First and foremost, I’d like to thank those of you who’ve made donations, you’ve no idea just how much it helps out right now and you’ll be receiving personal messages and (as soon as I can afford the shipping) RagingServer.com pens. Sorry you’ve not all gotten responses yet, just been a bit busy.
Secondly, as of two days ago, the RagingKitty J.C. has been found and returned home, though he’s a couple of pounds lighter now. He’s a little pissy when we leave now also because we’re forced to lock him up to keep him from getting out again. I both love and hate that he’s such a smart cat…
As for the work front, I’m still not getting the proper hours, and I’ve still not gotten a return call from the HR dept about it. I guess I’m just going to lose my insurance at this rate, and possibly (but only temporarily) a place to live. I hope it doesn’t come to homelessness, and if it does you can bet that heads will roll.
This past Sunday at work, I was graced with the presence of someone that I’ve talked about on here before… The To-Go Cup Lady. For those of you who weren’t readers when that event happened, please click the link and catch up. Quick summary: she and I had a long argument about to-go cups and the fact that they’re not even offered where I work, nor have they ever been offered due to people sneaking out their own liquor.
Sunday night brought a similar argument, only this time she brought backup in the form of her sister, Hennrelitria. Just when you think it’s only the young ones with the really ghetto names. I don’t know where this bitch was raised but she’s some kinda hateful.
I didn’t recognize her when I first took the table, only that I was serving a really fat bitch with a really bad attitude. Perhaps she recognized me in advance because from the time I got to the table she was a cunt to me.
“Good evening, Ladies, I’m Ribeye I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” I start off, realizing that I”m becoming more and more generic as time goes by. “Can I start you all off with a insert annoying summer Mojito Promotion that tastes like ass on a stick that’s been left out in the sun too long to quench your thirst?” Yes, I’m definitely getting more and more generic, and perhaps a little more sarcastic with my greets. I just can’t stand offering drinks that taste like shit to people, especially to people that I know are going to send them back no matter what they taste like.
“Brang us suh waddahs wit’ a bunch uh lemon. What kinda tea ya’lls got?” The fat one snaps.
“We have sweet and unsweet, ma’am, both brewed fresh every couple hours!” I answered as snobbily as I possibly could. “We also have a variety of Long Island Tea and variants available from our bar!” I hate it when people ask me what kind of tea we have, it makes me want to vomit because I hate flavored tea. The tea issue is only going to get worse because we do as of a few days ago, offer peach flavored tea. However, it’s not from the soda guns, it’s brewed. We only got one urn for it, and we’re not allowed (for some stupid reason) to make the new peach shit in a regular tea urn. They can’t give us more hours but they can invest in some bullshit flavored tea that tastes like a rotted scrotal sack? BULLSHIT!
“Well it be say heah that ya’ll gots dat paych tea, brang me summah dat.” Hennrelitria snaps.
“I’m sorry ma’am, you all must have gotten some menus that haven’t been updated yet. We haven’t gotten the peach tea at this location and unfortunately we won’t be offering it here any time soon.”
“Well dat be fawse advatisin!”
“You’ll need to take that up with our marketing department ma’am, that’s something far, far out of my control. If you’d really like some flavored tea, I can squeeze a few lemons, or perhaps throw some orange juice into a mixing tin with some sweet tea, though I’d have to charge you for both the tea and the juice if I do. What would you prefer?”
“You ain’ gotta be such a fuckin’ smartass!” Deflaniquianah (the Fat To-Go cup woman) asks, brandishing a roll of silverware like a scepter of power.
I took a step back to prevent being stabbed or flogged when I answered, “I do apologize, I was merely trying to explain the drink situation. If you’d prefer another server I’ll be happy to get you one. However, ma’am, if you deign to speak to me again in such a fashion I’ll have you tossed out on your ass and escorted off the property. If you’re hungry, you’ll play nice.” My tone left no doubt as to my mood at that point. I also began to realize just how familiar this fat assed bitch looked, but I wasn’t yet able to place where I knew her from.
True to my warning, they played nice for a little while. They ordered, and between 4 women, there were a total of 64 buffalo wing bones flung to the floor, the table, and meat and sauce upon faces all and once you take into account the bowls of ranch these women drank with their wings, it’s a wonder they needed any kind of water or tea at all! By the time they were done (using nearly a whole package of 250 napkins), these women didn’t so much look black as mimes with down’s syndrome that’d just visited the coal mine. I know that sounds hateful, and I really mean no disrespect to those with down’s syndrome because comparing those women to them is just rude to the poor victims of the disorder. They were more like primitive beasts just set loose upon a fresh kill.
“Ladies,” I begin as I’m picking up plates and wishing I’d thought to grab a pair of gloves for the number of now clean bones littering the ten foot radius surrounding their table, “can I interest any of you in a tasty insert annoying and utterly nasty tasting and smelling signature dessert that’s overpriced and underportioned to end your meal?” Once again, I’m as perky as I can possibly be… another word for perky here could be sarcastic or hateful, take your pick!
