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Tuesday, January 29, 2013

You Can Be a Bitch AND Give Good Service

You know I have three different jobs and each one of them gives me something unique: one gives me a pain in the ass, one gives me a pain in the neck and one gives me benefits. At job number two, I serve cocktails and food during shows and on occasion we have a late show that starts at 11:30 PM. I especially dislike this shift because 11:30 is closer to the time I like to be leaving the job rather than just beginning it.

It's 10:45 and the 11:30 show has just been given "a go." In other words, we have enough reservations to justify the performance so like it or not, my ass is going to be at work until at least 1:30 AM. The reservations seem to be all promotional deals such as Groupon and the like meaning the probability for shitty tips is pretty high. My mood is deflated knowing that my shift drink has been pushed back by at least two hours. We open the doors and in comes "the crowd." Every single person there has a coupon and instantly complains about the price and the two-drink minimum.

I approach table three.

"Hello and welcome. May I get you something to drink this evening?"

As soon as I ask , I realize that this girl may be under 21 years old and I will have to card her. At the club, we don't normally get 21 year-olds. We cater to a more mature crowd who do not require carding because most of them had their birth certificates delivered via Pony Express and their drivers licenses were given to them for horse and buggies.

The young girl looks at the menu overwhelmed by either the selection or the $15 martini prices.

"Um, I dunno yet. Can I just start out with a chocolate mouse?"

"Okay, one chocolate mousse," I say.

"Oh my god, I meant mousse, not mouse. Oh my god." She giggles with her friend. "I want a Red Bull and vodka'" she decides.

"Do you have i.d. for me?"

She reaches into her bag which may or may not have had Dora the Explorer on it and hands me her license which confirms that she has been twenty-one years old for all of three months. I hand it back to her. "Thank you. I'm sorry but we don't have Red Bull."

"Oh, bummer. Well, any kind of energy drink is fine then." she tells me.

If she didn't see my eye roll then she must be blind because an epic eye roll it is.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have any energy drinks. Is there something else I can get for you?"

She seems to not quite comprehend what kind of place doesn't have Red Bull. Typically, I serve Manhattans, dry martinis and or an Old-Fashioned. We do not have energy drinks, nor do we have cotton candy flavored vodka or body shots. She finally decides on a Long Island Iced Tea because that's what all 21 year-olds drink since it's the best bang for your buck. Vodka, gin, tequila and rum? Perfect. The other girl orders a Coke since she now knows I will card her ass if she tries to order anything else.

The two girls continue to annoy me during the show because they don't want a second drink since they "are so broke." They have to get something though so I order them each a $5.50 bottle of water. They are talking during the show, taking pictures of each other, texting friends and checking their Facebook. Not only am I at work later than I want to be, I am stuck serving kids who I know are going to leave shit for tips. I try my hardest to disguise my disdain for them. My smile is phony, my politeness is forced and I am developing "the shakes" because my shift drink is eluding me. At long last, the show is over and I pass out my checks. Everyone pays quickly with the exception of the two girls who, because they have a Groupon, owe nothing except the tip which is not included. It turns out they know someone in the show who joins them at the table and begin to chat for another twenty minutes. I can see my tip sitting on the table- a wad of singles. I stand in the corner looking back and forth between them and the bottle of Chardonnay that I am not allowed to touch until the last customer has left. Finally, they leave.

"Good night, you guys. Thank you for coming in tonight." Even I am surprised at how genuine it sounds. Seconds after they leave the club, I pour myself my shift drink and go pick up my tip: four dollars. It is now 1:40 AM and I made a total of $28 for the show. I would rather have left two and a half hours earlier without the money.

But now for the surprising part. So many people email me telling me what a horrible waiter I must be. They tell me I am rude and mean and always drunk. They tell me to get a real job and that they would hate to ever be in my station. But this is how good of a waiter I am. I looked at Yelp a few days ago and saw a review for the night I just told you about. It reads:

We came here with a Groupon deal for admission to one of the late night (post 11:30pm) shows. Dessert was tasty, service was friendly and attentive (even after he knew we had pre-purchased), and the show provided the sort of random and entertaining night that I love about NYC.  I would definitely come back, but probably not at full price. 

Even though I hated being there, hated my customer because I knew they were going to shaft me, I still gave them good service. That's what makes a good server. Doing everything you can for your customer and never letting them know that you hate them with a passion. Am I a bitchy waiter? Damn right, I am. Do my customers know it? Not at all.



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Thursday, January 24, 2013

Bare, the Musical. With Cocktails.

Writing a blog like The Bitchy Waiter has a few perks. Honestly, I don't know what any of them are yet, but I am told this is the case. Occasionally, someone will send me an email inviting me to their bar or restaurant saying they will treat me like a king, but for all I know, I will show up and they will throw a net over me and haul me off into the East River. However, I did recently receive an email from the producer of an off-Broadway musical that caught my attention. At first I thought they wanted to ask my permission to turn my blog into a big splashy hot mess of a musical, but they actually just wanted to invite me to see their show. It's called Bare the Musical. I assumed that the show must have something to do with bitter middle-aged waiters so imagine my surprise when I read the synopsis and saw that it wasn't. "Why would they want me to see this show." I wondered. I went to the box office, picked up my ticket and sat in the audience. Two minutes later I knew why they wanted me there: there are cocktail servers in the audience!

I settled in for the show, cocktail in hand. Very quickly, the plot revolves around a gay couple in a catholic boarding school. One of them wants to "out" their relationship and the other one is further in the closet than a wool turtleneck sweater in July. There's a bitchy sardonic outcast girl named Nadia played by Barrett Wilbert Weed (my favorite and in the photo above), a smart-mouthed singing nun played by Missi Pyle (my other favorite) and choreography by Travis Wall from TV's So You Think You Can Dance. I used to write theatre reviews and I always felt the need to have a critical eye, but since this is my blog, I guess I can write whatever I want. I totally loved it.

The lead I saw was the understudy (Alex Wyse as Peter) and he rocked it. He was sweet and charming and vulnerable and reminded me of my myself 10 years ago. Okay, 15 years ago. Fine, 25 years ago. He just wanted to announce to everyone that he was in love with this wonderful guy and be happy, much like me in 1985 except I thought I was in love with Dawn, Brenda, Diane, Caryl and Lisa when in actuality I had the major hots for a guy named Guy.

The set is cool, the band is great, the jokes are funny (Alice Lee as Diane made me laugh out loud once and I almost shot wine out of my nose) and the audience is there to have a good time. (Order a drink! Order two!)

