I’ve never in the nearly two years that I’ve worked for “the Restaurant that Cannot be Named” had a more horrible night than I had this past Sunday.  I was stiffed, I was maimed, I was harassed, I was yelled at, I was stiffed, I was stiffed, I was stiffed.  I was so pissed off at one point that I was ready to walk out the door and not look back but I stayed…

The first of the night went great.  I had awesome tables, was making great tips, made a couple of new friends who came back to see me tonight.  It was after 8 o’clock that I started having problems.

First problem table came in the form of three really ghetto black guys that reeked of weed.  From the time I went to the table, they had attitude problems with me.  I didn’t even have a chance to introduce myself or anything before the first one, LemonJelo with the nappy braids sticking out of his head like the snakes of Medusa, looks at me and says, “You da waidah?  Brang three Hen and Coke ovah,” and tries to wave me away.  “No problem, sir, I just need to see three ID’s.”  You’d have thought I just blew up their cars for the looks they gave me.

“Why you gotta see dem fo?” OranJello asked.  “Because I have to see an ID from anyone who is drinking alcohol or I’m not allowed to serve them.”  One by one, the three pulled out their state issued ID cards out.  Only one of them turned out to be 21.  “I’m sorry guys, I can’t serve the two of you,” I said, handing them back their cards, “Can I bring you a coke or something?”

“You can brang dey Hennessey like I ask.”  LemonJello said, starting to get pissed off.  “I can’t serve them any alcohol because they’re not 21 and I don’t want to get fired.”

“Jus brang da damn dranks, dude, we ain’ gon’ tell nobody!”  The third guy, Cheeto said.  “Sir, I’m not going to serve you, there’s no point in continuing to ask.  I’ll gladly bring you something non-alcoholic, but nothing from the bar.”

“Man, fuck you, we ain’ gotta take dis bullshit, we drank heah all da time!  Dis jus cuz we black.”

“Sir, this has nothing to do with your being black, this has to do with me wanting to keep my job and not serve someone who’s underage.  If you continue to talk to me like that, you’ll be escorted out of here.  Now, do you want something to drink or not?”  They got up and left.

The next two tables weren’t hateful or anything, they were just cheap bastards.  I had to clean up three spills from one womans little groin spawn who couldn’t have been more than 2 years old and who shouldn’t have been sitting without a booster seat to begin with.  Her mother decided to let her drink from a regular cup, claiming “My baby don’t need no kiddie cup, she a big girl now.” I tried to prove otherwise by bringing a kids cup anyway, only to have her set it aside and let the brat try to drink out of her cup.  Three times she spilled it, and her lazy mother refused to even try to clean it up.  She just waved me over.  They left me nothing.

The next table of the night had to be the worst one of all, and while they were there a couple of regulars that I love came in.  They were black, and yes, the race matters and you’ll see why after I tell you about this table.

It started out a woman and her two kids.  I’ll name then LaSqueeshia (mother), ShaMarion (son), and Qualatisha (daughter).  The son and daughter were real names, I didn’t find out the mothers real name.  Anyway, they sat down at one of my tables and started waving me over while I was taking an order from another group.  I tried to ignore them so I could answer questions for my table, and LaSqueeshia started yelling quite loudly “Can we get a servah ovah heah?  We been waitin fa 10 minutes already.”  They hadn’t even been sitting for 2 minutes, much less 10.  I finished my order and put it in, then grabbed some bev-naps and went to my new table.

“Sorry for the wait, everyone, how are you tonight?”  I asked as cheerfully as I possibly could.

“We done ate dinnah, we jus came ta have some dessert.” LaSqueeshia said.  “What all ya’ll got?”  I picked up the menu and opened it to the dessert page, and pointed out a couple of the good ones.  “Do dat cake get some ice cream?” she asked, pointing at a chocolatey delight.  “No ma’am, but you can get some ice cream with it for 75 cents extra and believe me, it goes great with that cake.”

“Why we gotta pay exkra if it tase good wit it?”  one of the kids asked.  “Because the ice cream doesn’t come with it, so you have to pay for it if you want it.”

