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.  

How are these teenage boys getting such huge collections of porn on their phones?

I had a trainee yesterday.  It was her last day of training so I had to follow her while she used my card to make my money and serve my guests.  She did a surprisingly great job, so I’m not worried about this one at all.  At any rate, she had a table yesterday, near the beginning of our shift.  It was two teenaged boys and their father.

We walked up to the table, and the teenagers backs were to us, neither would sit next to their dad.  As we walked up to the table, we figured out why.

These kids were looking at hordes of Boobies on a T-Mobil sidekick.  We’re talking, we stood there and watched for 5 minutes as they pretended to be texting, scrolling past one boobie after another.

Where the hell are these fucking kids coming up with porn collections like that?  When I was a kid, all I had was a magazine under my mattress and a couple of cheap videos that I’d brought home from my friend James’ house (aka, Mr. Ooze).  I did at one point have the original Debbie does Dallas.  It was also Hell trying to ever find a chance to watch any of said movies.  That these kids are bringing their porn out in public makes me sick!

Leave it at home!  Don’t put the titties on your phone, leave them under your mattress like a teenage boy is supposed to!

And that’s that…

Ribeye

Sitting at RagingPartners job and waiting for him to get off, it’s 11pm here in Nashville.  His hotel is currently sold out.  Normally this is a good thing for me, because he tends to send a bunch of people my way, and I get a few extra guests that are there to look for me.  Today, it doesn’t much matter because I’m off work, but it helps out when I am at work. 

I can only hope that he doesn’t send this group to me when I go back to work tomorrow.

It’s pure and utter Hell here at the RP’s hotel tonight.  There are teenagers and their chaperon’s everywhere, and the teenagers outnumber the adults at least 30 to 1.  This is a group of kids from some Nazarene Churches down in Georgia. 

They are loud.  They are obnoxious.  They are loud. 

They are teenagers, and I really hope that I don’t have to deal with them on a level any deeper than I already have, and just having to hear them was a deep enough level for me.

Everyone knows that I hate having to deal with teenagers and their younger counterparts in general, but these are even worse.  These have a superiority complex to them having to do with their faith.  I’m sorry if this offends my Christian readers, but it’s true.  These kids think going to church and constant prayer gives them leave to act however the fuck they want to act.

There are people complaining here about how loud these brats are, and I don’t blame the other tenants one bit for complaining.  Some of them have to work very early in the morning, truck drivers and airline pilots and the like, and they are being awakened and kept up until all hours of the night by a bunch of wailing kids. 

They don’t know how to clean up after themselves either.  They filled this lobby with pizza and chips, sodas and water, and after they’re done, they’re just leaving the shit for the adults and hotel staff to clean up. 

This is why I don’t work in a hotel.  At least not yet.  And when I do, I just don’t know how much of this shit I’m going to be able to put up with before I contemplate strangulation. 

I certainly hope that RP has a better attitude with these brats than I’m having right now.  I also hope that he doesn’t have the audacity to send them to my job tomorrow night.  They’re going to be here until Sunday, so it’s a very real chance that after one of their prayer circles or whatever they end up coming to the RagingComplex for food and game.  I may even take the notebook, so I can sneak to the break room and make a post. 

On the notebook thing, I’ve talked about taking it to work before, and some of you had some words to say about my using it.  Yes, I have had time to get online and search for things, but it’s not often.  I usually don’t have time to even pull it out of my backpack.  There’s also times that I bring it with me, and I’ll go to the breakroom just to get on here and check out my hits/visits and approve comments.  I’m in the bowling alley tomorrow night, so there’s a very real chance that I’ll have time to post from work.

I just hope I’m not posting about these fucking teenagers….

Ribeye

I get so sick of going into work and having to deal with teenagers that have been set loose by their uncaring, negligent parents.  Sometimes these children are on field trips from school, and they’re just in town for the weekend.  Sometimes they’re on an overnight thing with an extra curricular activity.  It doesn’t really matter what they’re doing, however, because they still haven’t been trained to go into a restaurant and act like a human being!

Teachers, Chaperons, and Activity Leaders are also to blame, because there are usually only one of those for every 25-40 students, and they tend to let the students do whatever the Hell they want for fear of chastisement from annoying parents.

