The Hospitality Job Hunt Resumes

I am on the prowl for a new job. Catering season is upon us and I want a piece of that pie so I have been submitting my resume to catering companies up and down the eastern seaboard. And when I say "eastern seaboard" I mean three places that some friends told me about. I also went to one restaurant that was having an open call for interviews. I showed up with about 1000 other hopefuls and got one of those fucking corporate applications that takes half an hour to fill out. Why the fuck do I bother printing a resume if I have to fill that shit out? I knew I didn't want to work there, but went through the motions anyway. It had essay questions. Really, B.R. Guest restaurant conglomerate? Really? No one answers those questions the way they want to. They answer them the way you want us to.

What does "hospitality" mean to you?

What I said: Efficiency, friendliness, professionalism, going beyond the guests expectations. Pretty much what they'd teach you in hospitality management schools.

The truth: Kissing customer asses to get better tips and kissing manager asses to get better shifts.

What is your favorite thing about working in the food and beverage industry?

What I said: The flexibility, the people I work with and the immediate gratification of good service rewarded with a good tip.

The truth: Knowing that restaurant jobs are a dime a dozen and if something pisses me off I can say fuck you and leave. I also like stealing food and liquor.

What is your least favorite thing about the food and beverage industry?

What I said: The inconsistency of income and schedule.

The truth: Customers, managers and co-workers.

What are your goals in the restaurant industry?

What I said: To find a place that I enjoy working at and possibly move into a managerial position.

The truth: To stay at this restaurant through the holidays and make a shit load of money since you are down the street from Radio City Music Hall and tourists will be pouring in the door after they see that God awful Christmas Spectacular.

I was called over to the table for an interview. For availability I had put Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The manager said she would hire me in a heartbeat with all my experience, but my schedule wasn't open enough. I explained to her that I had another job that I didn't want to leave because it was a good place to work. She told me that since they were opening a new restaurant, they required everyone to have complete availability for the first two months. In other words, they don't want to have to take into consideration that some of their employees may have a fucking life outside of Bill's Fucking Burger Bar. "I understand," said I. "Good luck with that then." I got up and left.

I'll keep looking. Something will turn up, it always does. I can sense it in the air. (That's your cue, Laurence.)

Did AT&T Just Insult Me?

There is a television commercial out there that pretty much just confirms what we all know already: waiting tables sucks ass. It's an ad for AT&T and they say every second counts. Have you seen this shit? It's basically a rip off of that crappy ass movie Sliding Doors that Gweneth Paltrow did a few years ago. The ad shows this woman who is downloading something on her phone and since she isn't using the miracle that is AT&T, her download takes too much time and the opportunity of a lifetime passes her right by. Because she is using some other crap service (T-Mobile, probably...) she does not meet the people who could turn her into a big time fancy ass ballerina diva bitch and instead she ends up being...wait for it...wait for it...a server. That's right. If only she would have used AT&T all of her dreams would have come true but instead she has to wear a white shirt and black tie and be a waitress. In bad lighting. With a sour look on her face. Call me a purist, but I think she needs more than AT&T to make it as ballet dancer. Her technique is poor and her turn out is awful. And I know. I took two semesters of ballet in 1986 and I also watch So You Think You Can Dance.

The point is, why did they choose waitress as her alternative career? Should we take offense? What if they would have shown her as a kindergarten teacher and she was all depressed and miserable passing out coloring books to snot nosed brats? Then the teachers of America would rise up and cry out that they have been insulted. What if they showed her as nurse who hated being at her job? Or a bus driver? These other occupations were not chosen for her "loser life" because the advertisers thought that the most pathetic career she could have instead of ballet dancer is that of waitress. And they also figured that most servers would see the commercial and be like, "yep, my job sucks. I better go get me some AT&T in my life, pronto." At the end of the commercial, she is shown sitting in a theater watching a ballet instead of dancing in it. Watching her dreams from afar. And probably smelling like fajita. I say be proud of your waitress career, girl. At least you don't work at a fucking Houlihan's. Or Pizzeria Uno. Carry that tray with pride. Even though it is a far cry from the life you expected, wanted, worked towards, dreamed about or cried for. You're a waitress. With shitty cell phone service. Can you hear me now?



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Happy Labor Day

It's Labor Day! A day that we honor our country's work force and who has to go to work today? Service industry folks like us servers, that's who. I saw my friend Nora headed for her restaurant job this morning and she was bemoaning the fact the day would be total shit. Isn't it ironic that waiters so often have to work on a day that is supposed to be for us, and it's a day when we make no fucking money at all because everyone is at the beach or the park? I was also thinking about how many women must have babies on Labor Day and then their husband has to make some stupid ass joke about it. "Gee, honey, I know it's Labor Day, but did you have to take it so seriously? Hardy har har. Get it? Labor day and you're in labor?" And then the woman punches him in the balls. Anyhoo, I am keeping this short because I am taking my ass to Central Park to celebrate the day by playing Frisbee and then taking a nap in the sun. Go do something special for Labor day, y'all. Go plant a tree. Or is that Arbor Day?


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Jet Blue Guy is Fired

Sad news for Steven Slater, the waitress of the sky. He has been officially fired from Jet Blue. The horror of firing someone on Labor Day weekend. Sure, we all knew his ass was going to be dumped since he went all crazy and slid down that emergency slide, but c'mon. On Labor Day? What a way to ruin a three day weekend. And didn't he pretty much quit anyway when he slid down the emergency slide? Steven Slater has probably been sitting by the phone for weeks wondering when he was going to be put back on the schedule but now he knows. It ain't happening. I suppose when you get fired for a reason like his, filing for unemployment is not an option. So I thought of some other career opportunities for him:

• He could get a job like George Clooney had in that movie Up In The Air where he went to different companies to fire people. Steven could explain that their services are no longer needed and then help them devise an exit strategy that will make them be remembered.
• He could do a commercial for United Airlines and urge people to "fly the friendly skies." And at the end of it he could just say "Fuck Jet Blue and that lady who made me lose it on her ass."
• He could do Celebrity Rehab if he does in fact have a problem. And even if he doesn't. I wanna see him living with Dr. Drew and Janice Dickinson.
• He could do a guest spot on Jersey Shore so the next time Snooki does some stupid ass shit, he can tell her "bitch, please" and then show her how it's really done.
• He could work for the MTA in New York City because with his crappy attitude and shitty ass work ethic, he will fit right in with every other MTA worker and rocket his way to the top.
• He could be a judge on Iron Chef because I am sick of seeing that asshole Jeffrey Steingarten. They need a new asshole.
• He could be on Dancing With the Stars because they will put anyone on that freaking show. I mean, Bristol fucking Palin is on it this year.
• He could be a kindergarten teacher because I bet he has so much patience when it comes to children.
• He could work at a carnival in one of those bouncy castle things with the blow up slide because he obviously has experience in that arena.
• Finally, he could always come work with me. We will be BFF's and sit in the back of the room and make fun of people and sneak cocktails.