They ended up ordering a big dessert that they could share, two waters and a sprite.  They stayed for an hour, with momma on the phone most of the time.  More of the family showed up, including two ugly women with the wrong weave in.  After about 45 minutes of my checking on them and them not answering me, I went and printed their check out and drop it off.   Since they hadn’t asked for it, I stopped by the table behind theirs to see if everything was okay, it was a party of 6 from out of town and I was chatting with them, just having a good time with them trying to get a tip.  For the record, this also was a table of black people.  As we were talking, one of the bitches from the dessert table turns around and looks at me, and yells “We ready ta go, CHECK PLEASE!”  I looked up and held up my hand in an ‘I’ll be there in just a second’ gesture.  I stayed with the table for a couple of minutes longer and told them I’d be right back.

I walked the few steps to LaSqueeshia’s table.  “Hey there, ladies, how was everything tonight?”  None of them bothered to answer me.  “Are we all done with this?” I asked, pointing to the dessert.  The woman who’d yelled at me waved it away and kept yapping on the phone.  I took the plate and told them I’d be back to take care of the check whenever they were ready, and went back to what I was doing.  My regulars were sitting across from them and the 6 top was still sitting on the table behind theirs.   I went by to chat with my regulars, who’ve been my regulars for close to a year now, and was talking to them for a few minutes.

While I’m talking to them, I suddenly hear the same hateful voice that yelled for the check, “We ready ta pay, why you ain’ comin ovah heah!”  I told my guests that I’d be back in a second and went back to my bitches.  “All ready to go, ladies?”

“You bettah brang us back every penny of da change,” she replied.  “No problem at all, ma’am, just give me a moment to cash this out.”  I walked away.  The check was 11 and some change.  I wasn’t hateful toward these women at all, I answered their questions happily and they were just hateful the whole time.  So in the end, I made sure they got exact change.  6 of it was in dollar bills, the rest in quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies.  “Ladies, be careful with the book theres a bit of coin change loose inside.” I said with a minor smile on my face, and walked off to my regulars again.

I sat talking to them for a little while.  Their names are Deborah and Leonard, they’re an awesome middle aged couple with two kids, one in high school and one about to start college.  They have a bit of ghetto to them but they tip, they’re nice, and I have had fun with them since the first time they came in.  Being that I’d only had problems with black tables that night, I asked them honestly, “Am I doing something different with my black guests and not realizing it?  Why is it these people are treating me so bad tonight?”  I honestly don’t believe that I treat black guests any different than white, mexican or any other race of guests, and neither did Deborah and Leonard.

Deborah replied, “I didn’t notice anything different from how you served your other tables, why do you ask?”  I told her about the other tables, and how I’d been stiffed 6 times already through the night and it was all from black guests.  She was shocked, and I asked again, “I just really need to know if I’m doing something to deserve it or make them think I don’t want to be serving them!”  They assured me that there was nothing wrong with my service, but I still wasn’t reassured.

The guests that I had to serve Sunday night were most assuredly reenforcing the stereotype of blacks in restaurants and it really pissed me off that I was the one having to deal with it!  I don’t consider myself a racist by any means, but after Sunday night I was seriously close to losing both my temper and my beliefs.  Sunday night is the reason that servers in the majority don’t want to serve black guests.  I haven’t let it change me though; I still welcome any and all guests in the hopes of getting a tip from them and that will never change, but after getting stiffed so many times in one night from one racial group only, and being told by guests of that same group that I did nothing wrong in my service, I at one point threw down my swipe card, yelled that I was going on break and I didn’t care who watched my section and I stormed out the back door to smoke and calm down.

Oh, and the party of 6 from out of town that I had so much fun with left me nearly 40 bucks on a 130 dollar bill,  didn’t know anything about any of the other guests that had stiffed me during the night, were black and awesome.  I treated them the exact same as the other 6 tables.  Was it just something different about the people in general?

