Dear Table 15,
Congratulations to you! You have the distinct honor of being my most annoying customer of the night! Although it was a tight race between you and table 16 who told me they were so hungry that I should put down my water pitcher and take their order right away, your overall consistency of annoyingness took the lead. Kudos to you, assholes!
When I say hello to a table, a nice response would be a salutation directed back at me and not "I want a cheeseburger." That is just plain rude, sir, but I will blame that on your very advanced age and your need to eat one final meal before departing this earth. Of course, me being eager to please, I was ready to take your order and get that burger cooking as quickly as possible seeing that you must be severely underfed. However, no one else at your table, your wife or grown son, was ready to order because you had only been sitting there for about thirty seconds. Slow the fuck down. Death may be knocking at your door, but I have a sequence of events I try to uphold. I went ahead and placed your well-done burger (with cheddar, I decided, since you were in too big of a hurry to read the menu and make your own choice.) I would come back momentarily to take the rest of the order. That's annoying.
Finally, the other two people were ready to order. "Can I get the roast chicken?" asked the man who was at least 35 years old. "But can you have the chef cut it up for me? I don't have the use of my left elbow." I did see that there was some fancy-looking-bionic-arm Steve Austin kind of contraption on it and let him know that the chicken comes out from the kitchen sliced. But that wasn't good enough. He needed it to be cut into bite-sized pieces. The kitchen was already going to be annoyed with me that I am placing this order in shifts, but now I get to ask the cook to cut the meat too. For God's sake man, you're sitting eighteen inches away from your mother, can't she do it? Perhaps you would like me to chew it for you as well and then partially digest it and then regurgitate it directly into your mouth like a baby bird. Would that be helpful? But I asked the cook to cut the chicken up and he hates me now a little bit more than before which I didn't think was possible.
The old lady wasn't hungry because she had already eaten a full dinner and a dessert before she came in. Too much information and I certainly didn't need to hear it three times. A brandy and ginger ale for the lady. And without ice. Of course, ma'am. And of course you don't want ice. It wouldn't be table 15 without me having to type some extra shit into the computer notating your special needs.
When I returned with the brandy/ginger ale, that is of course the perfect time to ask what the soup of the day is, old man. I would have told you earlier had you not ordered your cheeseburger before allowing me to announce the specials. And of course you want soup now. Another addition to your check is just what the kitchen wants from me.
Everything seemed fine after your food arrived (at three different times) so imagine my surprise when I saw you flagging me down fifteen minutes after the chicken made it to the table. I rushed over because I assumed you wanted a salad now or maybe some bread. But what's this I see? Your credit card? You're waving your credit card around as if I have made you wait forever to make payment. That is not the case. Customarily, I let my tables enjoy their meal for at least twenty minutes before attempting to clear plates but you were in such a hurry to pay that you wanted it done right that very minute. I understand that when the grim reaper is breathing down your saggy neck, time is of the essence, but it's not necessary to freak the fuck out.
I was happy when you left, table 15. I made far too many trips to your table for things that could have been condensed to one or two visit and your neediness took time away from other tables. Thank you for the 12% tip. It was exactly what I expected from you and you did not disappoint. . I am happy to say I was never rude to you and I was always respectful. Too bad you can't say the same. Learn what "please" and "thank you" mean and congratulations on your most annoying attitude.
The Bitchy Waiter
Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter on Twitter.
Click here to find The Bitchy Waiter on Facebook.