Good luck, Steven Slater. Your 15 minutes may be just about up so I hope you can finagle some way to make this work out for you. You stood up for all of us service workers and even though some people think you are an asshole, there are plenty of us who love you because we think you are an asshole. You are our hero.


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Food, Glorious Food

Two things have caught my eye in the last twelve hours and both of them involve Americans eating ridiculous amounts of food. Have we gotten to a time in our world where the only thing we can do is try to find the unhealthiest thing we can think of to eat and then fry it and make it even more unhealthy? First I saw this video of Paula Deen eating a fucking lasagna sandwich. You must see this:




That women puts more meat in her mouth at one time than a porn star at a gang bang. Seriously, a lasagna sandwich? It makes me want to make one, freeze it, grab a Sharpie, scribble "HAM" on it and throw it up against the side of her head. What is wrong with that woman?

And then I saw a link about a certain food item you could get at McDonald's but only at a very specific time. It's called McDonald's Mc10:35 and it's an Egg McMuffin wrapped in a double cheeseburger. It can only be ordered at the precise moment that breakfast is segueing into lunch and they have both items. Oh my God. What the fuck is wrong with people that they need to eat that kind of shit at any time of day, much less in the morning? They may as well add a hash brown to it, stuff it in an apple pie and then deep fry that bitch up. (Come to think about it, they should do that. I would totally try it. But maybe that's what that crack whore was wanting so bad when she smashed in the drive through window at McDonald's last month. It would explain a lot).

The point is that people need to chill the hell out with the excessive eating. What is with the championship eating contests where men see who can eat the most hot dogs in one sitting? Give it up, gentleman and let Paula Deen have that crown. Eat a salad. Or those food challenges where if you can eat the six pound hamburger, you get it for free? How about just eat a burger that has 8 ounces instead of 22 and you actually pay for it? I had some people in my station the other day who ordered the mixed nuts because they were "starving." When they left, half of that bowl of nuts was on the ground because they missed their mouths most of the time. I don't think they were really starving. Starving people don't leave food on the ground uneaten. I had to pull out the vacuum cleaner to clean up after them. We affectionately call it the Paula Deen. It really sucks.


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Superstar in My Station

So I waited on someone famous the other day. Not like superstar paparazzi lovin' mega Hollywood star kinda famous, but a notable Broadway performer. He was in a Pulitzer Prize winning musical a few years ago. I think he has some Tony nominations and shit and I even have some of his recordings. I have always really liked the guy. So I waited on him. And didn't even freakin' realize it was him until he handed me his credit card at the end of the night and I saw his name. He was with two other people, right? And the club has a two drink minimum per person, right? Well, this guy was singing in the show so he didn't have to have the minimum but the other two did. But they didn't. They wanted water which does not count towards the minimum because it's free, you know? At the end of the night I put all the minimum charges on their bill and gave it to them. Well, Mr. Broadway wouldn't have that. He said that since he was in the show that night, his friends shouldn't have to pay the minimum either. Uh, okay? So we took it off the bill. Why is it the people who can afford shit always get it for free? It happens all the time in restaurants. Some big shot famous person will come in and order a bunch of crap and then the manager will comp it all so big shot famous person will come back in sometime. Hello? They're rich. They can afford it.

Think of the Oscars. Don't all those presenters get bags and bags of free shit? Watches, computers, iPods, soaps, jewelry, condoms, puppies... They get free shit even though they could walk their ass to Wal-Mart and pay for it themselves with their Platinum American Express. Or at least pout it on lay-away. It's not fair.

Anyhoo, this guy was famous. And you know what? He was nice. He said please and thank you and left me a good tip (after I took off half his bill). I was just happy he wasn't like so many famous people who piss on their servers and wait for us to kiss their ass. He showed me that (moderately successful Broadway) famous actors (who pop up on Law and Order or a movie once in a while) can be cool. Life is good. God bless us. Everyone.


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Dear Bitchy Waiter

Dear Bitchy Waiter,
I saw your comment about overpriced dishes at various NYC restaurants and how you'd like to work at one (because of that). What does it take to get a job as a waiter at one of the really high-class, expensive NYC eateries? One would assume, as well, that with high prices, tips would be better or are they, in actuality? Do tell, plz!

signed,
Curious

Dear Curious:

There are many ways to finagle your ass into a high priced eatery as a server. Of course the best way is to be an impeccable professional with amazing experience and a detailed resume showing it off. However, if you are someone like me who has always worked in low budget, chain, diner crap restaurants, then your best bet is to lie your ass off and hope for the best. Many people ask me how to get a waiting job in New York City when so many places require New York City experience. It's a goddamn catch fucking 22. You need the experience but can't get hired to gain the experience. I often recommend lying in that case as well. When I moved to New York City back in the late 1960's, I had several years of waiting experience under my apron but no one would hire me because I had never done it in New Your City, as if carrying a tray in one state is any different than carrying it in another. So I lied. I added a non-existent restaurant onto my resumé with just a few months of experience on it. In NYC, restaurants come and go so it is no surprise to say that you worked somewhere that is now closed. Just look for a restaurant that recently opened and chances are it was another restaurant a few weeks before. Say you worked there until it closed. If they try to call the place to verify your job history, the number will either be disconnected or the new restaurant will say that the old one closed collaborating your employment dates that you put on your resumé . End of story.