“Just brang da check, and brang me a ta-go cup fa dis waddah.” Deflaniquianah orders with a snap of her fingers. At the snap of her fingers, my composure nearly broke, and I finally realized who she was.
“Ma’am, I am truly sorry but we don’t offer to-go cups here, it’s a corporate policy.” I explain, now knowing exactly what I’m getting into and honestly, I’m looking forward to the argument that’s to ensue. It’s strange that I have so much fun antagonizing hateful people.
“That’ bullshit, I jus got one las week when I was heah!” she said, bringing back my memories of our first encounter.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but that’s just not true. If you’ll remember from your real last visit here, at least the last time you and I spoke a couple of years ago, we’ve never once offered to-go cups here and you know that. Therefore, I must assume that you’re just trying to get something free and I hate to tell you that it won’t be happening on this trip! If you’ll be so kind as to submit your payment promptly, I have other guests that I must attend to.”
“How da fuck dare you tahk ta yo’ cussomah like dat! I is da cussomah an I is alway right!” She’s starting to breathe a little heavy, and her eyes start bugging out of her head a little. Part of me wondered if I’d pissed her off to the extent that she was going to have a heart attack right then and there, and I wondered if with my CPR training I could reasonably justify letting her die in front of me without doing anything. Thankfully, I was spared that decision. She kept right on yelling.
“I don’ know who you thank you is but you muss not know who you is be talkin to! You bettah get yo’ managah ovah heah righ’ fuckin now, white boy, and be ready ta lose yo’ job! You lucky my son ain’ be heah he gon’ beat da shit outta you!”
“Ma’am, I don’t know who you think you’re threatening but you’re either going to pay your tab and leave now, or I’m going to call the police and file charges upon you for threatening me and attempting to without payment. I might lose my job but I guarantee that I won’t be doing the jail time behind it.” Never once did I even consider getting a manager involved; that mistake was made last time she came in. This time, I wanted to have some fun. We were dead enough that only the bartender saw our “altercation” and she found it hilarious.
Then, Hennerelitria decided to open her cocksucker too… I couldn’t help but to laugh at her as she yelled, however, because there was ranch and wing guts flying out with each word she shouted. It was also so much more “ghetto” than her sister that I wasn’t able to understand much of it. I heard the words “white boy”, “yo’ job”, “yo’ ass”, and “managah,” repeated a few times, but I didn’t pay that much attention.
In the end, they paid their bills due to my pulling out my cell phone and dialing the number for the local police (non-emergency line mind you, no 911 for me!). It remains to be seen whether they call the corporate office on me, though I made sure to not give them a copy of the receipt that has the corporate number on it and our front desk employees rarely even pick up the phone much less get a manager on it when they do, so I really feel that I’m safe.
I even managed to get 10 bucks or so out of them due to them not noticing the charges for lemonade that I put on their bills for the extra bowls of lemon they demanded. The manager took off all 4 lemonades owing to the fact that there were only waters upon the table.
Now we come to the delivery man with no soul. A few nights ago, a friend of mine decided to treat me to some dinner, and we ordered from a restaurant here in Nashville called Sicilian Pizza and Pasta (downtown location). We ordered about 25 dollars worth of food, 27 or so after tax. Then we were told that it’d be almost 32 dollars total once the 5 dollar delivery charge was added. Never in my life have I been charged such an outrageous delivery charge.
The food shows up, and my friend gives the driver 33 dollars, which included a dollar tip. The reason for only giving a dollar is because the drivers make about 8 dollars hourly, plus mileage, and the 5 dollar delivery charge goes straight to them as well. That extra dollar should have been a happy gift for him but no, apparently not.
He stood there counting the money, and I told him, “there should be 33 there.” He looks up at me with eyes devoid of feeling and a soul and suddenly I wonder if he’s really a demon out to eat my soul for sustenance.
“Only 1 dollar for the tip?” he demands, glaring at me.
“We gave what we could, sorry you don’t approve!” my friend shouted as I slammed the door in his face. The restaurant did nothing for compensation for his rudeness, though we won’t be ordering from them again, at least not for a while.
I’m sure some of you are wondering how I can give a shitty tip to someone else in the service industry. Here’s my opinion; if there’s a delivery charge that constitues 20% of the check before tax is included, and the driver is getting paid mileage on top of said delivery charge (that we sneakily found out does go to the driver), why should I tip on top of that auto 20%? Especially when he was a rude ass? Opinions are appreciated. I’m also a little later going to add a link to the sidebar to a “survey” that I’d like you all to do if you have time, concerning those “survey’s” that print up on various receipts.
Till then,
Ribeye.
Thanks again for all your support and donations!
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