The music is sort of a pop score not unlike Rent. Everyone in the show is a great singer but more than that, it looked like they were all happy to be there. This brings me back to the cocktail servers in the audience who seemed to be the exact opposite of being happy to be there. During intermission, as I ordered a white wine, I watched those three severs and wondered about them. This is New York City so the chances are pretty good that those servers are also aspiring actors. Here they are working in a theater just ten feet away from a stage, but they have on aprons and not costumes. How difficult it must be for them to watch this musical, night after night, and know how badly they want to throw that tray to the floor and rush up to the stage and sing a song with Elizabeth Judd who played Ivy, the girl in love with the closeted gay guy. I felt bad for those servers. So bad in fact, that I ordered another glass of wine from one of them just to make them feel better. I hope it helped.

Bottom line, I loved the show and it's closing on Sunday February 3rd. If you are in New York City and want to see some good theater (with cocktails, don't forget) go check out Bare. You will have a good time. You will laugh and if you're like that row of teenage girls that was behind me, you will cry whenever something sad happens. I myself got a little teary a couple of times, mostly because Peter reminded me so much of myself, but partly because I know what it's like to be serving cocktails when all you really want to do is be singing on a stage.

Bare, the Musical
Music by Damon Intrabartolo
Book and Lyrics by Jon Hartmere
Choreograpohy by Travis Wall
Directed by Stafford Arima
New World Stages
340 W 50th St (between 8th & 9th Ave), NYC



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Wednesday, January 23, 2013

The Kid, the Bitch and the Waffle

I know the kid at table eight is trouble the moment he rolls into the restaurant in his fancy stroller. His shifty eyes give him away and I can tell that he has plans to ruin my night. He shoots me a crusty with his big blue eyes and I shoot him one right back with my bloodshot ones. We already have an understanding: "I don't like you and you don't like me."

"Mark my words," I say to the bartender. "That asshole baby is going to knock over his glass of water, I guarantee it." 

The bartender ignores me because he is sick of my possibly imagined personal vendettas with every toddler who sits in my station.

I greet the table and I see that the kid already has a small Ziplock bag of Cheerios sitting before him. With pure deliberation, he reaches into the bag and retrieves one solitary Cheerio. He makes eye contact with me and I watch him drop the multi-grain goodness onto the floor.

"I want chocolate milk," he tells his mother.

"We don't have chocolate milk," I inform her. I grin slightly and shift my eyes to the little boy.

"How about regular milk?" I suggest, knowing that regular is a poor substitute for chocolate.

"Just water for him, thanks," Mom says.

I return with a small plastic cup half full of water and place it before the child.

"Be careful, sweetie. Don't spill it," the mother tells her son.

He pulls the cup closer to him while looking at me, his eyes narrow and the left side of his upper lip curled into a devilish smile. We both know it is only a matter of time before water is spilled and I am cleaning it up.

I recite the dinner specials and this is when the little boy informs his mother that he will be having waffles. It's dinner time and we don't even have waffles on Sunday brunch, but this kid thinks he's gonna get a waffle out of me? I wouldn't find a waffle for this brat for any reason in the world. He can go home and have a frozen one but not on my watch and not in my station.

"Sweetie, they don't have waffles. How about a burger?"

"Waffles."

"How about pasta?"

Waffles!"

"How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

"We don't have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches," I interrupt.

"WAFFLES!!" screams the boy while throwing his hands up in disgust and anguish consequently knocking over the cup of water in the process.

Instinctively, I pull the bar towel from my apron and catch the water before it it drips onto the the mother's lap. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the little devil cross his arms with smug satisfaction and I look at the bartender to make sure he sees that my prediction has come true. He seems to not care that I am in my personal hell with a three year old child.

"I'm so sorry," says the mother. "That was an accident."

Two of us know it was no accident.

"Waffles," he says again, this time with a hint of self-satisfaction.

The mother decides that she will order him the closest thing that we have to waffle, which is our special of the day, zucchini pancakes. I don't know what world she is living in thinking that a kid is going to be satisfied with sauteed shredded vegetables as a substitute for waffle deliciousness. The toddler looks at me as if he has won the game. He thinks he beat me because he's getting pancakes after I told him we don't have waffles. I eagerly ring in the order looking forward to the disappointment that is sure to come. I put a rush on it.

Six minutes later, I am back at the table with the plate of zucchini pancake that has a big dollop of sour cream on top of it. I place it in front of the little boy. "Here you go! Pancakes just for you. Yummy yummy yummy!"

He eyes the sour cream on top. "Is that ice cream?" he asks with excitement. I back away to see how the question will be answered.

"Well, it's not really ice cream, but it is sour cream," says the mom with an air of desperation. "I guess it's sorta like ice cream, wouldn't you say so?" she asks me.

I stare into the little boy's face and lie. "It's totally like ice cream. I can hardly tell the difference."

I am about to watch this kid take a huge bite of zucchini pancakes with sour cream when he is expecting regular pancakes with ice cream and I am quivering with excitement to see how supremely pissed off he is going to be. His mother puts a big bite of non-pancake onto the fork and zooms it towards his mouth. Inside it goes and I see realization dawning over the face of the child. His eyes show his disgust and I can see that he is about to spit it out and throw a fit. And then, he looks at me with eyes of steely reserve. It's as if he does not want to give me the satisfaction of knowing that he hates his dinner. He knows that if he spits it out, I win. Slowly and with great difficulty, he swallows the zucchini and sour cream. His eyes are watering and his lips are pursed. Through gritted teeth, he mumbles out the words "yummy, yummy, yummy."

"You like it??" says the mother? "You like those pancakes?"

"Yeah, how's that ice cream?" I ask. "You like that ice cream? I'm gonna go get you some more!"

I retrieve a ramekin full of sour cream and dump it onto his plate. His mother continues to feed him the pancake that I know he hates and he continues to eat it in order to prove that he is right. In my mind, the game is over and I am the victor.

Twenty-five minutes later, they are gone. I go to the table to clear it off and underneath the booth I see a pile of Cheerios. Not just a few Cheerios, but a whole Ziplock baggie's worth of Cheerios. They have been ground up into a powder that is going to require me to get on my knees and sweep up. Maybe I didn't win the epic battle between us. He has the last word I suppose since he is gone and I am still here cleaning up after him. Knowing that he ate a whole plate of nasty-ass zucchini pancakes when he wanted waffles makes the cleaning easier but I must admit he was a good challenger. Maybe I am not the victor after all, but neither is he. Perhaps it is a draw.

The battle is not over, kid. I will will win the next time. I guarantee it.

Portions of this blog post may have been fictionally enhanced.