Getting into a fine dining place is a bit harder, but can be done. Simply wait until the restaurant is getting its linen delivery of tablecloths and napkins. When you see the big rolling cart of linens going into the back of the house, all you have to do is climb into it and hide yourself beneath the napkins. Once inside, put on your apron, scope out a section you like and go for it. (Warning: this may not work every time. It is possible you could be arrested for trespassing but it is not a big deal and they usually drop the charges. Usually.)

Good luck with your job search!

Signed,

The Bitchy Waiter


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A Comment on Comments

What is it with people who leave these nasty ass comments as Anonymous? Very rarely does someone leave a comment that is less than kind and then have the balls to sign their name. Even if they did sign their name, who fucking cares? What am I gonna do? Go to your blogspot profile and then send you an email? Oooh, scary. Check out what this anonymous douchebag wrote:

I don't tip and I'm American. I usually get the feeling from most waiters/waitress that they look at their customers as paychecks rather then people. If you don't make enough money being a server you can quit. I too once worked a minimum wage job and unfortunately for me, society didn't deem me worthy of tips. I worked at McDonalds by the way.

Hey Anonymous, you can read this post for a full explanation of why I keep my job. As for you, you never tip because you feel that "most" of your servers look at you as a paycheck? Guess what, asshat, that's what you are. And if you feel that most do, what about those few who don't? They don't get tipped either? I'm sorry that you had the misfortune of working in a McDonald's (it has an apostrophe by the way, idiot.) but you didn't get tips there because you weren't hired as a tipped employee. You made minimum wage, right? Waiters have a different minimum wage which is about $2.13 an hour depending on the state. If you consistently do not tip and you go into the same restaurant more than a few times, I can guarantee that the servers hate you. I can't verify that they would do anything to your food, but it is very possible. Not likely since most servers (myself excluded of course) are highly professional people who take pride in their jobs. But they definitely don't want you in their station. It goes something like this:

Waiter A: Oh shit, there's that guy who used to work at McDonald's.
Waiter B: Hey did you know that McDonald's has an apostrophe in it?
Waiter A: Of course I do. Only dumb ass ignorant assholes who used to work at one wouldn't know that. Duh. Anyway, it's your turn to serve this guy because I had him last time and he never tips.
Waiter B: I know, I hate him. He's always looking at me like I'm just this person that's supposed to bring him his food. He's creepy.
Waiter A: Yeah, I know. I wonder why he doesn't tip.
Waiter B: I dunno. Maybe he can't afford it. Oh well, I'll serve him and hope for the best. That's what we do, right?
Waiter A: Right. Don't be mean to him though and spit in his food or anything. I feel sorry for him. I mean, he used to work at McDonald's.
Waiter B: I would never spit in his food. That would be so immature of me and unprofessional. I'll ask a cook to do it.
Waiter A: Yeah, that's totally what I was thinking. Cool.



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Dancing With The Bitchy Waiter

I can't write today because I picked up this really odd job for three days where I will be selling really expensive jewelry at a convention center. God bless Craigslist. I have worked for her before. It's like selling food but instead of a burger on a tray, I am carrying $10,000 worth of necklaces. I dropped a tray last time and realized I was scooping up precious jewels in the same way I would scoop up greasy french fries. Even though I had to get up at 6:45 this morning, I stayed up way too late though in order to watch Carol Brady on Dancing With the Stars. She kinda sucked. But I loved her. Sorry about this lame post. But I must sell jewels today...

I do not watch Dancing With the Stars because I pride myself on not watching vapid and useless reality television. (Not including America's Next Top Model, Make Me a Supermodel, Project Runway, Top Chef, American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance, Survivor, Wipeout, Design Star, The Next Food Network Star and 16 and Pregnant because I never miss any of those.) But I have never ever stooped so low as to watch Dancing With the Semi-Stars. Okay, I did watch it that one season when Marie Osmond was on it and I got to watch her pass the fuck out on live television and it was great. But other than that, I don't waste my time with that shit. However, I may have to make an exception this year because they have announced their lineup and someone will be dancing that I simply cannot resist watching. No it's not Bristol Palin or The Situation or even Margaret Cho that has made my panties moist. It's Florence fucking Henderson. You know The Bitchy Waiter loves him some Carol Brady. I just do. As proven here. Oh Florence, why won't you call me? Why won't you come to my station and let me serve you? Why are you not my best friend?

Okay, I just needed you to know about that. Carry on.


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Sweet Baby Jesus. The Cake.

When I go out to dinner and sit on the other side of the menu, I am hyper aware of the service that is given to me. A few days ago I went to a restaurant in Astoria called Vesta and had a religious experience. Lemme give a special shout out to the bartender Megan. Someone told me about the place and thought I would like it since they serve, you know, wine. Call me Kathie Lee Gifford, but I have never met a place that served wine that I didn't like. If I order a bottle of wine and they pour a bit into the glass for me to taste, I always feel a bit douchey as I pretend to consider if it's good or not. Will it give me a buzz? Yes? It's good then. But this place was great And they served their wine from a tap. Has anyone else seen that before or am I just so behind the times?

I sat at the bar because I'm cool like that and Megan came right up and handed me a menu. Never having been there, she gave me the lowdown on the place and the specials and even though she was crazy busy, she was patient and attentive. I liked her already. She asked if tap water was alright and I liked her more. You know how some waiters ask you if you want bottled water or tap but when they say "tap" they scrunch up their face like the water's going to come from the toilet so that you'll feel compelled to spend an extra five bucks on bottled? Yeah, she didn't do that. 'Cause she was cool. I ordered a thin crust pizza with potato, pancetta, caramelized onions, apples & goat cheese and that bitch was the tastiest fucking pizza I have had in a long time. It was also covered in arugula which was kinda weird for me because salad is not my favorite thing, especially on top of a pizza, but I ate it and loved it. When Megan was about to clear my plate that still had some arugula remnants on it, she told me to finish it. "I'm full,"I whined. "Honey, eat it it all. It's salad. On a cracker. You can eat that." I ate it because she was right. And I liked it. A coffee was ordered and she set it down and asked if milk was needed. I told her yes and she turned around and started making espressos and cappuccinos for a bit. Thinking she had not heard the milk request, I was about to remind her when she suddenly appeared with it like a dairy fairy. Of course she hadn't forgotten. She just had her mental list of things to do and the milk went on the list as she completed the things before it. A real pro. For dessert she recommended the Sweet Baby Jesus Cake. We were told by someone that the cake was named that because when a lady tasted it once she said it was better than the sweet baby Jesus so that was what they named the cake. It was divine. And I mean that in a holy way. I now worship at the altar of the Sweet Baby Jesus. The cake though, not the son of God. The cake.