Maybe I just need a vacation…by the way, if you consider me a racist because of this post, I hate it.  I am only telling about my night, and hopefully showing you that although some black guests do perpetuate the stereotype, they’re still not all bad no matter how many bad seeds you have to deal with in one night.  I still made a hundred bucks Sunday night, despite my stress.  I can however see why most servers feel the way they do about black guests because it’s painfully obvious that even if you do nothing wrong, the majority of them still don’t tip.

Ribeye

Before I start, let me assure everyone that I have no issue whatsoever with those who come from or have relatives in Croatia. It just happens to be the place the following “server” comes from.

Croatian Barbie, aka, “Blowjob Barbie”, was hired maybe two months ago. I taught a couple of her training classes and from the start she just didn’t impress me. First off, she spent the majority of the class trying to text people without my knowing until I finally snapped at both her and the been gone for a while “CokeFiend, NeverShutsUp Barbie” about it. She failed her tests numerous times, and from training she’d already learned the delicate art of restaurant rumor starting. Fun chick. I took comfort in the fact that this bitch wasn’t going to be part of the cocktail staff.

Her first few weeks weren’t fun for the rest of her team. They quickly learned that Croatian Barbie was not one for following the rules being constantly on her phone or texting while walking through the dining room. They found that they were often picking up her slack when it came to the running sidework as picking up an ice bin or stocking glasses might harm her delicate hands. Managers and Shift Leaders alike tried time and time again to make her understand that tray service, while not fun, is also not optional. It was even overheard one night her responding to a SL with “Do it yourself!” when asked to fill the ice bin.

Within three weeks, Croatian Barbie had attached herself to a young, black American man who shall remain nameless. Once that began, not only did she not perform as part of the team, she and her newfound beau would vanish together for 10 and 15 minutes at a time, tables and teammates left wondering what was going on.

Croatian Barbie decided during her first few weeks that she was just too good to be a dining room server. She picked up a few cocktail shifts, and me and the rest of my teammates also noticed the rampant cellphone usage and laziness. We dealt with it because it was only a couple of shifts here, a couple of shifts there.

Croatian Barbie had other plans. Somehow, she hoodwinked the Powers that Be into letting her transfer from the dining room to the cocktail staff. Thanks just so very much, Powers that Be, you’ve screwed me again!

Since she joined my team, she’s proven that she can handle a few tables at a time which is a good thing. She’s also shown that she’s utterly worthless. I’ve never in my life seen anyone use a service station as an armrest as much as she does. She refuses to carry a tray, she refuses to do running sidework unless she hasn’t got a choice in the matter, and she’s become a table thief. In the time she’s been a cocktail I’ve also noticed (being forced to work the same shifts as she) that she doesn’t know how to ring things into the computer despite my teaching her a class on how to do just that. This makes for interesting weekends when we get busy and her tables wonder where their food has gone.

A couple of weeks ago, she came in wearing her hair in pigtails. Her hair is quite long, and at the time had a reddish/purple tint to it. The pigtails were held up with ribbons, and with her top button unbuttoned the way she does to show off her tits, it made her look every bit the 18 year old slut. Her actions with the younger more attractive male guests also show a slutty aspect to her personality. Back to the day in question. There was a guest that couldn’t find her. He wandered around, asking us where she was at because he wanted another beer. Finally, he gave up and was headed for the bar where the one bartender was a little busy. As she was making her way around to the guy, Blowjob Barbie ran up to him and asked if he wanted another one. She then proceeded to serve the guest that had now sat down at the bar. It was later discovered that the man had already closed his tab with Blowjob Barbie and he was now an actual bar guest. We’re not allowed to serve the guests who sit at the bar except under extreme circumstances, and it pisses the bartenders off when we do it anyway. The bartender wasn’t going to take her guest being stolen lying down as she needs money just like everyone else, so she confronts BJ Barbie about it and let her know she can’t take guests from the bar like that.

