Yes, I know it’s been a long time since I’ve posted, and I know it’s been a couple of weeks since we had a new Round Table.  I’m going to get a new Round Table up on Monday.  I’m also going to make some changes to the RagingServer store, and the theme.  The site’s moving to a new server, same domain.

I’ve been a little tired the past couple of weeks.  It’s that time of year again, when the high school brats start to graduate, families come in town, and all come to make my life a living hell.  It doesn’t help that I’ve started my new job as of this week (2nd job, still serving) at a local golf facility and that’s making me a little irritable when I get to work at the restaurant.

I know you’ve all wanted to hear about Mothers Day, and I’m not going to let you down.  I wanted to strangle small children.  I don’t know what it is about Mother’s Day that makes people think they get everything free, but it happens year in and year out.

This year, my first table of the day was one of those discount junkies. It was a table of 6, 4 little screaming brats, the Mother, and the Baby Daddy.  Momma doesn’t want to wait for me to go to the table and proceeds to get up and waddle to the bar to get a drink.  I manage to overhear a few snippets of the conversation she had there while I waited for it..I mean her, to return to the table.  Included but not limited to the following:  “Hennessey..”  “dat’s too damn much”  “fuck dis shit”.  Fun times already.

When she finally waddles back to the table, a few things jump out at my attention that I hadn’t noticed before.  This bitch had some fake nails, and they were fucking huge.  We’re talking 2 and a half inches at least.  They were painted black with gold glitter, and they curved in like the talons of a demon.  More shocking than the nails were the fact that they were only on one hand.  How the fuck do these ghetto assed women eat or do anything with those gigantic nails on their hands?  I’ve seen servers try to wear them and work, and they were the laziest of the bunch!    These nails in the picture are about a quarter of the size but you get the idea.  Anyway, I walk up to the table and have to wait for a minute before I can talk because the fucking crotch stain kids wouldn’t shut up.  “Momma I gon’ get some wangs.”  “Day gon’ brang some roll, Momma?”  Finally, I’d had enough and I more or less shouted at them, “Hello everyone, how are you?”  They shut up right quick when I raised my voice.  Momma Jaquandria puts one of those talons in my face in a ‘hold on’ gesture.  “Let me axe you a querstion.”  I hear ghetto speak every day, but the words ‘axe’ and ‘querstion’ in one sentence was almost too much for me and I nearly burst out laughing at her.

Instead, I felt the need to subtly correct her.  “Yes, ma’am, ask away.  I’ll be glad to answer your question.” If she got the hint then she didn’t let me know.  “Why is ya’ll Hennesey be chahge so much?”   It took me a second to translate, and I’m getting pretty fluent at translating ghetto.  “Excuse me?  I didn’t quite catch that, ma’am.”

“I axed you why ya’ll Hennessey be chahge so much, dat too much money to pay fa some Henny.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t make the prices I just follow them.”

“But dis be Muttah’s Day, we pose ta get ouah drank fa fray.  Dat what da commercial say.”  There was no commercial.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but you must be thinking of another restaurant.  We haven’t run any Mother’s Day commercials, especially ones that say we give away free drinks.  That’s illegal here.”

“Well I wan’ my drank fray, you need ta get yo managah fa dat false advadisin.”  I can see how this is going to end.  Thankfully, I was backed up on the no free drinks.

The entire table ordered wings, with the two adults getting double orders.

The food comes.  “Why deez wangs ain’ crispy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Deez wangs ain’ done, day ain’ crispy at all.”  She shoved a half eaten, fully done wing in my face.

“Ma’am, the wings are fully done, but if you’d like me to have them fried a bit longer I’ll gladly have it done for you.  It’s going to be another 15 minutes or so though, the kitchen is really slammed right now.”

“Dat mean it be fray right?”  I took back all 8 orders of wings, sat them in the window for about 10 minutes and brought them back out.  “Now deez is some wangs!  You gon’ haff ta brang out mo’ ranch fa deez.”  I really wanted to stay and see how she ate the wings with those nails, but I was in a hurry.  I’m going to assume she just sucked the meat off of them.  Grand total of 2 oz. ranch sides:  26.  Total ranch eaten:  All of it.

Toward the end of the meal, they’d finally pissed me off beyond return.  “Ma’am, I’d appreciate if you could keep your children from throwing their bones onto the floor.  That’s what the big bowl in the middle of the table is for.”  She responded by throwing a bone onto the floor in front of my face, then asking for the manager.

They ended up paying for the entire meal, and stiffing me on a 90 dollar check.  I wasn’t surprised as they were nothing but ghetto trash.

The rest of the day was much like that table, and by the end of the day I just wanted to down a bottle of aspirin and sleep for a month.

Do us all a favor, and eat with your families at HOME on Mother’s Day, not out in public.  You know who I’m talking to.