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Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Customer Leaves a Letter for Server

Well, file this under "warming the cockles of my tired black heart." A reader named Whitney sent me an email explaining that a woman came into her station recently and asked for a quiet booth away from people. She then ordered a bottle of Merlot, spinach dip and worked on her laptop for the duration of the afternoon.

At this point, most of us servers with hardened attitudes are beginning to grumble things like, "If you don't want to be around people, then don't come into a restaurant" and "Great. Thanks for using my table as your office all day and not letting me turn the table over even one damn time."

When the lady left, there was a note on the table along with a twenty dollar tip. The note said:

Thank you. I found out that I have cancer today. And I needed a quiet place to sit and work. Remember what's important in life and no matter what, whatever the circumstance-be thankful. Even for the shitty stuff. Take care and thank you for letting me sit here.

p.s. Sorry if any customers were offended- I didn't realize my ear buds weren't working right and blared Prince for a while. Oh well. 

What can we learn from this, folks? We can learn a few things, the least of which is that a cancer diagnosis cries out for spinach dip and Merlot. If it were me, I'd probably be more of a nachos and margaritas or Pepsi and Butterfingers kind of guy, but you say potato and I say potato. (That saying doesn't really work when typing it, does it?) We also learn that the musical stylings of Prince soothe the soul when one is down. What we really learn is almost a repeat of what I was trying to write about last week: be grateful. I suppose when you are told that you have cancer, then even the "shitty stuff" is better than the alternative, which is "no stuff."It isn't that different from when my Mamo Rita would catch herself complaining about being old and realize that being old is better than being dead. I know that couple of my posts lately have been less about the bitchy and more about something else, but maybe 2013 is trying to remind me that waiting tables can give me extraordinary experiences and not just shitty ones. Besides, the letter is teaching me to be grateful for the shitty ones anyway.

As servers, I guess we have to be aware that, like it or not, we are affecting the lives of our customers, sometimes in a completely insignificant way but other times maybe quite a bit. Whitney was nice to to this woman without even knowing that at that moment, she needed kindness more than ever. What if Whitney had told her something like, "I'm sorry, but I need to turn this table over so maybe you can go to Starbucks with your computer?" Whitney, unknowingly, gave the woman exactly what she needed that day which was a quite place to sit and work. But Whitney also gave the woman something else: kindness. Could it be that more of our customers want that from us than we think? Perhaps they are coming into our stations making demands and spouting off their needs but in reality they are crying out for a shoulder to cry on.  Okay, probably not. More than likely, that woman who yelled at me last week about her burger being overcooked was in fact just a true bitch and not reaching out for kindness. Maybe she needed a lesson in gratitude and to be reminded to be thankful for the "shitty stuff" or in her case, a medium-well burger instead of a medium-rare one.

My point is, I guess we all have to be nice to our customers with the assumption that they are dependent on kindness to get them through their day. Maybe our job is more than carrying food to someone. Could it be that our job is to make sure people leave our station in a better mood than they were in when they got there?  Could it be that I am waxing poetic simply because I chose to have two mimosas for breakfast this morning and my fingers are typing drunk words? Either way, I suppose that kindness is something we should aspire to have and give.

But back to the woman who wrote the note: Isn't is nice of her that on the very first day she has been diagnosed with cancer, rather than wallowing in her own misery, she made the decision to immediately start teaching others how to take full advantage of the life they have? I wish all good things for this mystery diner. I hope she makes a full recovery and that she has plenty of time to blare Prince all she wants. And thank you to Whitney for sending the photo so we can know that sometimes our customers need more than spinach dip or a bottle of Merlot. Sometimes they just need a friendly smile and a thoughtful hello. We can do that, can't we?



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Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Dear Bitchy Waiter

Time for another installment of Dear Bitchy, also known as "I Don't Know What the Fuck to Write About Today."  Please email me at The Bitchy Waiter if you have a question that needs attention. Or email me to say hello. That's nice too.

Dear BW,

I have a situation and could use some advice. I recently started a new job where I'm at least ten years older than everyone including my manager. For the first time ever I'm not using my restaurant job as a social outlet. I just don't have much in common with anyone else there. I like everyone I work with. I just don't engage much in their small talk or gossip. Yesterday my manager pulled me aside to ask if I was ok. She said everyone was worried that I must have a bad home life since I'm not fun at work. She said I was doing a fantastic job but everyone thought I was stand offish. What should I do?

signed,
Juliet

Dear Juliet,

Please set your glass of Metamucil down, turn up your hearing aid and listen to this. Okay, you won't be listening to this advice so turn your hearing aid back down and put your bifocals on and read ahead, lady. I know your problem well because I too am the "old one" at one of my jobs. Luckily for me, I have two jobs and at the other one there are people who are even older than me (Hi, Tom! Hi, Eddie!) At the job where I am looked at as the senior, I too tend to not chat a lot with some of the people I work with. I want to talk about The Smiths and they want to talk about Lady Gaga. I like Bewitched while they like Jersey Shore. The gap in age is considerable and almost as wide as the space between Springs1's ears.  (That was a cheap shot, but I get a kick out of knowing that Springs1 gets a Google alert about herself and then comes here to write a comment and I shut her ass down.)

I embrace the age difference. I commend you for making the conscious decision to set yourself apart from the social dramas that tend to happen at restaurants. As for their small talk and gossip, who cares? If they want to imagine that you have this miserable home life which must be why you choose to not talk to them about who is sleeping with whom and how drunk they all got the night before after closing, let them think it. You don't go to your job to engage in that shit, you go to your job to do it well and make your money.

One bit of advice though: it may be helpful to play the social game at least a little bit so that if the time comes for you to need to switch shifts with someone you haven't ostracized yourself so much that no one wants to help you. It's okay if they think you don't socialize so much but you don't want them to think you are so "stand offish" that you're a bitch.

One final option is to get a job serving in a retirement home so you can surround yourself with elders and you can be the young one again. That way you can talk about how much you love the newest hit singles by Sheena Easton and Dexys Midnight Runners and they will all think you are so cool and hip on the music scene because they only know Benny Goodman and Dinah Shore. The tips may not be so great at a place like that (buffalo nickels and hard candies) but fooling yourself into thinking you're young again can do wonders for one's psyche.

Bottom line: don't worry if they think you're no fun. One of the benefits of growing older is recognizing that what other people think about us doesn't matter. Just scream at them to get off of your lawn and go on your merry way, old lady.

Love,
Bitchy Waiter



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Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Dirty Table? Sure, Sit There!

