The Mexican Rice Emergency

So how many times can I write about inept restaurant managers before I have told every store that needs to be told? Apparently, there is an never-ending supply of stupid ass restaurant managers so the stories are infinite. I was recently having a margarita in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park when I saw some total ineptitude happening right in my face. Thankfully, my face also had some salt on it from the rim of my glass so I was able to deal with what I witnessed. First off, I sat down at 3:45 and ordered my cocktail. Immediately afterwards, I saw the table tent that alerted me to the taco bar and drink special that started in a whopping fifteen minutes. At 4:00, margaritas would be two for one. Why oh why could I not have been told that had I waited a few minutes I could have double the pleasure of tequila? Whatever. I survived. I watched as the servers were setting up the buffet table with the big silver chafing dishes. And then the manager came out to make sure everything was going as planned. She just stood there with her hands on her hips scanning the action and struggling to look important. And then she uttered these immortal words of advice:

So if someone comes up to you and says something like, "uh, hey you're outta rice", then what you should do is...? Go tell someone that you need more rice. Okay?

Wow, someone needs to run out and get a stone tablet because it sounds like we now have eleven commandments.
We need a rewrite and reprint for the Bible.
Call Confucius and tell him he's got a new saying for his next batch of fortune cookies.
Alert CNN that they have their latest news crawl for the bottom of the screen.
Send out a mass text.
Rosetta Stone is no longer the answer to the world of language.
Embroider that shit on a pillow.


Was she for real? Who the hell couldn't figure that out on their own? I think if you threw an apron on a ten year old and told them to start waiting tables they would immediately start crying (that's what I did on my first day of waiting tables) but they would know what to do if someone told them there was no more rice. But thank God Retard Manager was there that day. I can just imagine what could have happened if she had not passed on that vital piece of information.


Customer: Uh...hey you're outta rice.


Waiter: What?


Customer: You're outta rice, can you get some more?


Waiter: Gee, I dunno if I should. No one told me what to do if we ran out of rice. Maybe I should get more Jello.


Customer: But I want rice.


Waiter: Or pudding. Pudding's good. Oh, or what if I got more hummus? Or french fries! Yeah, I'll get more french fries, maybe. Oh God, I dunno what to do. Why didn't someone train me for this situation?? This is horrible!


Customer: Maybe you can just go to the kitchen and get more rice?


Waiter: Lemme go ask my manager what to do. Hold on. (He goes to kitchen and then returns.) Okay, I'm back. She told me I should just go get more rice. So I'll go get more rice.


Customer: Wow, that manager must really be a genius. She really averted a potential crisis.

Why must so many managers be oh so very very lame?

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When You Wish Upon a Star

So a few days have passed since I last wrote because I do have a life and it doesn't revolve around writing for this blog. Okay, kidding. I have just been really lazy and I totally don't have a life. Plus, the Olympics, Project Runway and Survivor are also a priority for me. In addition to all that productive television watching I have been working on another writing project. Yes, I am writing a book about all the other jobs I have had in my life and when it is published if all of the readers of The Bitchy Waiter would buy one, I can sell about fourteen copies of it. I have been reviewing my old diaries to refresh my failing memory on all the things I have done in my life to earn money and one entry stopped me cold in my tracks. Had I not written it in my own hand, I never would have believed that it was from me. It proves to all those naysayers out there that I have not always been a spiteful, bitter, angry waiter. There was a time when I was as pure as the driven snow and filled with hope and and inspiration to serve others. Of course, this was before I was an actual waiter. I was just a lowly busboy dreaming of the day that I could be a waiter and reap the rewards of that position. Behold:

September 30, 1989: Worked tonight and made $31. Cool, eh? People tell me I'm a great busser. I want to be a great waiter. I really do.

First off, yes, I was working in a restaurant in 1989 which is probably before half of you bitches were born. And yes, $31 was a decent sum of money to me back then when my rent was only $275. It was a long time ago before cell phones, computers and I think it was right before they invented these flying machines called aeroplanes. But we must take notice of my aspiration to become a waiter and how I truly wanted to be a great one. I was working at a Mexican restaurant in Denver called Juanita's. Who even knows if it's still there? But that place groomed me for my future in the food service industry. There was one waitress there who always said "pardon me" when ever she walked by and I always thought it was so sophisticated of her. To this day, I say that instead of "excuse me" or "get the fuck out of my way." I want to keep it classy.

I guess the point of this post is to remind us all that dreams really do come true. Jiminy Cricket says so and I do have him tattooed on my leg so it must be true. Here I was a mere child of six years old in 1989 and dreaming of the possibility of becoming a waiter. And twenty-one short years later, my dreams have come true. I am a waiter. Oh god, I am a waiter.