One of the problems that arise from teenagers, especially those less than 16 years of age, being allowed to go out on their own to eat during trips, and perhaps more importantly, being allowed to pay on their own, is this:  They are usually given a limited amount of money from their parents with which to spend on food, typically about 20 dollars.  Most teenagers take this 20 bucks, and they will order either the cheapest thing on the menu and a glass of water, wanting to keep the rest of the money to use for a joint or a movie ticket later, or they’ll order the most expensive things they can get away with, and after including tax into the bill, they’ll have a quarter left over that they’ll summarily demand back for their change.  We get nothing out of the deal.

Another problem with teenagers being allowed to do what they want:  They come in with their friends, especially during their field trips, and they sit and complain because the food is taking so long.  They don’t seem to grasp that when they come out to eat with the rest of their 8th grade or Freshman class, the kitchen is going to be a bit bogged down by the order.  So they bitch, and moan, and whine, and they do it very loudly.

One of the things I hate the most about you people letting your teens run rampant is the noise they make.  You get a group of teenagers sitting together at one table, and everyone around them will get the migraine of a lifetime.  Over and over you hear, “Oh no she didn’t,”  “Oh Hell naw!”  among other high pitched, mid-pubescent noises, and the constant noise of text messages being received.  They yell to each other from table to table, all the while they’re texting each other from table to table.   They tend to make messes while they’re making noises also, including: rearranging the sugars like a 2 year old, throwing the 400 lemons you gave them into the floor, all of their straw wrappers and napkins thrown to the floor, and food tossed around everywhere.  It’s harder to clean up after a group of teenagers than a group with little kids.  At least little kids have some fear of adults.

The moral of the story is this:  Train your fucking Groin Sprog the right way!  Teach them to tip, teach them to be mannerly, and teach them to be neat!  Other people have to deal with your brats, and they aren’t the perfect little fucking angels that you tell your friends about.

This is coming from my shift Monday night, where two women were trying to control a group of over 55 little ghettolings (no, they weren’t all black, just all ghetto) and of the groups me and Mr. S had to serve, only 4 kids out of the entire group left any form of tip.

Train your fucking Groin Sprog.

Ribeye

I, the Ribeye of your Dreams, of semi-sound mind and more or less sound body, do henceforth and forevermore swear, that I am done serving teenagers.

I don’t give a flying rats ass if they’re ghetto teenagers, little cheerleader teenagers, band geek teenagers, sporty teenagers, or the brains.  If they are without an adult, they will not receive the service the Ribeye has to offer.

I guess St. Patricks Day brought out the kids who thought they’d try and be slick and have their friends buy drinks.  They thought they could pull one over on me using fake ID’s and their friends ID’s.  They thought they were going to get green beer from me, margaritas from me.

I refused alcohol to at least 9 kids tonight.  4 of them had fake ID’s, and I told them that if I caught them with a drink, I’d call the cops.  The other five either didn’t have their ID’s or they showed me theirs hoping I wouldn’t look at the age.  Sorry, my job is not worth your drunk.

I was also forced to remove drinks from 3 tables tonight.  One of them was a table full of Arabic young adults.  I’ve served some of them before, and never had a problem.  My problem is when they start sneaking their comrades drinks behind my back, after I expressly refuse to serve the minors.  Don’t play with my trust, fuckers, and don’t stiff me for doing my fucking job either.  I hope you all burn.

To the three teenaged black guys:  Thank you three for being the most awesome table I had tonight.  Not just the tip, which was 20% each, but for the fun I had with you, making fun of all my other tables.  I really hope you come back and see me like you said you would.  I’ve seen two of you before, so I know ya’ll will be back.  I’m glad your parents taught you well, and didn’t give you ghetto trash names.

To Lontezius:  I hate you and your little brat of a son.  You tip shitty, and you talked to me like I was your fucking servant.  Die, fucker, slowly and painfully.

Again, I refuse to serve teenagers that don’t have parents with them.  Not only do moron kids think they can get away with alcohol, but they don’t tip.  They don’t even tip “not well” they just don’t fucking tip at all!  I’d rather have a dollar than nothing, fucktards!  Go back to school, or come work at a restaurant, then you’ll learn just how much your not tipping fucks me!

To all the people who came out to drink tonight, and left shitty tips because you wanted to have more drinking money.  Guess it sucks to pay out and then get cut off because you didn’t tip your servers.  Don’t come back, we can do without your business.

This is why I hate holidays.

Ribeye