Ribeye

It’s been slow at work. It’s been slow at work all week long. I’m tired of going to work to make no money. I know the economy is slow, but come the fuck on. Not only is it slow, but the only trash that is coming out to eat is trash that doesn’t want to leave me a tip.

Tonight, in the bowling alley, it was a swirl of ghetto redneckyness. I had a couple of really nice lanes, ones that tipped me around 35%. Those two lanes didn’t make up for the other 7 I served that didn’t leave me jack shit!

First we have Deflanaqueesha and her kids. “Hey you!” I hear while I’m at another lane. “Is you our waitah?” I still don’t know who is yelling at me so I choose to ignore it and keep taking my order. Then I feel the tapping on my back. Within seconds, the tapping becomes a light beating and I finally turn around. “What the Hell is your problem?” I yell before actually seeing that there’s a little boy standing behind me.

“My mommah wanna know if you is our waitah. She say if you is ta come ovah here.” The little brat ran down to the next set of lanes and proceeded to yell to his mother, “Dat man yell at me mommah.” This little fucker couldn’t have been more than 6-7 years old. Knowing what I was about to get myself into, I chose to continue taking my time.

When I finally did get to their lane, Deflanaqueesha didn’t give me a chance to talk. “Who da Hell do you think you is yellin at my baby like that? How the fuck dare you?”

“First of all, ma’am, your child came to me while I was with another guest. Your child didn’t let me finish doing what I was doing before he started yelling at me. YOUR CHILD chose to start beating me in the back rather than wait for me to finish doing what I was doing, so yes ma’am, I yelled at your child. I apologize, I lost my temper, but I’m not going to have some little kid beating me in the back when I’m busy doing my job!”

“How is you gon’ talk to me like that? I am the customah, you need to treat me with respect.”

“Well how about this, ma’am. I won’t disrespect you, and you keep your kids at your lane with you and supervised, like they’re supposed to be. What can I get for you to drink.” She muttered under her breath about me for a bit but I had to keep her from going off on me somehow. She ended up getting half her food comped for being “cold” with steam coming off of it, and left me a dollar on a 30 dollar check. Fucking dirty assed snatch licking whore.

Then we come to the rednecks in the pool room. I hate rednecks. I hate them with a passion. I walk into the pool room which my co-workers had been neglecting for the most part, and I see a group in the corner. They have drinks and food, so I don’t think anything about checking on them. They weren’t my guests. I walk past them and go on to the people I was already serving.

Once again, I hear yelling. “Hey boy.” I ignore it, not sure if they’re yelling at me or not. I hear another yell, this one more centralized and much closer to me. “Hey waiter!” Fuck you, bastard, I don’t respond to the names ‘boy’ or ‘waiter’. I turn around, and I see a tall, maybe 6′6 or so, and stocky white guy wearing a red and white striped polo. He’s got an empty beer bottle in his hand. “I need anotha beer, boy.”

“I’ll make sure to tell your server you need another one then.”

“We done paid her, why don’t you go get me one. Brang us some shots uh Jager too.”

I can see just how drunk these mother fuckers are already, so I just kind of smile and nod and walk away. Less than a minute after I get back into the bowling alley, Big Red comes around the corner yelling, “Wheres da Jager at?”

I think maybe his girlfriend was embarrassed at how he was acting out in public, because when I finally rang in an appetizer sampler for them, 15 dollar check, she tips 5 bucks and writes “Sorry bout everythin” on the bottom of her credit card slip. I personally think that Big Red was a bit abusive with how she was cowering every time he came close to her.

Apparently he and his friends got a little pissed off at how much their pool tab came up to because they were pissed as hell when it came time to pay for it. The door “bouncers” and manager made sure they were escorted out afterwards.

This is the kind of shit that happens on a slow night. This, and the 38 bucks I made before tip out on an almost 600 dollar night of sales.

And people wonder why I hate working in the bowling/billiard area where I’m forced to serve nothing but trash. I don’t know why I keep getting screwed over there, but it’s really starting to piss me off. The game room is where I’m strongest, and where I make actual money despite having to serve trash within the great people.

If you’re going to act like you’ve caught the dumbass, if you’ve caught the dumbass, or if you’re just plain stupid, don’t bother coming out in public. Your actions cause people to plot your deaths….vividly.

Ribeye

As an add on to the original post, I’d like everyone to take the time to visit the RagingPartner’s site, FrontDeskBlog.  It chronicles the life of a Front Desk Manager for a hotel.  Funny stuff there.  

I have had another exhausting day today…another double shift.  I went in at 12 today, originally scheduled off at 10 pm.  When I got to work, the managers were asking if I have a phone.  An odd question seeing as how they have my phone number listed in my file.  I change numbers a bit often for my liking, but I always make sure to update, can’t take the chance on missing out on money.  Apparently they were trying to call me and tell me they didn’t need me till 4.  I couldn’t afford to leave, so I convinced someone else to go home and come back later.