I told Megan I would write about my perfect dining experience but I doubt she will ever read this. (Are you, Megan? Give me a sign. Or give me another piece of Jesus.) I just had to write because it needs to be known that The Bitchy Waiter is sometimes a happy customer. And that night was one of those times. If you're in Queens, hit it up. You will not be disappointed.

(And so ends my rambling...)

Just In Case You Couldn't Remember How I Feel About Kids

I am taking my lazy ass to the beach today, so please enjoy this (tired from like 18 months ago old shitty) post while I am squeezing out the last days of summer. Sorry, boo bears.

So many mothers have this sense of fucking entitlement like she is the first woman to ever push a baby out of her Sweet Potato Pie Hole. It's been happening for thousands of years, no big whoop. I cannot write enough about my disdain for children in my station. I don't want them in my personal life so why the fuck would I want one at work? But people bring their babies in and then they think it's my responsibility to make sure the music is not too loud. Or they have the nerve to ask me to heat up their baby food. Why would they think I have time for that? It's not my baby. I am supposed to ignore my other tables and then bother the kitchen staff to heat up a bottle of milk? I'd rather you just breastfeed if it means I don't have to do anything. Not that I want to get a close up view of your areola when I refill your Diet Coke. These are the same people who bring babies to an R rated movie and think it's okay for everyone else to listen to it for two hours. No one cares about your baby except the people who know your baby (and some of them only act like they give a shit.) No one in the restaurant wants to step around your giant stroller or listen to it cry or watch you whip out your tit so it has an appetizer. Leave them at home with a sitter. Or just leave it alone while you come out to eat. I am sure it will be fine, whatever. Just leave a post-it note on its head with your cell phone number so if there is a problem the police will know how to reach you. You could always take it to Chuck E. Cheese where they live for that shit. The people who work there love it when they have a room full of screaming babies. Or better yet, order in. We have take out menus. Just don't sit in my station.

A Wonderful Day for a Picnic

Yesterday in New york City was absolutely beautiful. Central Park was teeming with people, Coney Island had hordes of sun worshippers and the F train had someone having a fucking picnic on it. Wait, what? Yes, I witnessed a picnic. On the F train. At the 34th street station, the temperature was about 138º. Muggy, hot and miserable which is pretty much standard for the MTA this time of year. I noticed a family waiting for the train and they were obviously on their way to the beach. Seeing that it was already 2:30 in the afternoon and the beach is an hour away on the F train, it seemed that they were getting a late fucking start. The family consisted of some grandma types, a few young girls, some baby daddies and a litter of children. The F train was taking a long time to get there (as usual because the MTA sucks and I hate them more than someone asking me to have their burger recooked with no pink even though they asked for it to be medium) and one of the kids asked their sister or mom or whatever for a drink. Luckily, they were prepared because there was a cooler full of ice and beverages right there. Bitch whipped out a styrofoam cup and a two liter bottle of iced tea and poured a drink for her parched offspring. As it so often goes, another kid wanted a drink and then another and then another and then Grandma wanted a Coke. The cooler was propped open and it was a regular soda fountain up in there. Any second I thought I would see one of the fucking Archie comic douches pop up and ask for a milkshake. The next thing I knew someone pulled out a bag of sandwiches and started passing them around. Of course that was when the train showed up. They herded their village onto the F train and I followed behind. I was only on the train for two stops so I didn't get to see the inevitable happen. Surely one of the kids lost his grip on his cup and spilled it all over the damn place. And then Grandam probably chewed on a piece of gristle in her sandwich and spit it out onto the floor. The kids probably started playing hide and go seek thinking this was as good as the day was going to get. Again, I got off the train so this is all speculation. Highly likely and more than probable but speculation none the less.

I won't even eat a Cliff bar on the train because you can practically see the germs floating around in there. But if they want to let their kids roll around on the floor and then grab a handful of Doritos, go for it. Weird. A picnic on the 7 train. Almost as weird as that time I saw a magician (also on the F train...) complete with cape and flying doves. People will do anything on the fucking subway. But the thing I hate the most? Those goddamn mariachi bands that belt out their musica at ocho in el fucking morning. No fucking gracias.

About waiting tables? No. Bitchy? Oh hell yes.


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New News in the Old Court

In an effort to make this blog more than just me bitching and bitching about the bitches and the bitchy ass things they do, I thought I would scour the internets and find some very important news shit to share with you folks. I dunno, is this totally lame? This site needs something to stir it up. Contests! Prizes! More daily updates! Naked ladies! Seriously though, your feedback can help me take this blog to the next level: from really lame to just kinda lame. Let me know your thoughts and what you like most and least about this site. Email me here with any ideas you might have. Plus when I get a lot of emails, it gives me something to do at work.

Love,

The Bitchy Waiter



There might be some dirty ass eggs out there still.

This food is way overpriced. I want to wait tables there.

No fucking substitutions, bitch.

Finally, a salad I want to eat. Deep fried.

Some waiters aspire to greatness. Others aspire to do this.

I need to work here so no one sees my thumb in their pasta.

Old news. Someone harassed a waitress...

Excuse Me, Waiter? There's a Condom in My Soup

Has anyone else read about the lawsuit where the guy sued the restaurant because he found a condom in his soup? I wrote once about a table that found a fishtail in their brownie bottom pie but I must admit I think a condom is way way worse. You can read the article here but I will synopsize it for you. A man was at a Claim Jumper restaurant in California eating some French Onion soup when he started chewing on what he thought was an extra chewy piece of cheese. He spit it out and his wife was all, "If I had a dollar for every time you spit a condom outta your mouth, I'd have eleven dollars." Again, I am paraphrasing so she may not have said exactly that. Yes, there was a pecker poncho in his soup and he chewed on it. And I thought I was a bitchy waiter. The suit has been settled but neither the restaurant or the poor man who chewed on a love glove claimed liability. Normally, I would say it's the customers fault, but in this case I don't think so. If the man wanted to score some free food I think he would have just used the old "roach in the salad" bit or "broken glass in my ice" routine. More than likely, it was some asshole cook who wanted to fuck with the waiter. And to that cook, I say "kudos." This man really outdid himself in the true bitcheryness department.

