just ruined a meal. Unless of course it is the all time classic recording of "Michael Bublé's Greatest Hits Accompanied by a Muted Fugelhorn."
97. If a guest goes gaga over a particular dish, get the recipe for him or her. Gaga? Nice attempt at trying to reach the youth of America with the coy Lady Gaga reference, but whatever, Bruce. No kitchen is going to give you the recipe and if they do, it's going to be a recipe that serves a hundred people. I am not going to convert a recipe that is in cups and gallons down to tablespoons and ounces.
100. Guests, like servers, come in all packages. Show a “good table” your appreciation with a free glass of port, a plate of biscotti or something else management approves. How about a free toothpick or something else that we can get freely and quickly, because in your anal retentive restaurant I am pretty sure the kitchen or bartender is not going to just hand over some free port or biscotti without it being ordered.
Obviously, Bruce has never been a server. He expects way too much from his slaves and the only way all of that will be possible will be if the stations are two tables. Customers may love the place, who knows. But I am certain that working there will be a huge clusterfuck. Good luck to all the servers in Bruce's domain. Perhaps I should write a list of "100 Things Restaurant Customers Should Never Do" and send it in to The Times.
If you want to read it here is the complete list by The King of All Douchebags, Bruce.You may notice that there are a shitload of comments posted on the article and that The Bitchy Waiter has posting number 2!