Like the lure of the Sirens that drew sailors towards the shore of their rocky island coast, so goes the lone dirty table in the restaurant crying out to the customer to "sit here, sit here." It matters not how many clean tables may be in the restaurant, for if there is but one table that has not been wiped down and set with silverware, that is the one the customer will want to seat themselves at.

One of the restaurants I work in is very small with only fourteen tables. On a particularly slow night recently, we have one table occupied with one table that is dirty because the two-top had just left. This leaves twelve tables that are blissfully clean with glasses, silverware and napkins. At precisely that moment, another two-top comes in and stands at the front of the restaurant waiting to be seated. I am standing behind the bar washing my hands.

"Hi folks, how are you tonight? Table for two?" I ask.

They nod their heads which I take to mean "We are doing fine, thank you for asking. How are you? And yes, we would like a table for two."

"Sit anywhere you like and I will be right there with menus and water."

They again nod their heads which I take to mean "Thank you very much for acknowledging us, you're very kind and your hair is really pretty."

I watch them as they walk towards the dining room. They pass the one booth in the restaurant that has people at it. They then pass the second booth that is perfectly ready to have people sit at it. Then they approach the third booth that has two dirty napkins on it and some spilled water along with a few crumbs. They sit there.

What is it about that table makes them want to sit at it? The booth right next to it is identical and then there are two other booths in the back of the restaurant. There are a total of twelve other tables these people can sit down at, but they choose the one table that practically has a sign on it that says "Do Not Sit Here."

Is there a big golden magnet underneath the table that pulls these people to it? Is that table emitting some silent song like those of the Sirens that customers find so lovely that they have to get as close to it as possible? Do they do it on purpose just so they can get a bird's-eye view of their waiter cleaning a table.

I grab my spray bottle and a paper towel and head over to the dirty table.

"Let me wipe this down for you folks since it looks like it's still dirty from the last customer."

I ball up the napkins and spray the table with soapy water. I wipe it down being careful to not let the crumbs fall into the laps of the customers.

"I'll be right back with silverware and glasses, folks."

They nod which I take to mean "Oh, we're so sorry we sat here. I guess we weren't paying attention but thank you for not making us feel uncomfortable."

I return to set the table.

"Now, I'll be right back with those menus I promised you."

The rest of our time together went as usual. Was it a big deal that they sat at the one dirty table? No, it wasn't that big of a deal but I find it incredibly irritating that people will sit at the one goddamn dirty table in the whole restaurant and not think twice about. Note to those who are seating themselves in restaurants: if you see a bunch of tables that are set with silverware and glasses and you see one that is dirty, don't sit at the dirty table. We don't like that.



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Monday, January 14, 2013

Be Grateful Instead of Writing Asshole Notes, Asshole

Someone recently sent me a photo of a note that was left by a customer on the back of their restaurant receipt.  It reads:
I apologize because you are a very good server but the kitchen staff really fucked up and then to find that you didn't so much as comp one drink is pretty fucking ridiculous. I live down the street and actually kind of like this joint but expect a scathing Yelp review and don't expect to see us here ever again. Peace.
Let us dissect this stupid-ass note, shall we? First off, I commend the grammar. Most of the time when people leave notes like this, be it on a restaurant receipt or on a blog, the grammar is atrocious, the spelling is horrible and the syntax is worse. This is pretty good, I must admit. Other than that though, this is one fucked up piece of shit.

If he lives nearby and "actually kind of" likes this place, who is he hurting by vowing to never come back? He's going to subject himself to visiting another joint that is further away that he does not like as much? What a dumb-ass. Does he think that threatening to never come back is going to upset the waiter? Why would the waiter want to ever see this guy again? And to threaten to write a "scathing Yelp review" sounds like something ten-year old would tell his brother when he won't stop farting on him. (I don't know what that sentence means.) Why does he expect free drinks because the kitchen fucked up? Granted, it would have been nice of the server to comp something, but it's not a requirement, especially if the order was corrected. Why are people so freaking entitled when they come into a restaurant?

If you go to The Gap and try on a pair of jeans only to realize that the jeans say 28x30 but they are far too tight and they must be mislabeled because you know you are a size 28 and there is no other possible explanation of why the jeans don't fit, do you expect to get a free pair of socks out of the deal? No, you don't.

Say you go to a grocery and you pick up some Pillsbury biscuits in a can. Once you get to the register, you happen to notice that the biscuits expired the day before. Of course you decide you don't want any tainted biscuits so you tell the check-out girl you'll be right back and a minute later you return with biscuits that are good for two more weeks. Do you tell her you will never come back unless they give you a jar of free grape jelly? No, you don't.

What about when you walk to the 7 train and you discover it's not running because of necessary track work, a police investigation, train traffic ahead, a sick passenger or someone got pushed into the tracks? Do you expect the MTA to reimburse you for your trouble? Well, yes, we do expect that but it never happens so you suck it up and hope that your boss will accept "train troubles" as your excuse for the day because this time it is actually true.

The restaurant has become the place for customers to push back as hard as possible all for the sake of getting something for free. What people are forgetting is how fortunate they are to be able to even eat in a restaurant and that they should be grateful for the experience. How many people in this world, not to mention our own country, can't afford to go out to eat? Plenty. If you are reading this on your computer, or smart phone or iPad or tablet, you're fortunate too. We live in a world of privilege and too many of us are forgetting how lucky we are to have some of the things we have.

A few days ago, I bought Apple TV. It was supposed to be so simple to install and of course it wasn't. In the three hours on the phone with tech support, they had me click so many things on my computer that by the time I hung up with them I no longer had wi-fi in my apartment and was without Internet or Apple TV. I was furious. I was almost late to work because I was on the phone up until the minute I had to leave and I got to the restaurant in a shitty mood. I couldn't shake the frustration and it was affecting my whole night. Within a couple of hours, I realized how silly I was being.

"Wait," I thought. "I am pissed off because I can't stream Netflix to watch The Dick Van Dyke Show and I am unable to check my Facebook? This is what is putting me in a bad mood? Oh, my God, I am one of those people complaining about something that only very privileged people get to have in the first place. Chill the fuck out."

And I did. The next day, my friend Randie walked me through how to get everything back up and running and I can't believe how upset I had been over the whole thing. My point is that maybe we should just take a second to look around and be grateful for what we have instead of focusing on the things that are not perfect.

Going back to the note, the kitchen staff may have fucked up his order, but chances are he still left the restaurant with a full belly and he shared his meal with someone he cares about. Why not be grateful for that, asshole? So you didn't get a free drink. You poor thing. All you got to do was spend your extra money on dinner out with friends where someone prepared your food, brought it to you and then cleaned up after you. How terrible for you.

Peace.

In the comments, name one thing you are grateful for.



