High Maintenance Table #1

I had my first high maintenance table at my new job recently and you know I have to blog about it. When the group walked in, I was warned by the bartender that they might be a problem. "They're nice, but..." I got the drift. I greeted the family and asked how many people were in the group. "I dunno, five or six." You don't know how many people are in your family? It ended up being five of them so I took them to a booth and as soon as they sat down the Mom laid a heavy sigh out on the table. "I need a glass of Cabernet right away," she said like she had just gotten through negotiating a peace treaty with Col. Moammar Khadafy and she was dead beat tired. As I opened my mouth to ask if anyone else at the table was in need of a drink, she waved her hand and said, "Just go get mine right now, thanks." Okay. I can see where this is going. I am going to make multiple trips to the table, fine. When I returned with the oh-so-needed wine, I saw that all the candles from surrounding tables had been moved to their table so the kids had light to read their books. While I applaud the children's need to read, I now had to go scour the restaurant to find three more candles to put on the now naked tables beside them. Mom spoke up again. "We come here all the time and the chef always makes our kids some pasta with butter, can we just order that now? Thanks, they're starving." Although she made it sound like the chef does this as a huge personal favor just for her and her precious bundles of brat, when I asked him about it, he told me there is a key for it on the computer. So it's not like he does it just for this bitch like she thought. I ordered their pasta and then went back to see what the grownups wanted for din din.

"Now does the chicken come with a vegetable or just the potatoes?" Mom asked. I admitted, being new I was not positive but was pretty sure it was just potatoes. I was also thinking, "Bitch, I thought you came here all the time..." I confirmed it was just potatoes and then the Grandma ordered a hot tea. Of course she did. "Do you have any herbal?" I told her we do and that I would bring out the choices for her. Mom said, "Just don't ask him what kind, because he won't know the answer. Hardy har har, I'm so funny. Snort pig, snort pig, rutabaga, rutabaga." I smiled. The husband was decidedly quiet throughout dinner, probably because he gave up a long time trying to insert any kind of opinion to his wife who obviously wore the pants, the boots, the suspenders and the strap-on in the family.

I noticed Mom had an empty glass of wine and knowing how badly she wanted the first one, I offered her another. "Oh, not now." Two minutes later she called me over to order another glass of wine. Bitch, I was just there. She liked to have control, so since it was my idea that she have another glass of wine she shot it down. But when it's her idea, it's a real gem. The children eventually got tired of reading and one of them thought it was fun to constantly get up from the table with her umbrella and go outside for thirty seconds and then come back to the table to let everyone know she had just gone outside. Newsflash: your daughter just went outside in the rain. Eight times. Each time, getting in my way and getting the floor more and more wet. My kingdom for a bottle of Crazy Glue that I could have smeared in her seat.

They finally finished and left me a good tip. It wasn't that they were crazy rude or mean, just annoying. I made more trips to that table than I did any other table all night. People like that use us servers as their own personal servants. They say "please" and "thank you" but only because they feel they have to, not because they mean it. And then they leave a 20% tip to make themselves feel okay about being so freaking annoying. That's fine. I'll take 20% for annoying, Alex.


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