This is her response: “Everyone wants to order their drinks from me because I have the prettiest face back here!” Let me describe this face to you a little. Being Croatian, she has a bit darker skin tone than most Caucasian people. She adds to this by putting on about a pound and a half of makeup, making her resemble a clown. She has a hint of Asian in her eyes and puts eyeliner on the outside corners of both eyes because “I look like an Egyptian Princess” yet it really just makes her look goofy. The guys apparently tend to like her because of the width of her mouth, nobody wants to actually talk to her. She has braces so her teeth aren’t bad (we all know mine suck so I’m not gonna say anything about hers). She really just looks like a 16 year old that’s trying too hard.

Last week and this week have by far been the worst. Last Wednesday, I somehow got stuck with just her and one of the other…not so work ethically inclined…cocktails. Just the three of us. I was closing/shift leading. Once again, she refused to do anything to help the team and spent most of her night either on the phone or in her mans lap. At the end of the night, she wasn’t happy because she was still there around closing time when she was supposed to have gotten off. I gave her the silverware count and she set off. When she returned, I picked a couple of them up like I do with everyone and I noticed that they were horribly dirty. We have to wash, rack, wash, and polish (or soak then polish) our silverware before we roll it. I looked at her for a minute in disbelief, then went to find Manager G the Fuckin Great because Manager just doesn’t like her and he’s as anal as I am about silverware.

“Manager G, how should I tactfully tell someone I want them to re-roll their entire bin of silverware because they didn’t polish a single piece?”

“Who are you talking about?” he asked.

“Blowjob Barbie,” I replied.

“Hold on.” He put down his rag, and went flying from behind the bar to see what I was talking about. We opened up a couple of them together so he could see what I was talking about. He didn’t say anything else to me, just took the pan of silverware to the table she was cleaning. I don’t know exactly what was said but she took it back to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, she came back. At first glance, the silverware looked like it’d been cleaned, however when I opened a couple, they were still horrible. Back to Manager G and she was hot. She had to take them all apart, polish each piece and reroll it. That’s when she learned that her shit wasn’t going to be tolerated.

The weekend went by with her being as lazy as usual. Then we come to Sunday night. Sunday night, I was again closing, and I was again stuck with her. All night long, I asked her to pitch in and help out with running sidework. Every server had something assigned to them but we were in a groove and working together. It was a pretty good night except for her. She just ignored me when I would ask her to do anything. “Blowjob Barbie, can you get ice?” “Blowjob Barbie, can you stock glasses?” “Blowjob Barbie, you can’t leave your tables for the busser, we only have one tonight. You need to get them clean and reset and ready to go.” Ten minutes later, “Blowjob Barbie, go bus and reset that table!” Still nothing. I got busy with a couple of tables. In the time it took for me to greet and get the orders for both tables, get them into the computer, and get the food and drink back to the table, she still hadn’t done it. That’s when I’d finally had enough of her shit. “You need to get over there and clean that table, NOW!” I almost yelled. She finally got the hint.

Another aspect of my night was to make sure everyone was carrying a tray. I hate using them, but it’s policy and I’m making sure everyone follows the rules. Over and over I caught her not carrying a tray. Over and over I said to her, “Carry a tray” and “Put those on a tray.” She ignored me each time. The last time, she picked up two drinks from the service bar, looked at me, and walked past the stack of trays. That time, I followed her to the kitchen and proceeded to actually yell.

“Blowjob Barbie, when I tell you to carry a tray, that doesn’t just mean when you want to carry it, that means you carry one with everything you take to the table. Tray service is not optional here!”

“Alright!” she snapped back. She had a ramekin of dressing in her hand and was making her way back to the game room with it. Dressing and sides of sauce have to be put on an app plate with a napkin on it, carried on a tray. It’s a professionalism thing and a policy thing.

“THEN TURN AROUND AND PUT THAT ON A TRAY BEFORE YOU WALK OUT THAT DOOR!!!” she refused, and took it to the table.

She vanished after that. I found her in the hallway to the kitchen where the last exchange took place, more or less giving the nameless man from above a lap dance. “You need to get back to your area, Blowjob Barbie, we’re busy out there.” She ignored me and I didn’t feel like arguing. I went to the dining room where I was headed to find a manager. Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t gotten back to her area, and she had a new table. The manager told another server, Ms. A, to take the table. After Ms. A had gotten the drinks, Blowjob Barbie comes out of the break room where she and her man had gone to hide, and tells her, “Don’t worry honey, I’ve got it.” She proceeded to take the table from Ms. A causing a whole new set of drama.