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Thursday, January 10, 2013

Famous People in My Station Last Night

Last night was a trifecta of famous people at work. Many restaurants these days have their employees sign a waiver that keeps them from Tweeting, Facebooking, blogging or Instagramming about their job and the people who eat there. Thankfully, my job doesn't give a rat's ass so I get to spill the beans all over the damn place.

Working at the club, wonderful musicians come in on a regular basis, either to perform there or sit in the audience and have me bring them over-priced martinis. Last night was no exception. The performer was a consummate professional who has been in the business for a million years. She's honestly one of the most amazing live performers I have ever seen and the fact that she is 84 years old makes it all that more impressive. I would tell you her name, but then it would be too easy to look her up and see where she performed last night and the next thing you know, people would figure out where I work and Springs1 would show up at my job to bludgeon me with an empty bottle of Ranch dressing. Anyway, this singer has been around and she holds the record for the most appearances on the Johnny Carson Show. (For those of you who don't know who Carson was, Google it...) Anyhoo, whenever she sings at the club, famous people sit in my station.
  1. Kim Cattrall from Sex and the City. She was friendly, gorgeous, sexy and had the nicest smile ever. She looked even prettier than she does when I see her on television. It was a pleasure.
  2. Lou Reed. Yes, this Lou Reed. I saw him and I was like, "What the fuck is Lou fucking Reed doing here? Dayum. That shit is crazy."
  3. Linda Lavin!!
Okay, technically, Linda Lavin wasn't in my station, but I walked past her once and she asked me for a cup of black coffee and some water. Of course I was more than eager to get it for her, because, well, I kinda love her. She starred in the sitcom Alice and although Flo had all the funny lines, Ms. Lavin's role was the heart of the show. How can anyone who waits tables not love Alice. I wrote a blog post about Linda Lavin several months ago when I went to see her sing. Her show blew me away and after it was over, even though I was standing only two feet away from her, I was too scared to say anything to her. I did not want to let that happen again last night.

After the performance is over, I keep my eye on her for just the right moment to approach her. I hate being that needy fan, but I don't want to regret not telling her how much her show had inspired me. As she slowly inches towards the exit, I see her constantly being stopped by other people. I don't want to join that queue, but it needs to happen. As her hand is on the door to leave, I take my chance.

"Excuse me, Ms. Lavin? I hate to bother you but I must tell you that I saw your cabaret a few months ago and I truly loved it. I just wanted you to know that."

I think my voice is an octave higher than normal which is saying a lot for me since whenever I am on the phone with someone, they always call me "ma'am."

"Oh, thank you, that's very nice," she says.

Oh my God, Linda Lavin is talking to me. Linda Lavin is talking to me. This is it. I have peaked.

"I wrote a story about it and posted it on my blog, The Bitchy Waiter."

Oh my God, am I really pimping out my blog to Linda Lavin? Yes. Yes, I am.

At this point, it gets a little fuzzy. Ms. Lavin's eyes light up with recognition.

"Was that you??" she asks as she grabs my hand.

Oh my God, Linda Lavin is holding my hand. Linda freakin' Lavin is holding my sweaty hand. I should have washed them before I came to talk to her because I think they might be sticky. I am about to pass out right here with a stack of check presenters in my arms and credit cards are going to go all over the place but I don't care because Linda Lavin is holding my freaking hand!

"I read that story!" she continues. "I loved it. "You're a very good writer. Thank you."

Oh my God, that's it. I'm done. Linda Lavin didn't just call me a writer, she called me a good writer. Someone hold me, because I am about to fall over and head right up to Jesus. Jesus, look at the menu because I am on my way to take your order and get you a basket of bread, here I come!

I make a conscious decision to let go of her hand so I don't accidentally break her fingers off and stuff them in my apron as mementos.

"Thank you, very much. You just made my night. It's nice to meet you," I tell her.

"It's nice to meet you too," she says.

And with that, Linda Lavin floats off out of my life but will forever be in my memory.

It was a good night to be a waiter. A good night indeed. Sometimes it's nice to realize that the apron I wear allows me moments like the one I had last night. Thank you, apron. And thank you, Linda Lavin.

By the way, Kim Cattrall had a whiskey sour and Lou Reed enjoyed an O'Douls.



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Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Yeah, We Don't Have That

What some customers fail to understand is that restaurants are not supermarkets. We don't have aisles and aisles of food "in the back" that we can just go get if they have a specific request. If we don't sell Coca-Cola products, you are going to have to suck it up and drink a Pepsi. I can't swing over to aisle three and pick up a two-liter Coke for your ass.

A woman orders a side of red curry coconut mussels and an an order of fries from me. This is a very quick meal to prepare and within ten minutes, I am happily placing the food in front of her.

"Ah, another satisfied customer," I think to myself.

"Thank you, this looks delicious," she tells me.

"It certainly smells good," I respond. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"Yes, just bring me some chipotle mayonnaise and I'm all set."

Chipotle mayo? Where does this bitch think she is? This ain't the Monterrey House, senorita, so don't be asking for no goat's milk candy either. Ay chihuahua!

"I'm sorry, but we don't have chipotle mayonnaise."

The woman lets loose a sigh as if she just heard that her favorite pair of mom jeans has been discontinued and she'll have to do all of her shopping on Ebay from now on.

"Okay, just bring me the mayo and the chipotle sauce and I'll do it myself then."

"We'll, we don't have chipotle sauce either. I can bring you Tabasco sauce if you like."

Immediately, her demeanor changes. She inhales very deeply and exhales through her nose as she puts both of her elbows on the table and rests her head on her hands. She slowly turns her head towards me, her lips puckered and her nostrils flared.

"You don't have chipotle sauce?" she asks incredulously.

Keep in mind, there is no reason we would ever have this elusive chipotle sauce. We are a small bistro with salmon, roasted chicken, burgers and pastas. Nothing on our menu would suggest that we have chipotle sauce, guacamole, corn chips, salsa, tortillas or anything else that one would find at someplace like, I dunno, Chipotle?

"I can bring some Tabasco sauce-"

"Not the same thing!" she interrupts. "Fine. Just bring the mayo. But I can't believe you don't have chipotle sauce."

You know what I can't believe, lady? I can't believe that you are surprised that a little American bistro doesn't have chipotle sauce and that when I told you we didn't have it you had to roll your eyes so hard that your eyeball muscles got a better work out than I did at the gym this morning. I can't believe that your sigh was heavier than my eyelids after a two martinis. I can't believe you acted like settling for plain mayonnaise was the equivalent of settling for a soy burger when you ordered prime rib. I can't believe that I just wrote a whole blog post about fucking chipotle sauce.