I have never heard of this Claim Jumper place, but by looking at their menu it looks like your typical TGIF's or 99 or Applebee's. The main difference is that their French Onion soup comes with a love glove. Now I loves me some French Onion soup and my favorite part is when you get to chew on that melty provolone cheese that has been toasted in the oven. The next time I have it, I will be forced to evaluate it with my eagle eyes to ensure that no one is slipping me a gentleman’s jerkins up in there. And what about the waiter? What can you say when something like that happens? You're supposed to deny it?

Customer: There was a fucking condom in my soup.
Waiter: Sir, I am certain the soup did not have a condom in it because we have only have the utmost intentions to make your meal a high quality experience.
Customer: Well, here it is. Hangin' outta my mouth. How do you think it got there?
Waiter: Perhaps it is left over from last night, sir? I am not certain of your lifestyle and I don't want to judge you.
Customer: Are you saying that I put this in my mouth last night and I've had it there all day without noticing it?
Waiter: Again sir, I don't want to judge you. That's God's job, not mine.
Customer: Excuse me, but the soup came out with a fucking condom in it!
Waiter: That's impossible sir. Maybe it belongs to your wife. Ma'am, is it possible that this is your condom?
Wife: (long uncomfortable pause) What brand is it?


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Bacon: the Good Part of the Other White Meat

While reading all the comments to the infamous vegetarian post it brought to mind another incident that happened at Pizzeria Uno once and it involved someone eating something they didn't mean to eat. A table had ordered the delicious pizza skins® which were described on the menu as "a single serving of our signature skins complete with mashed potatoes, cheese, bacon and sour cream." Basically, it was mashed potatoes on a pizza crust and I subsisted off of those for three or four months because they were the cheapest thing on the employee menu. One night as I was ignoring my section and eating pizza in the kitchen I heard a commotion out in the dining room. Yelling, crying, the works. Of course my nosy ass immediately dropped my slice and went out to see how I could be of assistance. A table had finished eating their Pizza Skins and then realized that there was bacon on them. The table was Muslim. And pork was forbidden. How they ate a whole plate of something covered in bacon and not question it, I will never know. If you ordered something and it came out with crispy pieces of meat sprinkled all over it, wouldn't you ask what it was just to be certain they weren't rat poops or something? (At Pizzeria Uno, South Street Seaport, a very real possibility.) The family was screaming at their waiter for not telling them they had ordered something with bacon as if it was his duty to know what foods were forbidden by every religion. And even if he did know, did they say, "We are Muslim and we are ready to order now?" I doubt it. They were very upset. The manager intervened and did the only thing he could do; he comped it. That's right, the family had just devoured something that may send their souls to the eternal depths of hell and we took $4.00 of their check. I felt bad for them, I really did. The older woman was clearly devastated. How were we to know though? Shouldn't they have read the menu and asked what bacon was? If they sat in my station, I would've had no idea. I had only just moved to New York City from South Texas, so I only knew about Catholics and Southern Baptists and as far I know they are both allowed to eat heaps and heaps of pork. In fact, in the Baptist religion I'm pretty certain that ham is just as important as Christmas and Easter. The family left the restaurant awash with the fear of their God. They all looked petrified of the future. Well, except for the youngest girl. She was smiling. You know she liked the taste of the bacon. Evil or not, that shit is good.


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My Job Stinks

You know that smell we all have after a long day at the job? It's a smell that anyone who has ever worked in a restaurant is intimately familiar with. It smells like the storage room and it has a musty, musky, produce-y, fajita-y smell. When I got off work last night and got onto the N train, the whole car smelled like that. Perhaps a busboy convention was happening somewhere in the city and they had all just let out because when the subway door opened I was hit across the face with the odor. Once on the train, I noticed that about two thirds of us were quite clearly just getting off work. The guy next to me was wearing all black just like myself. Two guys across from me were wearing those kitchen pants that are like a black and white hounds tooth check pattern. I saw at least three other people wearing black pants and white shirts and then one bitch had on khakis and a polo shirt. All she was missing was some high top sneakers, suspenders and some flair and she could have stepped out of Bennigan's circa 1988. She may have just made a bad fashion choice though, not sure. Right then and there I decided that the time had come to stop wearing my uniform on the train. It's just such a pain in the ass to carry it with me. And I never want to leave my uniform at work because there are always people who forget theirs one day and then go to the closet and put on someone else's. An apron sure, no biggie. But don't be wearing my pants. I don't need some gal getting her panty pudding all up in my uniform pants. Honey mustard, yes,. Panty pudding, no.

At 59th Street, someone got on who smelled like bar-b-q. Is there even a bar-b-q place at 59th Street? Or did someone just roll around in a vat of liquid smoke? Either way, not good. I wanted to spritz some fucking Axe body spray all over that train car. I hate the smell of Axe body spray, but I hate the smell of bar-b-q/bus boy/fajita/waiter even more.

You all know the smell, right?



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Bitchy Waiter Food Necklaces

As you know, I write. I also act. I serve food. I paint. A regular Renaissance Bitch, is what I am. The Bitchy Waiter now has an Etsy page where I am selling my original creations. Currently, there are some necklaces for sale there that i made. These are necklaces I have been wearing and making for friends for a while and they get so many compliments. Want to take a look? Go to my Etsy page to see if you like anything.

