Wow, has it really been over a week since I made a post that wasn’t just “filler”?  Sorry about that everyone, but I’ve been either working my ass off (most of the week) or ill, (Wednesday and Thursday) and just didn’t feel like blogging.  I’ll make sure to remedy that.

It’s been a long week this week, and I’m glad it’s almost over.

Early in the week, I discovered that while I was going to be making a very lucrative wage for the majority, I was to be surrounded by an onslaught of stupidity, more than the normal.  I’ve sent more people into the mall to find a bathroom than I’ve ever done before, and I don’t know when I’ve been asked more, “Do you work here?”

Some of the answers I gave to people who asked that question this week:

“Do you work here?”  asked while I’m tapping an order into the system.  “No, I’m just a programmer.”

“Do you work here?”  asked while I’m carrying a tray of drinks to a table.  “No, I’m just helping myself, the service here is horrible!”  I then served those guests, and still pulled out 18%.

“Do you work here?”  I looked down at my apron and name tag…I hate wearing a name tag…looked back at the guest, and said simply, “No,” and walked off.

I don’t understand how people can not realize that you work at the restaurant, when you’re carrying food to tables in the restaurant.

I had a woman argue with me about her drink after ordering an Absolut and vodka on the rocks:

“Can I bring you anything from the bar, ma’am?” I ask her as I walk up to the ‘Skee Ball’ machine.

“Brang me uh Ab-salute an voka on da rock,” she replied, not missing a ball.

I didn’t catch it at first, being in a bit of a hurry, until I was asking for her ID.  “You said a what?”

“Uh Ab-salute an voka on da rock!  Ain’ ya heah me?”

“Do you just want a shot of Absolut on the rocks ma’am, or would you like it mixed with our house vodka?”

“Let me ’splain it to ya.  I want a shot of voka, mix wit some Ab-salute, an’ ligh ice, in uh glass!”

“So you want a double shot of vodka, half house and half Absolut.”

“NO, you ain’ listenin!  I wan voka mix wit Absolut!”

“Ma’am, Absolut is a brand of vodka, so mixing it with house vodka is going to make it a double shot of vodka.”

“Ab-salute ain’ no licka, it pink juice!”   At this point, I realize she wants a vodka with cranberry, but she just is too stupid to vocalize it.

“No, ma’am, Absolut is vodka, and the only pink juice we have is cranberry juice.”

“Ab-salute is juice, you jus don’ know what you talkin bout.”  I finally gave up.  As I was walking off, I heard her talking to her boyfriend saying, “We ain’ comin heah no mo, dees waitahs don’ know what day doin.”

Yet I knew that Absolut wasn’t a juice.

Why am I constantly surrounded by a barrage of fucking imbeciles?

On a much lighter note, today (Saturday) while I was working an 11am to 1am double shift, I made over 300 bucks after tip-out and other shiftwise expenses…eating well and a supply of coffee and red bull.  It was close to 400 before all that shit, and I made some new regulars.  One party, a black party for all of you who think that all black people don’t tip, left me 40 bucks over their 30 dollar gratuity.

Let that be a lesson to all you naysayers that refuse to wait on black tables.  It’s only the trash that doesn’t tip, black groups that are respectable and not hateful or running you like a dog tip great, and they are happy to sit and laugh with ya!  Never let it be said again that black people don’t tip unless it’s phrased correctly.  GHETTO black people don’t tip, so get it right!

Ribeye

Everyone head over to The Seafood Department for this weeks installment of The Round Table!!

This was Seafood Suzy’s first time, and she was more or less drafted into it.  I couldn’t be more proud of her!  She has done a FANTASTIC job on this weeks edition, and she’s never done one before.  Expect great things from this one, everyone, because great things are coming!

I’d also like to take this time to welcome Mr. Chowder of bitterwaitress.net forums to the Industry Blogosphere.  Mr. Chowder has started the Chowder Chronicles, and from what I can tell, it’s a great place!  Welcome, Chowder, can’t wait to draft you to host Round Table in a couple months!

Ribeye

I finally got my cell phone turned back on tonight, after a couple of months of being without.  It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, let me tell you.

I have Cricket.  When I decided to get it turned back on tonight, it was about 6 pm, so I knew that it would be a chance thing to get to a dealer before they closed.  RagingPartner gives me a couple of places to try, one of them being Electronic Express.  I don’t like that place anyway, because the sales people there are all working on commission so you can’t just look around without having a bunch of college age guys with their noses up your ass.  I go in, because it says upon the door “Cricket Authorized Dealer”, and on the website (not sure if it was the Electronic Express website or the Cricket website) it shows that they do everything Cricket related, including reconnects, new accounts, transfers, etc.