Yes, sometimes restaurants don't have what you want. Our refrigerator is not the same as the one at your house. If the restaurant doesn't have something that you want, your only choices are to accept it or go somewhere else. You don't need to do the eye-roll-heavy-sigh thing because no amount of that is going to make me want to go to the grocery store and get it for you. Besides, I offered Tabasco. I know it's not the same thing, but couldn't you have just said, "No thank you?"

And just so you know, we don't have Ranch dressing either, so don't ask.

What have people asked for at your job that you didn't have?



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Tuesday, January 8, 2013

What Panna Cotta Has Taught Me

Oh, panna cotta, why do you hurt me so?

Panna cotta is a dessert from northern Italy made of cream, sugar, milk and gelatin that is simmered and then cooled into a delicious custard-like substance that is usually topped with fresh berries or a chocolate or caramel sauce. I have had it many times in my life but until last week I had never tried to sell it as a special. Each moment that it became time for me to announce the dessert specials, I rattled them off with ease.

"Tonight we have a flourless chocolate cake that is served with warm chocolate sauce and topped with fresh whipped cream and raspberries. We also have a banana bread pudding that is served warm with a scoop of house-made vanilla ice cream and a salted caramel sauce. Finally, I have for you this evening a panna cotta served with a blueberry coulis and fresh strawberries and then garnished with a sprig of mint. If I liked one more than the other I would recommend it, but I truly adore all three of them. What can I get for you tonight?"

(To Anon, who thinks I am an asshole and I am rude to customers' faces, please note how professional I fucking sound.)

My first several tables all make their decisions with ease.

"Oh, let's get the chocolate cake and split it!"

"Oh my God, banana bread pudding with salted caramel sauce?? Yes, please!"

"My New Year's resolution is to lose weight. I'll just take the check."

It isn't until mid-way through my shift that someone gives me pause.

"What's panna cotta?"

Now, had I already looked up the clear and concise definition of panna cotta that I offered at the top of this blog post, all would be fine. However,  I did not have my phone on me, for it against the rules to have a cell phone on the floor which is why mine was safely stored on the top shelf over the coffee maker and under a napkin so I had easy access to send out random tweets, play Words With Friends and take the occasional photo.

("Aha!! Unprofessional asshole," shouts Anon.)

I quickly realize that although I have eaten panna cotta on several occasions and kinda know what it is, I do not have a good description of it that I can simply spout out.

"Panna cotta is a... it's a custard, but it's different. Ummm, do you know what flan is? No? Well, it's a little bit like flan but different... It has a gelatin in it, I know that, but it's not like it's Jello or anything. It's really good. Panna cotta is um...um..."

And then come the words that no one should ever use when describing panna cotta or any other dessert for that matter.

"It's like a gelatinous pudding."

I see the faces at table 16 recoil in horror at the the thought of a pudding that is of the gelatinous nature. Honestly, would you order a dessert that has the word "gelatinous" attached to it? Of course not. They probably are picturing a pudding that has sat in the sun for two days and is lumpy and indigestible. Wikipedia defines gelatin as "a translucent, colorless, brittle, flavorless solid substance, derived from collagen obtained from various animal by-products. It is commonly used as a gelling agent in food, pharmaceuticals, photography, and cosmetic manufacturing." Yes, sign me up for a big heaping bowl of gelatinous pudding, please.

Needless to say, they opted out of the deliciousness that is panna cotta, all because of my lousy description of it.

(Get a new job, loser! You suck! -Anon)

They decide to skip dessert all together and I would not be surprised if they hurried home to throw up their dinner having now imagined a giant bowl of gelatinous pudding. As soon as they are gone, I hurry to my cell phone to look up the definition of panna cotta so I can describe it correctly next time. I also use that moment to take a picture of an ugly baby that has made a mess with some crackers.

I learned three things that night. Number one: just because I have eaten something does not mean I know how to describe it so it sounds appetizing to my guests. Number two: don't assume that everyone is going to know what every dessert is. Number three: when taking a picture of an ugly baby who has made a mess, make sure the flash is turned off. Awkward...



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Monday, January 7, 2013

Complaining of the Sake of Complaining

When I first see the man sitting at table 12 (why is always table 12?), my mind flashes back to an old ZZ Top video from the 80's. He has a long grey beard that hangs to his chest and his eyes look possessed like he is the evil brother of old St. Nick. When I see his wife reading the menu to him, I remember that I have waited on them before and that the man is blind. I take back the part about his eyes looking all possessed but there is no excuse for a beard like that. It looks like grey pubes on steroids. I recall that they are difficult and that the last time they were here, the woman sent her burger back for being overcooked, which is pretty normal for Juan who seems to think that well done and medium rare are the same thing. I also recall they are pains in the ass.

"Hello, folks, how are you tonight?" I ask. "Can I get you something to drink yet?"

She orders an Old Fashion and he looks in my general direction to place his drink order.

"I will have a Bombay Sapphire martini. Very dry. Up."

"Yes, sir," I say all the while thinking that martinis are always "up" aren't they? "Would you like an  olive or a twist?"

"Yes," he says and he waits for a laugh from me that never comes. "I also want an onion. I like a salad in my martini." Again he waits for a laugh that ain't coming.

"Alright, so one Old Fashion and a Sapphire martini with a salad, coming right up."

Minutes later, I place the drinks onto the table and I watch the man stick his finger in his to gauge how full it is. They have me recite the specials and then do what most people do which is decide they don't want a special.

As the man licks his gin-soaked fingers, the woman tells me she is ready to order.

"I'm gonna be bad and order a hamburger," she says as if this is the first time in her life she has ordered something that isn't the epitome of health. Her ass tells a different story and it's an autobiography about about fried foods, gravy and donuts. "I want it medium rare. Will they know what that is?"

"And here we go," I think.

"Well, I know that sometimes they have a tendency to overcook burgers, so I will ring it in as rare so we can can cook it more if we need to. Would you like cheese on it?"

"What kind of cheese do you?"

"We have American and cheddar."

"Oh, I didn't know you differentiated between the two here."

To me, that sounded rude. Am I crazy or did that sound rude?

"Cheddar." Her ass quivers with excitement about the additional calories. "And it comes with fries, right?" Her ass yelps with anticipation.

ZZ Top informs me he will have the same thing but he would like bacon on his.

The woman interjects. "Really? You want bacon on it? It was hardly bacon last time."

Now, I know she's being rude so I question her.

"Hardly bacon? What do you mean? Was there not enough of it? Or you didn't like the taste of it?"

"Oh, never mind," she says into her Old Fashion.