Later that night, the managers pulled her in the office. I would have paid to see the show, because Manager G the Fuckin Great and Manager C the Assistant tore into her so hard that she left the office nearly in tears.

Too bad that bitching still didn’t do anything for her attitude. I caught her last night (Tues.) sitting on the bowling counter where guests pay and get shoes, swinging her legs back and forth playing on her phone. I told her to get down. “I will.”

“No, I mean get down now, and put your phone up.” She rolled her eyes and went back to what she was doing.

“Blowjob Barbie, What is your problem? Why do you think the rules don’t apply to you?”

“Ribeye, what’s your problem? Why are you always picking on me?”

“I’m not picking on you, I’m just tired of you running around here acting like a child! This is a restaurant and you’re at work, it’s time you acted like it!” I didn’t wait to see if she got down, I just let the managers know. That’s just not a good first impression for the guests to see a server sitting on a counter when they should be working, and playing on a phone to boot.

My teammates and I are trying to run her off. She’s an embarrassment to our department and an embarrassment to our store. There are others who are embarrassments too, but she definitely takes the cake. I can safely say that she’s now taken Hawk’s place as the laziest person I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with, and the only one who offers to go home with her male guests in order to get tips from them. She gives her real number out, and I think has gone out with a couple of the guys she’s served.

Thus the name Blowjob Barbie.

This is why I get stressed out at work! I have to deal with people like her! When they don’t do their jobs, I get yelled at by the manager above me for the night, as they get yelled at by the manager above them! I’m tired of it! I want the bitch gone, and so does everyone else!

Remember to listen to my radio segment, recorded this past Monday.

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(segment courtesy of the Murray Wood Show on Newstalk980.com)

The past few days at work, I’ve had a lot of trashy rednecks in town.  I don’t know where they’re all coming from, and I don’t really care as long as they leave as soon as fucking possible.  I can only handle so much of these fuckers counting out exact change, to the fucking penny and refusing to leave a tip.

Last night was the best.

I had a table of 7 rednecks, 4 adults and 3 inbred kids.  I started off like normal, “Hey everyone, how are you today.”

“Ya’ll got some drank specials?”  asks the first guy.

“Well, we have our happy hour right now, you get a dollar off drafts and half off on well drinks.”

“What’s a well drank?  That mean a jack and coke?” he asks, pulling out his can of skoal and making me want to puke as he puts it in his cheek.

“No, sir, we mean things like rum and coke and bourbon and coke, amaretto sours, house margaritas.”

“So I can get a captain and coke if I want and it’ll be half off.”

“No, sir, captain is a more expensive liquor, it’s going to be regular price.”

“What about Busch? How much is a can of Busch?”

“Sir, we don’t have cans, and we don’t offer Busch here.  Would you like to hear our draft list?”

“Naw, just brang me a budweiser in a bottle.  That’s gon’ be 2 fah 1 righ’?”

“No sir, bottle beer is not on happy hour specials.”

“Well what the fuck is on this Happy Hour since ya’ll don’t give no two fa one beer?”  He picks up the bev-nap off the table and spits in it and I throw up a little in my mouth.   I explain the specials to him again, and he gets a bud draft.

“What about for you, ma’am?”

“Don’t talk to her, shes gon’ get waddah. Make it extra special and brang her some lemon too.”  Rednecks always want to order for their wives, but don’t want to let them get anything real to drink.  The kids end up getting water too, and all the guys get budweiser drafts.

“If the draft is a dollar off, that means it’s gon’ be a dolla righ’?”  one of the hicks asks as I walk off.  This one smells like a garage, and has a mullet.  Another thing that just makes me want to hurl.

“No, sir, it’ll be 3.50.”

“What?” he hollers. “That’s too damn much for a beer!”  well this ain’t the bar on the side of the road either, dumbass.  Go back to Mississippi if you want cheap shit.

