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

Hey everyone!  Sorry it’s been so long since a real post, work work work on my end.  Hope you all enjoyed the radio interview, and for those that haven’t listened, you can do so by clicking here, sound clip courtesy of NewsTalk980.com.

So last night was the first weekend night that I didn’t have to close in about a month.  It was weird being in a slow and shitty section again yet at first I welcomed the break.  It wasn’t a really busy night, I had already worked a day shift at my other job, and I was in the mood to not really do much.  I was totally exhausted after closing on Thursday night and opening Job #2 yesterday (Friday) morning, and I just wasn’t in the mood.

Thankfully, it didn’t start getting busy until my injections of Red Bull finally kicked in and I was starting to wake up.  I had a few pretty nice tables during the first couple of hours I was at work.  One of them was a young black couple that were just awesome.  I personally believe they were on either a first date or a blind date because it looked like they were searching before they met up and found a table.  The guy had been to my place before, the lady hadn’t, so I made it a point to give them some good treatment.  I had her laughing, I had her giggling, I had him laughing and smiling.   I had both of them drinking margaritas, and I was having a pretty good time with them.

This tables food came out fairly quickly compared to some of my tables, and it was actually correct.  I got a little behind and they were okay when it took a minute for refills, and I assumed everything was fine with them.  In hindsight, I wonder if I should have just asked them a bit more bluntly.

They came in about 5:30, and at about 6:45, they finally asked me for their bill.  I tried to get them some dessert which they refused saying they were about to leave.  I ran their credit card slip, dropped it off, said my goodbye spiel and went out to smoke.  When I came back a few minutes later, they were still sitting at my table.

About an hour later, after I get done dealing with a guest who ordered a Mudslide and got a White Russian from the bartender and serving water after water to a table of rednecks, the new couple still has not left.  It’s now about 7:30.  I haven’t picked up their credit card slip or the three dollars cash they’ve left sitting on top of it, hoping instead they will be extra generous for my letting them sit at my table for so long after paying (our tables have a 45 minute limit after the tab has been paid).  I glance at them and see they both need more drinks, so I get them and go about my business.  I was still a bit tired so having a 2 table section wasn’t bothering me that much.

Another hour goes by and they still don’t leave.  At this point I’m starting to get a bit pissed off because we’re getting busy and I need the table.  There’s still a hope that they’re going to hook me up so I still don’t ask them to leave, however close to asking I was.  My other tables of the hour weren’t really making it worth my while to be there, and I really needed to get something good on that one.

Another hour, and it’s 10:30.  That’s the limit.  I want them gone, and it’s taking all I can to not lose my temper with them because they just keep sitting and talking.  They don’t say anything as I walk by the table, they don’t even look at me or stop talking as I take all the dishes from the table except their glasses and put new silverware and menus in their place.  They don’t say a word when I sweep around their feet, trying to hint at them to leave.

11 pm rolls around, and I’m finally fed up.  I walk over to the table intending to tell them they have to leave because I’m about to be cut off the floor only to see them getting up. I look at the check presenter, there’s still only three bucks on it…the same three bucks that’s been on it all night long.  Their bill was about 30, they paid with a credit card, and they’re leaving me 10%.  No matter, maybe there’s something on the card.  They finally leave, with me trying to keep from kicking them the whole way out, and I pick up the book.

There’s not a fucking dollar more than the original three in it!  These two cocksucking bastards took up my table for almost 6 hours, kept me from making money on it, took me down to a two table section (no matter the 45 minute signs and how much I whine, I really am not allowed to tell a guest to leave) these mother fuckers still screwed me.

I hope they burn in Hell for a few eternities, and get syphillis and gonorrhea.

Ribeye

This post has been too long in coming, and for that I apologize.  Working two jobs is Hell on my schedule.

This past weekend, we got busy.  Not just busy, we got our asses stomped into the ground.  It started when I went in on Friday.  I’d just gotten off work from Job #2, at 3:30 pm, and walked into Job #1, the Restaurant at 4.  I enter, wondering just when I started being unhappy when coming to work

When I come on, I’m told that the closers are not going to be in until 6:30 or later, leaving me with two very new ladies and one semi-new lady that tends to freak a bit when she gets busy.  I choose to treat the closing server’s sections as “pick up” sections, meaning any of us that had time would continue to pick up the tables that sat in those sections.

All looked to be pretty simple at first,  we started out dead.  A couple of tables go down in the other sections, so myself and Ms. M the newest both step up to the plate and pick them up.  Another goes down in one of the open sections, and Ms. M greets them.  I notice that Ms. M has 3 tables, one of them very ghetto, and she’s started to get a bit flustered.  Let me tell you something about Ms. M.  I LOVE Ms. M.  She’s not one of the younger crowd that’s been getting hired lately, and she’s not a brainless drunk like most of those that have been hired lately.  She’s coming from a bar up north where she was a bartender and didn’t have to deal with a computer system like we have, or an extensive menu like we have.  I can understand why she gets frustrated, it’s a lot to take in when you haven’t done it in a while.

Ms. M has also been quite disappointed lately with the money we’re making.  I can’t blame her there either because I was making double what I am now last summer.   Ms. M started freaking out a bit at 3 tables because she’s not used to it, and another went down.  I didn’t know she was getting in the weeds so when I noticed it, I immediately jumped in and started picking up the tables on her side of the game room.  Somehow, I ended up with 8 tables by the time the closers finally show up.

