A Comment on Comments Guest Blog

This is both a Comment on Comment AND my first guest blog post. It comes from Katie who is an occasional guest blogger for another kick ass website called InnocentBARstander. Katie wrote a little something in response to a comment on the Bitchy Waiter Facebook Page. A reader named Jackie B. had this to say:

"Really ppl? For the prices I'm paying for your "lovely" service if I want a lemons and no ice then I should get one and not have to worry that your (sic) going to go back and bitch about the 10 extra seconds it takes to change it up a little. You ppl make it sound like your job is the toughest and most important one out there. Trust me it's not. And I get needing to vent and bitch but dang you ppl are *ucking ass holes."

Please enjoy Katie's response: 

Here's a quick blurb about being a lemon.....(as I sit here drinking a glass of wine, looking at my masters degree collecting dust under the pile of unopened student loan envelopes).

I am a lemon, no not the piece of crap car that breaks down every time you have a less than exceptional week due to all the Jackie B's flooding into your restaurant and as a result have limited funds in your bank account, but an actual lemon.  Here goes:

I am a lemon sitting in the bottom of a flimsy produce box. It is Monday afternoon and I am traveling my way to the restaurant to complete the food order for the week. Bump Bump Bump goes the truck.  I feel a piece of broccoli and a whole cucumber fall on my head from their respective and also flimsy produce boxes.  The back of the truck opens and I am greeted with two men in hair nets. I get a whiff of freshly made tortilla's, some not so fresh cheese, and cigarette smoke from the servers quickly inhaling as much nicotine as possible before Booth 4's entrees are ready.  

I am carried in from the truck by one of the hair net men and brought into the walk-in cooler.  OUCH!  I fall immediately to the floor amongst my fellow lemons and roll right under the prep-line cart.  I am waiting patiently to be picked up as I see the hairnet man pick up all the other lemons off the floor, but I am hidden and he does not see me.  I wait all night on the cold damp floor but still no one sees me.  It isn't until Tuesday morning when the prep-cooks come in to retrieve the cart that I am finally picked up off the floor and put back into my original flimsy produce box. I see people come and go and wait another few nights in the dark and cold.  By now I am starting to get quite damp.  I think that box of lettuce from last weeks order is starting to leak...  I am not needed yet since the lemons that had fallen on the ground and then put back into the box were used to fill the fruit trays already.  It is finally Thursday afternoon and I am picked up by a girl who  smells strikingly similar to what I smelled when I first got off the truck. Oh no...the ground again!  This time I land in some fresh ketchup.  No worries, the girl has a nice rag conveniently located on her belt loop that has been used to wipe tables all lunch shift and cleans me off. She says a few colorful words under her breath and I am put into a basket.  I am waiting to be cut so pieces of me can be used for waters, cocktails, and bartenders hands who have recently been puffing on the nicotine.  I hear the same girl use that same colorful language as she cuts me into pieces and complains about how she hates me because she has a cut on her finger, and "IT HURTS LIKE A BITCH".  

Well Thursday night is coming to an end and I still haven't been used.  I see the barback coming to collect the other limes, oranges, and cherries that are in the same tray as I am.  He wraps us in Saran Wrap and we are put away for the night.  

It is now Friday afternoon and I have become a nice yellowish brown and the juice that once ran through my veins is increasingly drying up.  The barback comes to release us from captivity, unwraps us from the plastic and sets us on the bar next to the server station.  8 pm rolls around and I am FINALLY being picked up along with 10 of my other friends. We are carried on an appetizer plate to the woman at table 6.  Jackie Beeotch grabs all of my friends and I and squeezes us into her free, luke warm, probably rusty tap water and slams us down.  UGH...too sour!! says Jackie Beeotch!

Well, Jack-hole...let's recap....When you couldn't remain seated during your dining experience and NEEDED 48 extra lemons and "in a hurry", just remember the journey that your lemons have been on. Just a question.....Do you remember this lemon ever being washed after it hit the floor...twice?  I hope you choke on your next lemon Jackie B. 

Thank you, Katie.  And everyone, please go check out InnocentBARstander.



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