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Thursday, September 20, 2012

A Dish Best Served Cold (Guest Blogger)

 In my absence while I am on vacation, I have assembled some wonderful guest bloggers to fill in for me. Please comment and share. Also remember, these are guest bloggers. Visit their websites and show them some love. 

This blog comes from the most excellent, Terry Everton who writes at Working Stiff Review.  


Thanks,
BW

“Excuuuuse me, Waiter…This table is dirty. Do you think you can clean it for us?”

“Sure, just as soon as I grow a third hand,” I told the two entitled princesses as I walked past them with my hands full of six dirty plates. Even though there were at least eight clean tables on the patio, they had determined that the unset one with dirty glasses on it was where they absolutely had to plant their asses – after bypassing the hostess and seating themselves, of course.

Here’s a tip from your server. If you absolutely, positively want to assure yourself the worst possible dining experience you’ve ever had, then ignore the hostess, seat yourself and bitch to the first restaurant employee you encounter about how dirty the table you just sat yourself at is.

By the time I made it back out to the patio after depositing the dirty plates in the dish area, a busser had visited the princesses and cleared and wiped their table. I arrived just in time for the blondest of the duo to summon me again in her best sing-songey tone.

“Um, excuuuuse me, Waiter…Do you think maybe we could get some menus?” 

There are select moments when life lobs you softballs, and whether you choose to swing for the fence is entirely at your discretion. Always one to recognize and appreciate such rare gifts from the universe, I wound up and gave it a whack.

“Oh golly,” I palmed my jaw as I replied. “Didn’t the hostess bring menus with her when she sat you?”

They both looked at each other like I had just changed the channel halfway through an episode of The Kardashians. “Uh, we, uh, well, uh…”

“I’ll tell you what,” I continued. “I’ll go ask her why she sat you here without bringing you any menus. I can’t believe we’re paying people to give such bad service to our valued guests!”

The least blonde of the two began backpedaling faster than a right wing Christian fundamentalist who had just inadvertently stumbled into a John Waters film festival. “Nooo, wait…She, uh, didn’t really, uh, do anything wrong, uh, we kinda, just picked this table out ourselves, uh…”

Swing, batter batter batter, swing! Swing, batter batter batter, swing! “You know what, you’re right. Let me get our manager to come talk to you, because I’m sure he’d want to know how badly some of the people on his staff are performing. He’ll probably fire her, though I hope it won’t upset her mother too much, what with her recent cancer diagnosis and all.”

The blondest of the duo began running in the opposite direction quicker than if she had just been told she was about to stumble headlong into a hurricane of sense.  “Uh, no, uh, I think, uh, maybe we should just, uh…”

“Stay here,” I told them. ‘I’m gonna go get the manager so we can all pitch in and get this bitch fired!”

I walked to the nearest side station, rang up a shot of Jagermeister for myself and downed it when no one was looking. By the time I had taken a lap through the bar, kitchen, dining room and made my way back out onto the patio the pair of blondies had decided to vacate their ill-gotten table and plant themselves elsewhere, preferably in a different restaurant.

After she had sat the freshly-cleaned former princesses’ table with a four top, the hostess cornered me. “What did you say to those two girls who sat themselves, anyway?”

“Not much,” I lied. “I just told them that I’d be with them as soon as I got rid of some dirty plates, and when I got back to their table they had left. Why do you ask?”

“It was weird. They each gave me a strange look, wished me good luck and handed me a twenty dollar bill as they left. I don’t know what I did.”

Vengeance, as always, is mine.



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7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Love it! People like that used to drive me bonkers when I worked in restaurants, especially the ones that would see the "Section Closed" sign and decide to seat themselves there.

Nathan Partyka said...

When people seat themselves I love going up to them after a few minutes, playing dumb and saying "Oh hey guys, sorry I thought your reservation wasn't for another 45 minutes, which host/hostess sat you?"

Trina said...

Thank you for the best laugh I'll have all day.

Estrellita said...

I was pissed as hell when I started reading this. I fucking hate people who seat themselves. I hate fucking patios. It was the perfect storm of pet peeves. By the end I was in tears. I bow to your finesse.

Noelle said...

Bitchy is completely forgiven for running off and indulging himself abroad. Even if this story was made up. I'm sure it is not. Hysterical. I can only hope I find that much wit when I need it.

maxi said...

Gah this annoys me! When people sit themselves out front without bothering to come in and ask for a table is bad enough but choosing the ONLY dirty table and then bitching about it really does my head in. I generally say something along the lines of : "Sorry about that, if a member of the team had sat you, we would have chosen a clean table." I don't care if its rude. Morons!

Anonymous said...

Ever notice that, whether you work at a full-service restaurant or fast food, people tend to seat themselves at the dirtiest tables (usually the table you were literally walking towards to clean)? Seems like they all just want something to bitch about.