Thanks,
The Bitchy Waiter

Snooki Makes Way More Money Than We Do

It seemed like I had a lot of money when I looked at the pile of bills on my dresser. Everyday, my tips get put into a little stack, minus the 3% that goes into an envelope for my retirement. Upon closer inspection, it turned out that the majority of the bills had George Washington on them and not Andrew Jackson. Sixty dollars looks like a lot of money when its all singles you know. Money is a fickle friend. Most of us never have enough and all of us always want more. So maybe this career choice is not the best. Then again, if I had my druthers I'd be the rich successful actor who has money to burn. How much money? Well, I came across an article on line that tells us exactly how much money our favorite (and not so favorite) actors make each week and it made me want to punch a Snooki in the face. That bitch makes $30,000 per episode for doing The Jersey Shore. How in the hell does she get paid that much each week to get drunk, pass out, and make a fool out of herself? I have been doing that for free for years. I want my back pay immediately. Has she ever had to wait tables? She may look and smell like a piece of bacon but has she ever served it? The list was depressing as hell:

Oprah Winfrey $315 million per year- we get it, Oprah. You're rich. That bitch makes $600 a minute. That's ten dollars a second. In the time it took me to figure out how to do that math equation, she made $9000. (Yes, it took me 15 minutes to compute that, don't judge me.)
Charlie Sheen, Two and a Half Men $1.25 million per episode- What the hell? Isn't he in jail right now? Or drunk or high? Snooky, is that you?
Christopher Meloni & Mariska Hargitay, Law & Order: SVU $395,000 (each) per episode- okay, I worked Law and Order once and I am pretty sure I didn't make that much. My scene was with them and I assumed we were all getting the same pay. If you take off the three zeros and then divide by two, that was closer to my fee. Dammit, I was bamboozled by my agent.
Julie Kavner, The Simpsons $400,000- so she doesn't even have to get dressed or comb her fucking hair to go to work because she sits in a recording studio. If I were her, I would be trying to figure out a way to phone that shit in. After 20+ years of the same job she's probably phoning it in anyway so she may as well do it from an actual telephone.
Jon Hamm, Mad Men $100,000 per episode- Actually, I'm okay with this one. He rocks.
Scott Caan, Hawaii Five-0 $80,000 per episode- how does this happen? I have never even heard of this guy and the show hasn't even started yet. And lemme guess, he gets to live in Hawaii while he's "working."
Rico Rodriguez, Modern Family $15,000 per episode- I think this is the little kid from that show. He is about 11. Yeah, that's fair.

The biggest shock to my system though? It was when I read that Kate fucking Gosselin makes $250,000 per episode for her dumb ass reality show about her kids. No wonder she doesn't want to give up the spotlight despite severely damaging the psyches of her litter. She's making shitloads of cash. And we all know that if she wasn't doing a television show she would be serving the rooty tooty fresh and fruity at the IHOP. Man, I wish I had a uterus. Then I could take advantage of my child bearing years, squeeze out a few all for the sake of reality television. And my bank account. And I could retire my apron forever.




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The Seasons Turn

Today in New York City there is a definite feeling of fall floating in the air. The gray skies and drizzle accompanied with the cooler temperatures tells me that autumn is right around the corner which means that winter is right behind. I hate winter. All of those people who say they like freezing their tits off make me want to snap. They're always like, "oh, but then you get to wear your sweaters and cute coats." Sorry. Wearing a cute sweater is not enough for me to embrace the frigid bitch known as winter. My point is, that once fall is here there is another season that makes its presence known: catering season. Time to pull the used tuxedo out of the closet and scrape off the honey mustard from the last party, because I will be needing to put that shit on and pass around hor d' ourves too soon. Tis the season for a cater waiter.

Every Thanksgiving, I work for a family in Westchester. Or Long Island. I dunno where it is really, I just get on the train they tell me to and then they pick me up at the station. I have done it for three years and they consider me "part of the family." I guess they are referring to that one family member who stays in the kitchen all day and serves their food, washes their dishes and takes out their garbage. What family member is that anyway? Grandma the Housekeeper maybe? Uncle Charlie the Slave perhaps? Anyhoo, that's me. Last time I was there someone brought their friend for dinner and the guy started making small talk with me in the kitchen. "So how are you? Where do you live? What do you do?" I told him I was an actor and I do catering and stuff and this year I got to work on Thanksgiving. He was all, "you have to work today? That sucks. When? After dinner?" I realized he had no clue I was the hired help. It finally dawned on him when I pulled my apron out of my bag, tied it around my waist and opened up a can of cranberry sauce. He was embarrassed. And didn't talk to "the help" anymore.

The year before I was washing all the dishes (by hand, because that's how I roll) when I realized I was familiar with the pattern on the dinnerware. I turned it over and recognized the name of the potter who makes them. It was the same lady that I work for twice a year at the New York International Gift Show when she sells her pieces to stores all over the country. Yes, I had sold these very dishes at one job and here I was washing them at another. It was a perfect circle of subservience. The lady of the house couldn't believe that I knew the lady who had made her dishes. I couldn't believe that the universe had made it so crystal clear that I was having a shitty Thanksgiving. Thirteen more weeks until Turkey Day. Gobble gobble, mother fuckers. Life is funny, isn't it? So fucking funny.


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Dear Bitchy Waiter

Dear Bitchy Waiter,

Have you ever had a bus person or server steal your tips? What should I do?

Signed, Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,
First, let me thank you for writing in. I only wish you had used your real name because whenever someone uses "anonymous" I think its one of those hater bitches who are always trying to bring me down. And now to your question. Yes, I have had people steal my tips and I blamed it on the bus boy. Those sorry ass mother fuckers always lift the money off the table to wipe it and then when they put the money back down, they keep a dollar or maybe just the spare change. Of course, it's hard to prove, but if you have an idea who is doing it, then you need to catch them red handed so you can report it to your manager and get their thieving ass fired. But how to catch them? There are many ways, but I recommend the following: go to your local Spy Store where you can buy something like a Nanny Cam. Get a high quality one that costs at least or four or five hundred dollars because you want the video to be crystal clear when you upload that shit to You Tube. Install the camera in a light fixture directly over a table in your station. This can be done by accessing the electrical wiring by going into the ceiling. While up in the ceiling, be aware of fiberglass insulation. You certainly don't want to get it on you. It may be best to wear a full body suit that electricians wear and you can pick one of those up at your local Home Depot for not more than seventy-five dollars. Once the camera has been installed, it is time to set your trap. Consciously leave your tips on the table for longer than you normally would so that the greedy thief has plenty of opportunity to steal it. Once you feel that you have caught what you want on camera, simply go back into the ceiling to remove the camera, transfer the tape on to DVD and edit it by using a simple home editing program like iMovie. I recommend you add titles, transitions and music to make the recording as enjoyable as possible. You may find it helpful to take a class at the Learning Annex to learn more about editing. Upon completion, present the DVD to your manager. Make sure you have labeled the DVD and created a jewel case cover for it (use Avery label templates) so that your manager knows exactly what he or she will be watching. After the theft has been clearly seen on video surveillance, it will be a very simple procedure to fire this bitch on the spot. Follow these simple steps and your problem will be solved!