I ring in their order, being sure to ask for the burgers rare and about thirteen minutes later, their food is ready. I take the burgers and fries to them and the woman immediately takes a bite of it and discovers it is too done.

"No. They did it again. This is not medium rare." She thrusts the burger towards me so I can get an eagle's eye view of the burger that definitely looks more on the medium side.

I am not pleased. I ordered it rare and here it is way too done and now I have to deal with this bitch. I agree with her that it is not medium rare and offer to make it again.

"No, I'll eat it, but look at it!" She again shows me the burger. "You look disgusted by it. You must not eat meat. Is that why you have that look of disgust on your face?"

I lie and tell her that I very rarely eat meat because I don't want her to know that the look of disgust on my face is because my peripheral vision has caught her husband sucking ketchup out of his beard.

"I'm so sorry. I can have them remake it."

"No, I'll eat it, but it's massacred."

"I'm so sorry, I can have them make remake it."

"So my fries can get cold?"

Her ass makes a sad face."

"I can bring you new fries. I'm so sorry. I can have them make remake it."

"No, I'll eat it. But look at it! This is not medium rare!!"

"I'm so sorry. I can have them make remake it."

"No, I'll eat it, but it's not cooked right."

Yes, bitch this has been established. You have two choices: eat it or let me get you another one. All I can do is punch in the "rare" key on the computer and hope they do it right. Eat it or let me get you another one. She decides to eat it. And eat it she does. Every last bit of burger and fries is gone from both her plate and her husband's although I am not certain he ate all of his. It is quite possible that a good deal of it was lost in that Bermuda Triangle he calls a beard. I swear to god I see a pickle in there and we don't even serve pickles.

They do not want dessert so I give them their check. "Have a good night," I tell them. "I'll pick that up whenver you're ready."

"Well, I wish my burger would have been medium rare."

Again with this?

"I'm so sorry. I could have had them make remake it. I told you that."

"No, it's okay, I just wanted you to know."

Like I didn't already know. Everyone knew. You made sure that I knew and that the tables next to you knew and you'll probably go home and write a Yelp review about it too. Do not complain for the sake of complaining. If you don't want me to fix the problem, then there is no need to tell me over and over again. I want to solve the problem. It will only make my tip better if you leave happy. But if you don't want me to resolvethe issue, then your continual complaining is serving no need other than for you to voice your displeasure. Shut up.

They finally go, leaving their table looking like a a bomb exploded at it with crumbs and burger juices all over the tabletop, chair and floor. I pick up the cash and count the tip. It is slightly more than 20%. You can never tell what you're going to get. Sometimes nice people leave you crap tips and sometimes people with big asses and blind husbands leave you good ones. What a world, what a world.



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Friday, January 4, 2013

A Comment on Comments

This blog gets a fair amount of comments from readers and I read every single one of them. By reading them, I feel that it helps me keep my finger on the pulse of the blog and it allows me to know which direction to write. I am also constantly scouring the comments for that one that will inspire me to write my next Comment on Comments post. And here it is.

On the blog post Reason #525,600 Someone Didn't Tip, anonymous had this to say:
bullshit on this story. If u expect the customer to pay your wage get a new job, you get paid at least minimum per state if u signed up for that thats what you get, I tip 10-15% more or less depending, servers expecting 20-25% eat a... That's ridiculous. It is after all a "tip" get out of the service industry if u depend on this "tip" but why would u u make good money dont you? 

How could I not respond to this masterpiece of the English language? Move over Bard of Avon, because there's a new writer in town and his name is Anonymous. Since Anonymous seems to have his own way of writing (sans punctuation, syntax or intelligence) I will try to respond to the comment in a way that his mind may perhaps comprehend it.


bullshit on u, anon 'cause this is a blog bout waiting tables and u u gotta no that, see? i did sign up 4 waiting tables in fact when i sign up they told me thats how it goes to wait on tables when people dont tip even though u no they no they should be tippin at lease 15%  i can make good money on "tips" but peeps hafta to tip 4 me 2 make good money on tips 20-25% eat a...That's ridiculous. maybe I will get a knew job like a lawyer or doctor instead so i dont have tips no more, but u know those jobs are hard and waiting tables is easy. eat a...That's ridiculous. dont you?

Okay, I can't with that. I don't even know what this asshole is trying to say to me. I think he is telling me to get a new job. And with the "eat a..." is he telling me to "eat ass" or to simply eat something of an undetermined nature?" I gather he is telling me to eat ass but he is too refined to actually type out the word. I don't quite understand how eating ass factors into the equation here. Is it going to improve my tips? Because I am always looking for ways to boost my income. Maybe he is telling me if I eat his ass, he will then tip me 20-25% instead of his customary 10-15%. If this is the case, I suggest that he simply go to craigslist and find someone to eat his ass. Craigslist is crawling with ass eaters. That way he can go directly to the ass eating without all that unnecessary ordering of apps and entrees from a waiter before he gets to his dessert of ass eating. Why involve a waiter in his scat play? It seems like an extra step not to mention unsanitary for the other tables in the waiter's section. Maybe table 12 doesn't want to deal with a waiter who has just been ass eating. I could be wrong, for this is not my area of expertise, but I would think most customers would rather have their waiter eating ass off the clock. Or at least in the side stand or the walk-in where they don't have to see it. Anonymous, good luck with your quest on finding a waiter to eat your ass for a 20-25% tip. Personally, I would need at least a 30% tip to go that extra mile down the Hershey Highway, but maybe somewhere you will find that server who is all, "Ass eating for 20%? You bet!" In the meantime, please continue with your comments on blogs. They are truly a wonder to behold and your skills with the written word are something I only aspire to.

Thank you for your comment.




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Thursday, January 3, 2013

Frazzled But Happy Stay-at-Home Mom, Holiday Edition

It has been a while since Frazzled But Happy Stay-at-Home Mom has made and appearance. She was originally introduced to the blog back in June of 2010 when someone suggested I grow up, have a family and write about things that really matter.

-BW

Well, hello everyone. My goodness, is it 2013 already? I could hardly believe my eyes when I looked at the calendar this morning and saw it is January 3!! LOL. With the holidays, the last few weeks just flew by. I have practically been chained to my oven as of late, what with Thanksgiving and then cooking for all the office parties Hubby was going to. I was in charge of the holiday bake sale at the kid's school and then all of a sudden it was Christmas. I spent four days preparing for that feast. Goose, ham, roast beef and  a turkey!! LOL! I wanted to make everyone's favorite. Hubby brought a nice young lady from the office to dinner for Christmas Eve too! Her name was Lola. It was so sweet of him to offer. The poor thing can't be a day over 22 years old and she had no one to share her holidays with so Hubby, being the generous spirit that he is, brought her home with him. Such a dear. She even spent the night which at first I thought was odd, but it seemed so wrong for anyone to spend the holiday alone. Hubby must have gotten up to check on her three or four times that night too, the poor dear. He was so worried that she wouldn't be able to sleep. He was in her room once for 45 minutes as he read her The Night Before Christmas. Such a sweet man.

