Anonymous #1 said...
Wow you got you're panties in a bunch over that?? No wonder you don't get tipped as often as you should. Customers can see fake kindness like a dog smells fear. Maybe change your attitude and you'll increase your tax bracket.
Anonymous #2 said...
I agree with anonymous. This is the life of a server/waiter. If you don't like it, go to school and get a real job. I worked for $12/hr at a call center while going to school to get my masters degree. If you don't like your job or if one person gets to you this badly then it ruins the service to everyone else. Maybe check your tampon. Is it in sideways or something?
Okay, Anonymous #1, I do get my panties in a bunch when someone either intentionally or unintentionally forgets to sign their credit card slip and therefore leaves me no tip. I did not serve this guy $75 worth of food and drinks just because it gave my life purpose. I did it because I expected there to be a tip. That tip goes into my pocket and then it is used to pay for frivolous things like food, electricity bills and mortgage payments. And I don't know where you came up with the idea that I don't get tipped as often as I should. Do I work with you? Are you the IRS? Do you have a copy of my tip log? Yeah, I didn't think so. And when did I say I gave him fake kindness? Contrary to the name of this blog, I am very rarely flat out bitchy to my customers because all that does is put less money in my pocket. I guarantee almost every server you ever had was giving you "fake kindness" because that is the name of the game. That waitress you had in Disney World that time who you thought was so sweet and kind and was so good with your kids? Fake. She wanted a tip, dumb ass. I treated this guy just like everyone else and he is the one who expected different treatment by refusing to wait his turn and come directly to my sidestand in an attempt to pay his check before everyone else. And then he didn't sign his card or tip me. So yes, my Sexy Little Things® Lace-trim Cheeky Panty was all bunched up. And I am still not sure that dogs smell fear. Myth or reality? Let me know.
And Anonymous #2, how many times do I have to tell you this: waiting tables is a real job. If it wasn't, I wouldn't get a paycheck and have to file income taxes. I go someplace for a designated period of time, punch a time clock, do an activity that I was hired to do and then I am paid for it. Yep, sounds like a real job to me. And I did go to school, it just wasn't for waiting tables. I have a degree from a real honest to goodness college that I went to while working full-time. And I actually work with two people who have the all-important masters degree you speak of who choose to wait tables because the money is better. Congratulations on your masters degree and surviving on the $12 an hour job. Let me shit out a parade for you because that is truly inspirational. And I bet since you have your masters degree, nothing at your job ever gets you even the slightest bit irritated, because once you have a masters degree every thing comes to you on silver platters after sliding down a rainbow. When you show up for work does a confetti cannon announce your arrival? Is every second of your day filled with joy and satisfaction? Because that's what a masters degree does for people, right? And I do not have a tampon in sideways or any other way. Just because I wear a Sexy Little Things® Lace-trim Cheeky Panty does not mean I have a vagina. I wear panties because they make me feel pretty.
I wait tables for a variety of reasons. It's easy. The money is good. It allows me the flexibility to do other things in my life. I don't want a job that I am at for fifty hours a week and I can't take an extra day off when I want. If I get a call to work on a movie or I audition for something that is going to take me out of town for four weeks, I just get my shifts covered and do it. That is one of the benefits of waiting tables. It pays my bills so I can focus on the things in my life that make me happy. Twenty-four hours a week pays my bills and leaves me plenty of time to enjoy my life. When I die, my last thought won't be be "I should have spent more time at work." It will be one of two things: "Thank God I found time in my life to be happy" or "Do I have time for one more grapefruit martini?" I have a feeling that there are lots of people with maters degrees who spent 70 hours a week at work and when they died, they wished they had lived their life differently. And as always, if you don't like what I write, don't read it. You can always go here if you want something that is mindless and non-thought-provoking.
The Bitchy Waiter