I brace myself as I walk in the door, and sure enough I was accosted after I was five feet in.  “Good evening sir, how can I help you tonight?”

“I just need to get this phone turned on with Cricket,” I say, holding the old cell phone that I’ve had for a year now.  I want another Treo, but right now, I just needed a phone.

“Um, we only do new accounts here, you’ll have to go somewhere else.”  This guys a bit of a snob, and that’s not the answer I wanted to hear.

“Pardon me?  I’m trying to get a new account, why would I have to go somewhere else for that?”

“We only activate new accounts with new phones, not phones that customers already have.”

“And why is that, sir?  I really need to get this phone turned on, and the Cricket website says that your store does everything.  That’s why you’re an authorized dealer.”

“That’s just the way it is, sir.  Would you like to take a look at one of our newer models?”

“No, I want to get this one turned on!”  I’m starting to get pissed off, mixed with the fact that I’d been up 24+ hours at that point because of fucked up work schedules between myself and RagingPartner, and fear of sleeping through my errands today, I was just not a happy camper.

“That’s not going to happen unless you get a new phone, sir.”  This is a direct contradiction of what’s said on the site.

“Do you have a supervisor?”  In all this, I was so pissed that I didn’t even think to ask for his name or even look to see if he was wearing a name tag.  I was seeing red.

“He’s going to tell you the same thing, sir.”  Oh is he now?  “We do not connect preowned phones here.  Try Stars Wireless up the road, they’ll do it for you.”

The supervisor walks up.  “Are we having a problem here?”

“I want to get my phone turned on, and this man is refusing to provide me with that service.  The website says you do reconnections, so I don’t see why I’d need a new phone as this man says.”

“That’s just the way things are, sir.”  The supervisor said.  I don’t remember his name either, but I’m going to visit tomorrow and find them both out.  When this “supervisor” said that, it finally clicked.  These fuckers are refusing to connect my phone because they don’t make a commission off of it!

“I think I know what’s going on here, guys, and I’m not happy about it.  I have friends who work here, and I know how you all are all about commissions.  How the fuck dare you have the fucking nerve to refuse me, a paying customer, phone service just because you won’t get anything more than your fucking hourly rate?!  What if this had been a fucking emergency?  I think you two should pay for my gas for driving all the fuck way out here for nothing!”  It gets a little blurry at this point, I only remember that I was yelling an entire string of obscenities at them, and they were yelling back.  I remember storming out of there pissed off.

I tried the Stars Wireless, and found it to be closed.  Stopping at an A-1 Financial because I see the Cricket sign on their window, I find that they only take bills, they don’t do any connections.  They don’t have phone books in English either.  If you look hard, you might find a picture that looks like something you might want to call, but that’s if you’re lucky.  I did recognize one name in there.

Gold Star Wireless

904 Murfreesboro Pk.

Nashville, TN 37217.

615-423-2616

I think about it for a minute.  It’s right near the house that the Ribeye and RagingPartner vacated.  They’re also close to closing, or so I thought.  I drive like a bat out of Hell across town, it’s almost 6:30 and I’m worried that I won’t make it in time.  At this point, I know I’m probably going to have to wait till tomorrow to get my phone turned on.

After almost getting myself pulled over, I finally pull up at Gold Star Wireless.  Walking in, I see a couple of guys working who seemed to be of either Middle Eastern/Indian descent. I didn’t care.

“Hey there, sir, how can we help you this evening?”  the younger one asks.  Not only does he ask, but he asks pleasantly.  I love independently owned cellular places.  He tells me it’s no problem, and even chats with me as he’s doing the work.  This guy was not a snob, he was not a prick, and he wasn’t pissing me off.  It felt good to vent about the fuckers at Electronic Express, and he laughed about it.

Now, I have my cell phone turned on, I’ll have one for RagingPartner by Monday added to my account, and I’m going to frequently make a post telling you Nashvillians to go to this store for all your cellular needs.

This man not only got my phone turned on in a time of 6 minutes, including reprogramming, but he wouldn’t stop offering me things.  I already had the car charger, home charger, corded headset (it’s not a bluetooth phone sadly).  The only thing I could think of that I wanted was a belt clip for the phone.  I had my wallet out, ready to pay for it when the older man (I think he was the owner) simply opens the box and hands it to me, telling me to enjoy.

It’s rare that I advertise for someone other than myself on here, but I was very impressed by their attitudes tonight, and their efficiency.  I believe the younger one is the “Certified Senior Technician” listed on the business card I got, his name is George.  I won’t be going anywhere else for my needs.  Once again, Nashvillians in the southeastern areas of Briley Parkway and Murfreesboro Pk, here is that address.

