(This is a repost because I am busy preparing for my trip to Hollywood where I will be a guest on a national talk show. I will give the details on that when I have them. In the meantime, enjoy reading about this bitch who likes Bloody Mary's.)
It's been a while since I had a real bitch in my station that made me need to vomit out my feelings about her, but last night she slid into booth number one. I only had one nerve when I got to work and that bitch had to get all up on it. She was wearing a lot of make up, like Tammy Faye (may she rest in peace) levels of make up. And she was wearing a black top that had sequins on it. It may have had some feathers around the collar too. I'm pretty sure it did, but I already tried to erase her image from my memory and parts of last night are gone forever. The loss of memory may or may not have something to do with the alcohol that was consumed after work; not sure.
"How's the the Bloody Mary?" she asked, when I queried about her cocktail of the evening.
I acted like I have tasted one before and said that it was delicious. They get ordered all the time and no one ever returns it, so I assume they're good. People really think I have tasted every cocktail on the menu? What do they think I am, a fucking alcoholic who sits around at work and drinks every night? Okay, maybe they do know me, but I have never tasted a Bloody Mary because that would involve a vegetable serving and I try to avoid those at all costs. I brought her Bloody Mary and later on when it was time for the second drink, she whispered to me that the Bloody Mary was awful and she would have a Cabernet instead. Fine. I don't give a shit.
After the show, she called me over to again let me know that the Bloody Mary was horrible. "Oh, I'm sorry, I said. And I was sorry she didn't like her drink because I knew it was expensive. "A lady over there had two and she really enjoyed them."
"Well, it was horrible," she said as she rolled her eyes to the back of her head.
"I guess it's a subjective opinion then. I'm sorry." End of story, I thought.
"No, I'm a bartender and I know. There was no vodka in it. It was just tomato juice and horseradish."
She was wrong of course. I know for a fact that it had vodka in it. I watched it being made and we don't leave liquor out of drinks. We just don't do that. I gave her the check and she looked at the $45.73 total and gasped. "Is the tip included?"
She shot me this look that said, "Are you freakin' kidding me?" She gave me a twenty dollar bill and a credit card and told me to put twenty to the check and the balance on the card. So I took her credit receipt back to her with a total of $25.73 on it and she looked at and grunted. "No, I wanted to put twenty in cash and then the balance on the card!"
"I did that, ma'am. Twenty dollars cash plus $25.73 totals $45.73, does it not? I believe that is the total of your check, correct?
She looked at it again and then snorted out, "Fine!" Like she was doing me a fucking favor. Look lady, I didn't fucking invent math. Do I look like Pythagoras? Pay your bill and shut the fuck up.
On the way out, she of course had to let the bartender know that the Bloody Mary was horrible and that she was bartender and she knows best and blah blah blah. I don't get what her deal was. If she didn't like the drink she should have fucking told me. The lady at the next booth sent her drink back and had more juice added (because we did pour liquor into her drink). I hate when people complain after it's too late to do anything about it and they won't accept an apology and they just keep bitchin' about it.
This lady was a windbag. A big gassy bag of wind that had Bloody Mary and Cabernet breath and was rocking a black sweatsuit looking ensemble with sequins and fucking feathers. 'nuff said.
Click here to Tweet this across the world!
Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter on Twitter.
Click here to find The Bitchy Waiter on Facebook.