After staying up late Saturday night, despite my trying to sleep, I went in exhausted.  It was dead during the first couple of hours and that didn’t help my exhaustion.  I didn’t even have time to get any Red Bull before I went to work.

I went through the normal motions I go through, waking up naturally and getting annoying guests that tipped 10% or less.  We started getting busy later in the day, about 2:30.  That’s when I started making money.  Other than my feet getting blistered though, nothing bad really happened….

Until the night shift….

Every month, on the last Sunday of the month, we have a group that comes in.  I don’t know what the significance of the end of the month is, but it never fails.  The entire young Kurdish community of Nashville comes to my job.  They’ve been doing it since I started my job over a year and a half ago.  Ever since I started, there’s been a group of this community that I have to deal with.  It never fails.

This portion of their little “family” gives me some type of problem every time they come in.  In the beginning, when we still allowed smoking, we didn’t allow cloves or cigars.  It was a corporate thing that I never really understood, but it was a rule.  Some of the guys happen to smoke cloves, and got very pissed off at me when I used to put them out.  They bitched about every little thing, from having to pay an upcharge to go from a cheap side to an expensive one, to having to pay by the hour when they bowled.

It doesn’t matter if I happen to be in the bowling/billiards area or in the game room, they always end up with me.

Tonight (Sunday) happened to be that night again, and I didn’t even realize it until I heard the quacking of their voices.  I looked to see where the strange noise was coming from and my good night suddenly got bad.  I prayed they weren’t going to sit in my section.  There are about 24 of them that gravitate toward my section when they’re there and sure enough tonight was no different.  Half of them didn’t order, the other half ordered one thing at a time.  Not as a group, where it would have been easier.

They spread out across my section, taking up 5 of my 8 tables.  Only the people at 2 of the tables chose to order anything tonight, the other three were just hanging out.  Being that they were a party of more than 8 people, I had to put a gratuity on the checks.  *note* We got a memo at work recently saying that we no longer have a choice at whether we put a gratuity on a check or not.  If it’s 8 people, they get a grat no matter what.

They didn’t like the gratuity.  The first couple of checks I delivered had 5 of the 9 orders on them.  I dropped the checks and walked to the kitchen to pick up some of their food.  When I got back, Bartender B pulled me aside.  “They are pissed off that you put a gratuity on their checks, they say you have to have 8 people for a grat and there’s only 4 at the table.”  Well yeah, of course there are only 4 people at their table, they aren’t piled in to the point of bursting anymore.  At any rate, another part of the memo was that we have no choice but to remove a grat if the guest asks.

I hunt down Manager B the Wise and have him exempt the grat.  I then try to explain to them that I had no choice in the grat, that despite them sitting at different tables, they were still one big party.  They didn’t care.

They left me exact change.  I got no compensation on the 110 dollar check and I did everything right.

I hate Kurds.  Not all of them, just some of them.  The ones I have on a monthly basis have a harsh smell and a superiority complex.  I don’t like being around them, but nobody else will pick them up.  They see how I get treated, and I get stuck.

I think next month I’m going to exercise my legal right to refuse service to them.  I’m not even going to care if they call me a racist because of it.  I’m tired of being shit on by these fuckers.  Let them go to a restaurant that caters to their nationality.  I’m tired of them changing every single thing they order to something completely different than what’s in the menu.  I’m tired of the attitudes.

Right now, I’m just plain tired!!!!!!  I’m going to take care of that problem in a few minutes though.  The toilet calls, and the RagingPartner needs cuddlings, and I just plain need sleep.

I’ll post something tomorrow so until then…make sure to check out the Horror Stories page, and submit your own from there.  I can only update as long as you all send them to me.  I put up a new one earlier, bringing the grand total to 4.

Enjoy,

Ribeye

It’s not all night shifts, just some of them.  You all have probably read the last post by now, my calling out of the Whites Creek High School students that came in after their prom.  That was only part of the night.

The kitchen crashed at some point, making me wonder if all my cooks are just illiterate, when they can’t read “No fries, with green beans” plainly showing upon a screen.

We got killed by the fucking prom kids.

I had a table earlier in the night, party of 6.  Seemed like a really nice table at first.  I was having fun with them like normal, laughing and talking.

Lanettie, the oldest at the table (about 50 years or so), her husband Bernie, their friend Berthreetia, and three kids.  I tried to take all their orders at once, but that just didn’t work.  I ended up getting only three orders and an appetizer in the beginning.  That was the start of all the problems.