I still end up getting the beers.  They order the wives a cheap cheeseburger each, but with no fries, thinking it’ll make the meal cheaper.  Sorry, not McDonalds.

One of the guys orders a Philly.  I very clearly ask him, “Would you like peppers, onions and mushrooms on your sandwich?”

“Just a can of mayo, nothin else.”

“Mayo it is then, sir.”  I walk off and put the orders in.  They try swiping a bank card on a coin machine, knowing they have to have a game card I laughed.  Then they asked me if the games were a quarter.  Nope, sorry, go to a regular arcade.

They bitched about the price of things the entire time they were there.  I wasn’t there to deliver the food, so I don’t know that the first guy is pissed off about something.   When I do get over to check on them, he still doesn’t tell me anything’s wrong with his philly, seems to be eating it no problem.  I don’t see that the mayo isn’t on the table and he doesn’t mention it.

When I bring the checks, I start to walk off when one of the she-hicks yells at me, “Hey, waiter, where you goin?”

“Can I help you , ma’am?”

“Why is my brother having to pay for that sammich when it ain’t right?”

“What do you mean?”

“It posed ta have the veggies on it, and mayo!”

“No, ma’am, he only wanted mayo.”

“Is you callin my sister a liah, boy?” up walks dippin Philly man.

“No, sir, I’m merely telling her what you ordered.  I asked specifically if you wanted anything else on your sandwich and you told me, and I quote, ‘Just mayo’. If you had a problem, why didn’t you tell me beforehand, I would have gladly fixed it for you.”  I wasn’t rude about it, just firm.

I ended up having to get the philly taken off.

I see them counting out change.  10 dollars worth of quarters, nickels and pennies.  No dimes, that would have been too much.  There’s no tip, either.

I hooked the women up with cokes, feeling bad for them.  I made their whiskey and cokes when their beers were done, and I made them heavy like they asked.

I’m the one who yelled halfway across the game room : “Well thank ya’ll so very fucking much for your generosity!” when they stiffed me.

The night didn’t get much better either.  This inbred trash was in all night long, trying to order cans of beer, bitching about prices, and leaving no money.  I was ready to stab a few of them before they left.

Had one argue with me, telling me it wasn’t illegal to smoke inside a public place and he wasn’t putting the cigarette out.  I told him either it was going out or he was, and he tried to tell me it was his “American Right” to smoke indoors.  I’m all for the rights argument, I wish we could still smoke inside.  Too bad.  He flipped ashes on my floor and that was it.  I snatched the cigarette from him, sprayed it with the soda gun, and tossed it in the trash.  He left yelling how he was going to have my job.

Take it buddy.

This weeks been bad enough money wise, but Fanfare is coming up.  More hicks.  And I’m in bowling tonight, the ghetto capitol of the restaurant.

Somebody shoot me.

More later,

Ribeye

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

I worked another double shift today (Sunday 5/4).  I wasn’t planning on doing it, but I picked up for Miz J this morning because she helped me out Thursday night.

The drawback (or so I initially thought):  I was to work in the dining room, and I did work in the dining room.  After almost 3 and a half hours of sleep, I managed to get up and motivated this morning and actually got to work on time.  They didn’t even have me on the floor plan in the dining room at first, so after remaking it and being forced into our “raised dining” area (seating that’s a few steps higher than the rest of the dining room, mainly for parties but has some booths), I was ready to start my shift.

My first table was a party of 6, a couple of grandparents and an aunt, and three little girls.  One of the girls was celebrating her 12th birthday, so I just couldn’t help but to have a bit of fun with them.  The grandparents and her aunt were a little bland with no personality but the girls were having fun.

The birthday girl, a little bit of a chubby girl, seemed a bit embarrassed to talk to me for some reason, so I had to open her up.  First thing out of my mouth when I found out it was her birthday was, “So you’re 16 today?  When are you going to take your driving test.”  That got her giggling and blushing, and from there we had fun.  She let me know it was her 12th birthday and she and her sister were visiting her grandparents and aunt, and her aunts adopted daughter.  I got their orders in, and I found out that even though our kids cheeseburger is just that, a plain cheeseburger with fries, people still let me know that they want a “plain cheeseburger”.  What I didn’t know about a plain cheeseburger is that it has no cheese.  That makes it a hamburger people!