Gold Star Wireless

904 Murfreesboro Pk.

Nashville, TN 37217.

615-423-2616

 Make sure you go there for all your cellular and wireless needs.  They are awesome people, and they treat you like you’re a person, not a commission.

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

Powerful isn’t it!  Or not.  Tonight, I almost felt bad for all the “no’s” I had to utter…and shout.

It all started with a nice little old couple and their mentally challenged teenage son.  I tried everything I could for them, and in the end, they were happy and tipped me 20%.  It was a little iffy though, at least in my eyes.

“Hey there guys, how are you today?”

“We’re doing well, thank you, how are you?”  The gentleman replied, his name was Phillip.

“I’m doing great, thank you for asking!”  I replied.  This guy and his wife were turning out to be pretty fucking nice from what I could see.

“You’re welcome, sir, not many people care how others are doing these days.”  The old man was nice, but had to be cut off before he went into one of those over middle aged rants.

“It’s nice when people ask, most people just don’t care as long as I bring their food out to them quick.  Speaking of, can I bring the two of you some drinks?  It’s happy hour if you’d like something from our bar.”  His wife ordered a Cabernet Sauvingon  (spelled wrong I’m sure, but I suck at wine service and know nothing about wines in general).  Phillip on the other hand was a little more difficult.

“Have you got flavored lemonade?” he asked.  “No, sir, I’m sorry.  We only have regular lemonade.”

“I see…do you have tea?”  he asked.  “We have sweet and unsweet, fresh brewed tea.”  “Do you have fruit teas?”  “No, sir, I’m sorry.  Only the sweet and unsweet.”

“I see…have you got fruit punch?” he asked, looking a little frustrated.  “I’m sorry sir, but we only have lemonade and a few juices.”

“Do you have orange juice?”  “Yes sir, but it’s not free refills.”  “Give me half orange juice and half sweet tea.”  “Right away sir.”

I get their drinks, and come back.  “Have you guys had enough time to look over the menu?  Any questions about anything?”

“Can I get the ribs with broccoli and cheese?”  Phillip asked.  I tried not to let out a sigh, knowing that my answer would upset him.  “I’m sorry sir, but we don’t offer broccoli and cheese here.”  He grunted.  “How about a baked potato?”  “I’m very sorry sir, but we only offer a few side items here.”  I proceeded to name the few side items we have.

“Can I get those ribs with a cup of vegetable soup?”  “I’m sorry sir, but we only offer one soup choice at this location.”   I finally got him to settle on a side of green beans with his ribs.  His wife ordered a chicken parmesan dish, and cheesesticks for the son.

I almost regretted my next question.  “Would you all like to start with an appetizer today?  Perhaps some spinach dip or an order of buffalo wings?”

“Can we get an order of shrimp cocktail?”  I guess he thought he was in a high class eatery sitting in my game room.  “I’m sorry sir, we don’t offer shrimp cocktail here.”

“Do you have quiche?”  Yes, he really does think he’s in a high class restaurant.  “No sir, I’m sorry.  Can I perhaps get either of you a house salad?”  “No, we’ll just take our food.”

Fast forward to after the meal.  “Can I tempt you all with dessert today?”  I ask, making a couple of suggestions.  “Have you got a hot fudge cake sundae here, or some lemon meringue pie?” At this point, I’m thinking the table is a lost cause, despite his attitude during the meal being pretty good.  They did end up tipping me well though, and he didn’t blame me for the shortcomings of the restaurant.

Some of the other “no’s” I was forced to deal out tonight:  “Can I get a free refill on Irish coffee?”  “No, ma’am.”

To the couple trying to exit into the mall after the mall was already closed.  “You can’t go out those doors, I’m sorry.”  “But we is pahked on dat side.”  “I’m sorry, but we can’t let anyone out those doors after the mall closes.”  “Can’t you just watch us walk across?”  “No.”

“Did you find my phone ovah heah?”  “No, ma’am.”

“Do ya’ll do anythin fa burfdays?”  “No.”

Sometimes, I really do enjoy telling people no, especially when they’ve pissed me off enough.  Tonight, most of the people hadn’t even bothered me at all, so I felt a little bad having to tell them no over and over and over again.  Oh well, there’s always tomorrow (Saturday, the 1st aka, today) for a bit of drama….after all… I’m working a double and I believe I’m working with the lazy one, aka, the Hawk.  We’ll see.

Come back later and find out!

Ribeye