Lanettie orders spinach dip for an appetizer.  It arrives, and she asks, “Where my cheese fries at?”  I was at a loss, because she didn’t order any cheese fries.  I made sure to write my orders down like always, and made sure to read them back because I was tired at work tonight.  “I’m sorry ma’am, I just must not have heard you order them.”  No sense in pissing her off more than she already was.

After I walk off, the manager walks by doing his normal table visits.  Instead of ordering from me, they order some wings.  I ring in said wings, and go back to let them know their wings would be out soon.  “I don’ wan’ no hot sauce on dem, make ‘em bahbeque,” says the little girl, Danyireeta, and yes that’s her name.  Lanettie then chimes in, “I wan’ some mild wangs.”  I figure, I’ve already got some mild wings rung in, so I’ll just ring in bbq next.  By this time, the first orders are out.  One of them is a buffalo chicken sandwich.  You’ll need this information later.  This was Bernie’s meal.

Later, I bring out Lanettie’s wings.  “What da hell is dat?” she asks as I’m delivering them.  “It’s your mild wings, ma’am.”

“I ain’ ohdah dat.  I wanted what he got.” pointing at Bernie’s buffalo chicken sandwich.  I still haven’t figured out how mild wings turned into a sandwich, but I digress.

“I’ll get it taken care of.  Can I take some of these plates out of the way?” I ask, pointing to the appetizer plates used for the spinach dip.

“No, we need some mo’ chips fa da salsa so we gon’ keep doze plate.”  I thank her for her patience, and walk away.  Her cheese fries finally come out, the kitchen running extremely long at this point.  I apologize again for the wait.

When her buffalo chicken sandwich comes out, she starts yelling for me to come back to the table.  “Why da hell you lie ta me?  Deez ain’ mild, it be hot as hell!”  I end up getting one order of wings comped off, along with her cheese fries and her buffalo sandwich because of the time it took.

She gets her bill, and I try to explain what all was taken off.  She couldn’t understand that even though the items were still shown on her bill, the price of those items had been removed.  She then asks me, “Why is you chahgin fa doze kid dranks?”

“Because we don’t offer free kids drinks.  They are the same price as all the rest, and they are free refills as the rest are.”

“I don’ thank I should haff ta pay fa doze dranks, day only had 3 refill each.”  These kids drinks were in regular sized cups, despite their ordering kids meals.

She ended up taking off the price of her kids meals and the other buffalo chicken sandwich herself, with the calculator on her phone, and when I got back there was 43 bucks in her book.  Her check was 56.  “I ain’ payin fa dat chicken samwich oh doze drank.  You jus gon’ haff ta take dem off, cuz I done put da money fa da check.”  She then leaves, and I was so busy I didn’t have time to bitch about it.

Sure enough, after taking off the drinks and her other chicken sandwich, it was 42.96.  4 cent tip.

The high school kids trying to walk out:  There were about 12 of them, all walked in together after prom.  They sat together.  They ordered together.  They were gratuity’d together.

I took their checks, and they immediately bitch.  “Why we gotta pay dat?”  I go into my spiel about how parties of 8 or more get a gratuity.  “But we ain’ paht uh dat pahty, we sittin ovah heah.”

“Yes, but you were all the same party, so I’m not having it taken off.”

“But dare only fo check heah, we ain’ gonna pay it.”  I got manager.  Manager talks to them, gets pissed like I was, and decides to comp something off one of their checks.  While he’s doing that, they make a break for the mall doors, and we take off running.  That’s when I started cussing, and security was called.  After they bitched for a while, we followed them into the movie theater and forced them to pay their bills.

Fucking kids.  I still say they’ll all end up hookers and drug dealers, they already dressed the part.  The girls didn’t look like they were wearing prom dresses, they looked like they were wearing lingerie.

Fuck them all.

Until next time,

Ribeye

I just want all you little ghetto assed girls know that you sorely misrepresented your school tonight.  I thought, being that you came in dressed in your prom outfits, that you ladies and gentlemen might have been worth serving.

You weren’t.

Not only did you lie about being part of a large party, when both myself and my manager saw when you came in and sat together, you tried to walk out on your bills because you didn’t want to pay for the gratuity.

You’re damn right I cussed you bitches like dogs, you disrespected me and you attempted to commit a crime.  Had you little skanks not come back and paid those bills, we would have had your asses arrested, and those 19 year old boys you were with would have gone to jail for statutory rape just for being with your underage asses.

Take off the giant ankle holders, they make you look like the whores you are.  Learn how to act when you go out in public.  If you keep going the way you’re going, you’re going to end up as nothing more than hookers and drug dealers.  Guess you really want to be like your parents.

I guess I have to admit, it doesn’t surprise me.  Whites Creek is not one of the better schools here.  Next time I see a bunch of kids come in after prom, I’m just going to ask them to leave, after all, technically I wasn’t supposed to serve those little bitches anyway.

I hope you all grow up someday, though I doubt it.

Ribeye