After I got the orders in, Birthday wanted to open her presents.  Grandma told her she had to have my permission first.  “Can I?  Can I?”  she asked, all kinds of excited and making me remember what it was like to be a kid.  “Nope, not yet,” I replied, which she pointedly ignored.   I left them to the presents, and went about my business.

I kept making her blush throughout the meal, and even though one of the cheeseburgers was supposed to be a hamburger that I was supposed to telepathically pull from their heads, I still made 28 bucks from them.  It was a total of 70 bucks between the two checks, and I was completely surprised.  Before they left, Birthday girl came up and hugged me, and wanted to take a picture with me.  First table of the day and I was blushing.

I had a few filler tables before the other servers came in, and then I was in my boring section.  I had two tables total in my actual section, one a party of 7 and one of them a couple from out of town.  The couple came in while I was on break, and waited until I got there to get anything from the bar.  As usual, I made the lady blush by asking if she was really old enough to drink.  Clearly, she was at least in her 30’s, but it’s nice to see them smile sometimes.  She was so happy when I suggested a chocolate martini, she’d never heard of one.  They promised to come see me before they went home.

The next party, the 7 top, was a bunch of young 20’s guys and girls.  I went up to them like I do everyone else, happy and fun.  They got a few drinks from the bar, and I managed to convince them to get appetizers.  I wasn’t too happy that it was only 7 people, figuring that they were young and I wasn’t getting a tip without gratuity, but I made the best of the situation.  I stayed up there talking to them, and that’s when I learned that this group comes in every couple of weeks or so.

Not getting into the details of making sure they had drinks full, and making sure everything was right the entire time while actually asking how they were and what they did for work, I learned a few things from this table.  Along with the fact that they come in a lot, I learned that they’ve never eaten in the game room or bowling alley, only in the dining room.  It’s always the same 7 people that come in, some work together, but they’re all really good friends.  Two couples, and three singles.  They’ve been friends since childhood apparently.

I learned that when they eat in the dining room, the servers don’t really care about them.  It’s always taken them forever to get refills, their food doesn’t come out right sometimes, they get rude and unfriendly service all the time.  They told me over and over how wonderful my service was, how nice I was, how great I was.  Talk about an ego boost.  They enjoyed my service, as opposed to the normal dining room servers.  They never knew that they could eat in our game room or bowling alley (where I normally work) and after telling my management how good I was and how happy they were compared to their normal visits, they promised to try and find me every time they come in.  I was really touched for some reason, maybe because coming from them it didn’t sound as hollow as most of the game room guests I get that say they’ll come back and never do.  Don’t get me wrong, I have my regulars but I have a ton of people who say they’ll be regulars and never come back.  It touched me that these people asked me to sit with them and have lunch, and wanted to know how my day was.  It touched me that they also took pictures with me, just like Birthday Girl did, and that the ladies hugged me and the guys shook my hand.  Almost makes me miss working in a dining room setting full time.  It also concerned me a little, because I was just doing what I normally do when I serve, and they were so impressed.  Are my dining room servers really that unfriendly?  Are they really so lazy as to not take an empty glass when they bring a new one?  I’ll be investigating this further as I pick up extra shifts in the front.  (they also tipped me fabulously, 50 bucks on 130)

Another table that made me happy today was on the 2nd half of my shift, when I was back in my home, the game room.  There was a family that came in, Dareeta the Mother, Jamario the son, LaGordon the other son, and Thompson the Father.  It was their first time, they were from Kentucky.  At first, when I saw Dareeta (real name) with gold on top and bottom of her mouth, I prejudged.  I won’t lie.  I thought they’d be trouble, especially when Dareeta was on her phone and LaGordon had his ipod on during the first half.  However, I took the time to talk to them.  I got Dareeta a bottle of white zin, and just treated them like normal guests.  Like my party earlier in the day, they wanted me to sit with them and eat.  They smiled, they laughed.  I got Dareeta and Thompson on the DDR game before they left.  They tipped almost 20 bucks on a 90 dollar bill, and thanked me for making their “first expurrince” at our restaurant a great one.