Christmas Day was wonderful. Suzy and Billy tore threw their presents as usual and loved all of them. I got Hubby a beautiful new neck tie, a sweater, a wallet, some cologne, socks, a new belt, a new coffee maker and some golf clubs and he was thrilled with all of his gifts. He got me a new vacuum cleaner! But not just any vacuum cleaner-this one has a light on it! So futuristic. I feel like Jane Jetson when using it. LOL!! He even went to get Lola a last minute gift to open so she wouldn't feel awkward watching us open all of our presents. Since it was such a last minute decision, the only thing he could find her was a negligee, but she seemed to like it!! She even tried it on and Hubby took a couple of pictures of her. It was adorable.

And then New Year's Eve! Oh my stars, it was absolutely crazy. We had a party! So if course, I did all the cooking for that since Hubby was busy at work. He's training Lola to become a better secretary so he is with her for hours on end. (Don't work too hard, dear! I need you at home too, LOL!) We had about 45 guests at the party. I let Hubby take care of the invitations since my plate was already full, no pun intended!!! Curiously, all the party-goers were women who's husbands and boyfriends were sick. That's right, our house was full of girls! Poor hubby was the only man that night. I felt sorry for him trying to a good host and not having any men to talk to about sports. But he did a great job. He mingled all night and everyone seemed to love him. (But not as much as me!!!)

He did the funniest thing! You know the Christmas tradition of kissing under the mistletoe, right? Well Hubby thought it would be fun to do that even though it was well past Christmas. He's so crazy!!! And of course we didn't have any mistletoe so I fashioned some out of a some parsley which I sprayed with glitter paint and then wrapped with a piece of red ribbon from Suzy's hair ribbon box. He called it "faux mistletoe" and then he started calling it "mistle-faux" which I thought was just hilarious. I swear, he must have kissed every women there at least twice, Such a giver to make sure all these women were getting some attention since their significant others were all at home with the flu.

The day after the party, Hubby slept all day as I cleaned up. He was exhausted from being such a good party host. I had one glass of champagne at the party and boy oh boy did I pay for that the ext day!! But like a good soldier, I got the house clean and made dinner just in time for Hubby to wake up. He had dinner for breakfast, LOL!!

And now it is January 3rd and time for my resolutions:

  • be a better couponer.
  • cook with more natural ingredients and stop being so lazy by using Bisquick.
  • try to be more social.
  • improve my Bridge game.
  • be more understanding when Hubby has to go out of town to work on the weekends with his secretary. 
  • blog more often.
  • finally watch the last season of Desperate Housewives.
  • mop three times a week instead of just two.
  • pay more attention to my make up and stop getting it all over Hubby's shirts.
  • realize that Hubby needs his space and if he wants to sleep in the extra bedroom every other night, that is his choice and I should stop wondering why he takes the laptop in there and when it comes out the history has been erased.
  • tell my husband every day how lucky I am to have him in my life!!!!
 Happy new year, everyone. 



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Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Bitchy Waiter Best of 2012

How can 2012 end without there being some kind of "end of year" wrap up? It can't, I tell you. Keeping that in mind, I have gone through the blog archives and looked to see what were the highlights of the year. Turns out The Bitchy Waiter in 2012 was pretty much the same as it was in 2011: bitching, whining, complaining and pissing people off. Success! There were 211 posts in 2012 as compared to the 299 from the year before which means that I got a little bit lazy. I will try to amend that for 2013 and when I say "try to amend that" I mean I won't think about it again until the day before 2014.

I have decided to make three top five lists. One list will be the five posts with the most comments, another list will be the five with the most views and the last list will be the five that were "liked" the most on Facebook.Keep in mind that these lists serve no purpose other than to try to get you to go back and reread some crap I wrote in 2012. Plus, everyone likes lists. It's a known fact. And here we go:


Most Comments

  1. 177 comments. Are Your Customers as Stupid as Mine Are? came in with so many comments because Springs1 took over and couldn't shut the fuck up.
  2. 110 comments. This post called 10 Ways Being a Waiter Has Made Me a Better Person got people talking and remembering that waiting tables isn't all bad, just mostly bad.
  3. 82 comments. A Comment on Comments all about the notorious Ranch bitch from hell, Springs1.
  4. 74 comments. I Hate Your Baby. So What? Need I say more?
  5. 46 comments. A two-way tie for this. A Comment on Comments is always fun to write and on this one I had an especially good time ripping a new asshole for the original commenter. In No Seating of Incomplete Parties, I guess I wasn't the only one who had thoughts on this.


Most Viewed

  1. 9,531 hits. Reason #525,600 Someone Didn't Tip wins for the most viewed piece of the year. ("Most viewed piece" sounds dirty and makes me think of Kim Kardashian.)
  2. 6,357 hits. Potty Training in a Restaurant? Hell No! How can you resist going back to reread about the dumb bitch who saw no problem with setting up a potty training toilet at the table in the middle of the restaurant?
  3. 6,293 hits. Most Ridiculous List of Fines, Ever stirred up a lot of attention because the manager had his head so far up his ass that he thought this was a good idea.
  4. 6,130 hits. A Response to "10 Rules For Restaurants" because you know if someone wrote  a stupid article about restaurants then I was going to find it and tear them a new asshole.
  5. 6,040 hits. The Argument FOR Separate Checks did well, maybe because I was actually for something that I am usually against.
Most Liked via Facebook.

  1. 738 likes. Eating Out For Thanksgiving? Read This First. Lots of people liked this one
  2. 712 likes. This post called One Big Meatball Family hit home with a plenty of people because we know how wonderful our coworkers can sometimes be.
  3. 618 likes. 10 Ways Being a Waiter Has Made Me a Better Person. makes a reappearance.
  4. 575 likes. It's Official: Servers Are Not Stupid. Of course people liked this one because, duh.
  5. 470 likes. And we see another repeat with this dumb bitch who thought she had a good excuse to not leave a tip. Reason #525,600 Someone Didn't Tip.

There you have it.Here's hoping that 2013 is a wonderful year for all of us. I hope for nice customers with friendly attitudes who like to tip 20%. Happy new year, everyone!