If you feel that this is too complicated and you simply want revenge, slash that bitches tires or use the old iPod flier routine. Good luck!

signed,
the Bitchy Waiter


Do you have an issue that The Bitchy Waiter can help you with? You can email me here and I will answer one question a week!

I ♥ Veggies

I climbed into my bed of lettuce last night, wrapped myself in swaddling clothes made out of cabbage leaves and prepared to see how my last post about vegetarians fared with readers. What a freakin' shit storm. This one really irked plenty of people and I was not expecting that at all. I mean, when I write about babies being annoying or old people getting on my nerves or a one eyed waitress, I expect some hatin', but this one caught me off guard. The funny thing is, I don't have a problem with vegetarians. I just can't ever imagine being one myself because of my long term relationship with gravy. Some of my best friends are vegetarians. My niece is a vegetarian. And yes, I have even eaten at vegetarian restaurants. I have seen "Food Inc" as was recommenced to me many times and I do eat grass fed organic beef and free range organic chicken and organic eggs. I don't think I wrote anything that was particularly mean about vegetarians, but I need to respond to a few comments that were a bit intense:

"How does the idea of breastmilk ice cream sound to you? conversely, why would you want to suck on a cows tittie for a drink? we are literally the only mammal to drink milk past infancy, let alone from another mammal." We are also the only mammal that wears clothing but I don't think we will all be running around naked anytime soon. And I am not going to give up ice cream but I don't want the breastmilk kind. Titties scare me.

"If you want to be sheltered about where your food comes from, fine. but you shouldn't make fun of people who are obviously more educated than you." I make fun of all people and I am the first to admit that most people are more educated than I am. They just aren't smarter.

"I expect better from you. first foreigners, now this? you should make your next rant about how niggers never tip you stupid fuck." Wow, this bitch really went there? How did she go from a simple post about vegetarians to me being a racist? Fuck her.

"But the BIG POINT: Vegetarians are no fun." I beg to differ. I never once insulted veggies. I am going out to dinner tonight with one and I expect to have a very fun time. She drinks. A lot.

"No longer a fan due to this post." I simply cannot believe that this post was the one that broke that camel's bitchy back. If you reread the post. I don't think I ever was mean about anyone. All I said was it can be a little annoying when we have to accommodate our menu to serve their dietary needs. Get over it.

"Very offensive and not funny at all. and I'm NOT a veggie. disappointed in this, especially by all the idiot comments." Reread my post. I was not offensive. It was the comments that took it to the next level. It's not like I was talking about vegetables and referred to them as Terry Schiavo. Now that would have been offensive. But I didn't do that.

"I agree with the idea that all living creatures have a place on this earth. sometimes that place is next to the mashed potatoes." True. Enough said.

So let us put this issue behind us and live as one big happy family and share the love. By the way, vegans? Now they're complete asswipes.

Vegetarians Confuse Me

I don't get vegans. At all. I mean I understand what they are, I just can't comprehend how they actually want to be one. Maybe its because I grew up in the land of meat and potatoes where the closest thing I ever got to a vegetable was a Bac-o on my baked potato. Oh sure, Mom would open a can of English peas every now and then but that was a mere gesture at the five major food groups. The peas were a facade. I ignored them and had double helpings of Hamburger Helper with Kraft macaroni and cheese. But vegans don't just avoid eating meat. No no no. They have to be so aware of the suffering of animals that they won't even eat cheese because it came from a cow that may have lived a difficult life in order to produce milk. Tough titty said the kitty, but the milk's still good. I find it hard to trust anyone who doesn't eat cheese. Or they won't wear a belt because the leather came from that same sad cow. So what, I'm supposed to wear vinyl shoes and a pleather belt? I saw Alicia Silverstone on Oprah a few weeks ago and she was praising the benefits of veganism. "My skin is clearer, my bowel movements are better, my attitude is happier..." You know what, Alicia? Take some Proactiv®, swallow some Metamucil® with a Paxil® chaser and you'll be fine. Then have some fucking nachos with grilled fucking chicken on 'em. So, what if a vegan raised a baby chicken into adulthood and it lived in the backyard and had the most perfect of lives? The chicken was fed only natural grains, it was showered with love and it got to sit in the coop all day and watch Jerry Springer and Bewitched (my dream afternoon, by the way). One day that chicken pops out an egg. And a vegan wouldn't want to scramble that bitch up? I don't get it.

I hate when vegetarians come into a restaurant and act all offended that the menu has only a few options for them. "What do you mean you don't have a veggie burger? What am I supposed to eat?" "Gee, how about a piece of toast and a glass of water or take your ass down the street to the Grass and Greens Veggie Delite Hut. Whatever." Or there are those vegetarians who will order the chicken noodle soup and just take the chicken out before they eat it. Does that count as being a vegetarian? I don't think so. Or they will order fries; the fries that are fried in the same oil as chicken wings? Does that count? Vegans are the worst though. They will look at the menu for thirty minutes and then try to concoct something that will not cross the imaginary line they drew for themselves. God forbid they should get a piece of bleu cheese in their cobb salad. A cobb salad with no chicken, no cheese, no egg, no bacon is not a cobb salad. It's just a sad salad. I personally order my cobb salad with less lettuce, extra cheese and extra bacon and ranch dressing. But hey, I'm not a vegan. Or vegetarian. I am carnivore, hear me roar.