Then we come to the stupid.  We have the stupid Ribeye who overserved an older guy to the point he fell asleep standing up with a pool cue in his hand.  I was scolded for it, but nothing else because I got them a cab home.

The last table of the night was the only one that really pissed me off.  It was a group of ghetto young adults, none over 26.  One girl, pregnant, her name Sheleetia, had a look on her face like she had something shoved up her ass the wrong way.  Her boyfriend, LaSamuel, had tats all over his arms and fake gold all in his mouth.  The other couple, Lasquanda (the only nice one of the group) and her boyfriend, a big fat stupid son of a bitch corn row having bastard named Jearl.

I didn’t think they were going to eat at first, until they came up to me and Jearl says, “You who we orda da foo from?”

“Well, yes, if you’re sitting at the tables.  I’m the only one here right now, so I’m not serving the games tonight.”  So they sit at a table.  I get over there, and after 10 minutes of explaining that our lemonade is just pink and not strawberry, I finally get drink orders from three of them.  Jearl, however, is having issues ordering his drink.

“Ya’ll juice get free refill?”  I tell him no, that I have to charge full price for each glass.  “Ya’ll gots appa juice?”  I once again have to answer in the negative, which brings the following question.  “If ya’ll got dat appa mahtini, why ya’ll ain’ got appa juice?”
“Because the apple martini is made with apple pucker, not apple juice.”  I then have to remind him about 8 times that the juices are not free refills.

They finally order food, after changing the menu to suit their wants.  Jearl orders a chicken alfredo.  While they’re waiting (this is 30 minutes before kitchen closes), he takes every opportunity to yell at me wondering where his foods at, all the while throwing out what I learned to be “Crip” signs with his hands.  I don’t know one gang from the next, but one of my cooks set me straight.  Fuck if I care about a Crip, I only care about a tip.  After 10 minutes of his badgering me about his food, I was forced to tell him, “It’s cooking, when it’s done, you’ll be eating.  I can’t make the grill cook any faster,” and walked off.  Their food finally comes out after 16 minutes, which is good for that time of night.

Jearl waits until he’s finished half of his pasta before he asks me for “some mo’ of dat sketty sauce dat’s on dis.”  Then he gets pissed off that I have to charge for it.  It takes about 6 minutes to come out, and that pisses him off even more.  He starts demanding free dessert for his long wait, after I warned him it’d take a bit of time to get the sauce because the kitchen is about to close and they do the alfredo in a skillet making it take longer.

“You’re not getting any free dessert, you’re still eating your food.”

“You ain’ da managah is you?  Get da managah ovah here, we see what day give me.”  Manager S the Fibromyalgiapod comes by, and takes the food from him.  No free dessert, but has the kitchen recook his pasta and send it to go.

Check time.  Jearl’s check was 40.66 and the other couple was 20.79.  Jearl gives me 40.20 and tells me to keep the change.  “Sir, you still owe me 46 cents so there is no keeping the change here.”  He counts out another 20 cents, and starts to walk off.  “Are you going to pay the correct amount of your bill or what, sir?  Can you not read what the price says?”  Maybe I struck a nerve there, but he started getting pissed off.  “Never mind, sir, that damn quarter ain’t hurting my pocket any.”  I knew he wasn’t going to tip when he didn’t even pay the right amount.

All in all, except for the last table of the night, I had a really good double.  You all also got to see the reasons that I do enjoy my job in this post.  I don’t always have people that piss me off, and today was one of those days.  It’s rare that more than one group a week makes me feel good, but to have three in one day make me feel awesome, make my head grow even larger, and make me blush is unheard of.  Those three groups made me happy at work for a change, their tips sure helped, but even had they tipped 12% I’d have still been happy with them.

See, serving isn’t all bad!  And some of you wonder why I still do it.

Ribeye