Ms. A and Mr. S show up, and I’m slammed and behind.  The kitchen has crashed and food is taking forever.  I’m guessing they weren’t expecting to get busy.  I wasn’t either based on the past few weeks.  They walk up about the time I’m asking people to get ice cream for milkshakes from the kitchen.  Ms. A has an overnight party she’s trying to get out of working.  “Ms. A, can you run to the kitchen real quick and grab enough ice cream for two shakes, this ticket is already running 10 minutes.”

“Well….I’ll do it if you’ll do something for me…”  I assume she means closing for her, which I can’t do as I have to be up at 7am the next day to make sure I’m awake to get to work by 9.  Now you see why I’m so tired all the damn time.  I reply, “I can’t tonight, Ms. A, I’m sorry.  Can you get the ice cream or not?”  She doesn’t answer, but walks away to talk to another server leaving me fuming and ready to snap her little head off.  This is the girl who says “I’m so much older than 18 mentally and emotionally, I’ve been through so much more than anyone else my age.”  What the fuck ever, honey, every 18 year old says that, no matter what they have to go through.  We all grew up too fast, so stop whining and do your job.

Ten minutes later, I’m still wondering why nobody has gotten me any ice cream.  I’m now asking managers to go, and none of them have time to do it because they are dealing with the fuckups of all our new serving staff they shouldn’t have hired.  Keep the vets on the weekends, put the newbies on the day shifts.  During all of this, it’s now 5 minutes till 7 and I’m still waiting on appetizers that I put in at 6 and earlier.  I didn’t even realize things had been in the kitchen for so long because I didn’t have a chance to look at a clock other than for the milkshakes.

Finally, after 10 more minutes, I manage to convince Ms. A to get the fucking ice cream, after yelling at her that I was serious about needing it and she was standing around doing nothing.  That’s not really too new for her, she’s one of a new breed of server that embarrasses me to no end, the lazy bugs.   The two shakes that I literally waited for 30 minutes to get because I couldn’t get to the kitchen myself for ice cream have now been bought for the table, as well as the two appetizers that took nearly 40 minutes.  Now that I’m more caught up, I run to the kitchen to yell about the food I’m missing for the other 6 tables that are waiting.

Then I see something I always dread:  The General Manager has taken a position on the Expo Line.  General Managers are not supposed to work in the kitchen, they are purely in the restaurant for show.  They are supposed to stay away from us peons, and from his little Demi-Managers that work the floor, safe in the office doing administrative things.  When they get in the kitchen, the General Manager will always get a type of power trip when it comes to the expo line because they always think they know how things are supposed to be.

This GM is no different.  I’d been wondering why a couple of my tables got chicken sandwiches instead of wings, and a table got a gardenburger instead of a cheeseburger.  I’d been wondering why instead of cheese sticks a table got potato wedges.  They don’t look anything alike, especially not on the KDS expo screen we use.

None of that really matters though, because the GM can do no wrong when he/she is working the expo window.  They never send out the wrong food because they are “incapable” of making a mistake.  This one is worse than normal, because he doesn’t just fuck up a couple of times in the shift, he stays on the line and fucks us out of our money all fucking night long!  Not only that, but if you try to ask him the ETA on a table’s food, you get your head chewed off and spit into the ground.

THIS one had the nerve to tell us that he read the tickets correctly, and that we were just ringing in the wrong orders.  We were the ones fucking up apparently, not them.  We were the ones who were ringing up potato wedges instead of cheese sticks, despite the ticket clearly showing the correct order and the inept food runners (all except for one) not caring and still running the food like little Latin drones.

Needless to say, Friday night was Hell.  It was pure Ghetto and Redneck Hell, and I made about 70 bucks on over a thousand of sales because of it.  These weren’t understanding people, they were trash.  I’ll get more into the guest interaction from the weekend on the next post, but there was lots of screaming, lots of cussing, and lots of me calling people “Dick Cheese Eating, Cooze Slobbering, Inbred, Cock Stained Bastards”.  That, among others including the words Dick Cheese and Cock Stain, were regular phrases coming from the mouth of the Ribeye this weekend, along with threats of walking out and quitting to find better work.

I’m not going to quit in the forseeable future, I know that change will again come, that money will get better, and that half or more of these new hire morons we’ve got will be gone.  I’ve just got to be patient.  I’ve been there too long now and done too much to just throw it away.  I’m at least going to wait until I have my dental work done before I do anything, because I think I may try to go into management.

Here are some of the things to look forward to this week, as I’m using this week to talk about the Hell of this weekend.  Some highlights of the upcoming posts:

• “Why da fuck do deez wangs gots bones?  I axked fa da drums, day ain’ got da bones!”
• The Vanishing Money
• More Dick Cheese
• Camel Toes that just shouldn’t have been
• Many dirty little girls that couldn’t have been legal with many ghetto guys that were far too legal
• The Ranch Drinker (did I finally serve Springs1?)
• Finally, Me snatching the drink from the hands of a girl with no ID that looked like she was 12 and thought she was smart.

I’m looking forward to it.  I’m also planning on getting a long awaited Round Table up this week, probably Thursday on that one.  I’m actually off work on Thursday and I can’t wait for it!

See ya soon!

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