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I Am Not an Animal, Part Two

I am not an animal. I may not be Brad Pitt, but I am not an animal. (If you have not seen me before, then I am in fact a dead ringer for Brad Pitt when he was in Thelma and Louise. Seriously, a dead ringer.) Everyone must have feelings of self doubt and insecurity but sometimes in this world people just bitch slap you in the face with a hearty dose of reality soup and make any self esteem that you may have once had plummet into a canyon of nothingness. I have even written about this before. A friend of mine was telling me how she was sick of looking for a new waiting job and it reminded me of something that happened to me a few years ago.

I was in Chelsea walking up and down Eighth Avenue going into every restaurant and dropping of my resume. I came across a sign in a window that made my heart skip a beat because it actually said that they were hiring. Finally, my resume would go into the hands of someone who cared. When I walked in, I noticed two guys filling out applications at the bar. They were both your typical Chelsea boy: gay, muscly, hot and modelesque. Pulling out my resumé, I head to the bar and ask to fill out an application. With all the years of experience in my back pocket, the application seemed like a mere formality. "Hi, I'd like to fill out an application for the server position." The tanned and toned bartender looked at me and paused. He rolled his eye-lined eyes a bit and, "Oh, we're not hiring anymore." I looked at the guy to the left of me diligently filling out his application and then looked at the guy to the right of me filling out his. They both seemed to be figuring out how to spell their own names. Models are dumb. "I'm sorry, what? I asked. The bartender said, "Yeah we're not accepting anymore applications because the position has been filled." I scratched my head and looked at the applications being filled out not two feet away from me. "But you have a sign that says you're hiring." Pause. "Nope, not anymore. Position's been filled." I started to protest and realized that any words I said would be falling upon deaf ears. The words would be landing in the same place that the two hot guys would be landing their facials later. And I was fairly certain that the position wasn't the only thing that was going to be filled that day. With a bad case of sour grapes, I left the restaurant. I didn't wanna work there anyway. Right? Assholes.

With my self-worth in the gutter, I went out to Coney Island and filled out an application for the freak show.

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Frazzled But Happy Stay at Home Mom

Oh dear readers, maybe you read my last posts here or here, but I have just been so busy lately that there simply has not been time to write again. What with school starting next week for the oldest, I have been up to my eyeballs in preparation. So much to do. And I love it! LOL! Last night was back to school night at the elementary school and hubby and I went there to meet Suzy Lou's teacher and get her school supply list. Well, the funniest thing happened and you will not believe it. Or maybe you will, LOL. All we knew was that the teacher's name was Miss O'Brady. I certainly didn't know her because we were told this was her first year as a teacher at this school. (Someone told me she had been somewhere else last year, but changed schools for some unknown reason.) I dropped hubby off at the front entrance while I found a parking space for the minivan. (yes, I drove so that hubby was able to take a nap. The poor dear works so hard at the office.) When I walked towards Miss O'Brady's class room, I could hear laughing and joking and I was so eager to join the fun. I walked into the classroom and Miss O'Brady was sitting in hubby's lap and giggling as he tickled her. She was saying, "Oh Robert, you bad boy, stop it!" When they saw me walk in they both stopped laughing and I must admit I was a little bit confused. Within seconds hubby explained it all to me. It turns out that he used to babysit Miss O'Brady when she was little and they lived in the same neighborhood and they were just reliving the good ol' days. Isn't that an amazing coincidence? It's a small world, after all! I just know that Suzy Lou is going to have the best school year ever since we already have such a wonderful relationship with her teacher. Aren't I lucky to have such a wonderful husband who maintains friendships from so long ago?? (I love you hubby, if you're reading this! And if you are reading this, get back to work! JK. LOL!)

I must go now. I have to get to Wal-Mart to buy school supplies and I also need some new Shout stain remover. Hubby came home with lipstick on his collar again last night. Silly man! He's so clumsy that at least one a week he manages to let that happen. This time, he was helping a lady change her tire on the freeway and when he stopped to help her she hugged him. That must be how it happened. Oh well, at least it wasn't his fault. He was just helping a damsel in distress. My very own Prince Charming. Last week though, he tripped at the drug store and fell into he makeup counter. Be careful, dear! I love you too much to have you break your neck! LOL!


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A Response to "Foreigners Don't Tip"

When I wrote about how many times foreigners don't tip, I expected plenty of response from other waiters who were like, "no shit, Sherlock." Sorry, foreigners, it's true. A few people from other countries wrote to tell me that the articled had schooled them and they would be sure to tip correctly the next time they visit these shores. What surprised me was the people who were like, "yep, I'm foreign and I don't tip. Deal with it." Oh , hell no.

A Finlandian writes: I'm from Europe and no we do not tip. The way we think: "The waiters get their salary, and hey, the drinks were expensive enough". When I'm in US, I'm aware of the tipping system. But I too would leave just 3 bucks (considering that I only bought some drinks). 15% is waaay too much! For instance, if I spend fairly much on a couple of meals in a restaurant, with the 15% tip, I could already by myself another dessert at least.

Sorry.

What the fuck? I mean, I like your vodka and everything, but you're telling me that you know you should be tipping but you don't do it anyway because we already get our salary and you could buy a dessert instead? 15% is way too much I guess because we are already getting that huge paycheck each week for $8.00. Ladies and gentleman of the jury, I give you reasonable cause to hate it when anyone from Finland sits in your station. Had there been a photo of the reader attached to the comment, it would be plastered all over this page so everyone knows who to avoid.

Another reader comments: Sorry, tipping's difficult when it's not customary. I usually stick to $5 when I come over. Fuck working out 15% - if we're not from America, we're on holiday. Who does maths on holiday? Sorry bitchy waiter ... my family do tip ... just gotta hope we don't spend more than $50 at once, right?

Okay, so this person just claims math deficiency as the reason they don't tip? God forbid if he is on fucking holiday that he pulls out his iPhone with a calculator on it and figures out how to leave a decent tip. It's just a $5.00 blanket tip all around no matter what the bill is, is that it? Because math is too hard to. "Gee whiz, math is tough and I'm a cheapskate. Bloody good and cheers, mate." Fuck that shit. And ladies and gentleman, I give you reason number two to hate the tourists from other lands.

Attention tourists from other lands: please help break the stereotype. If you're on vacation, leave 15% to your server. It will only make it better for the next tourist from other lands who visit and maybe someday we can all love each other like one big happy family. World peace starts with a 15% tip. Remember that.

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