So I have to apologize, I thought this one was posted already but apparently I was wrong =)  Enjoy!

We have a guest that comes into my job every few days that everyone cringes at seeing.  This guest’s name is Tony.  Tony knows who he is, so I really hope he’s reading this right now.

Tony is in a wheelchair.  Tony thinks that his chair means we owe him something.  Perhaps he’s a veteran that’s just disabled, we don’t care.  He’s the most hateful, spiteful old man most of us have ever met, and we want him stabbed.

This man doesn’t have a problem yelling at any of the servers to “Get the fuck out of my way”, he will park right in front of the ice in the game room, right where we have to get our drinks from the bar and our sodas from the gun, and god forbid you tell him “no” to anything.

Tony likes to play games.  He likes to play the little coin slider games that give tickets for each coin that falls.  Kind of like the ones in KY and other places where you get to keep the quarters that fall.  He plays those for hours on end, only taking breaks to go to the bar to yell at the bartenders for beer.  I refuse to serve him, as do many of the other cocktail servers, and if that bastard has the nerve to come to me when I’m bartending I’ll throw a beer at him.  A few weeks ago, while playing one of the games, he got mad because it didn’t make enough coins fall to suit him, so he shattered the window of the game.   We couldn’t kick him out because we didn’t personally see him and our witness vanished on us.

Soon after that, he ran over the toes of a couple of our servers, not apologizing for doing it but bitching because it made him spill his beer.  When he has a problem, he comes to us yelling how he’s going to call our general manager on his personal cell phone and we’re going to lose our jobs.

A few more toes run over, a gym whistle blown at one of our bartenders to get another beer, and we come to last week.

It was a Friday night, and it wasn’t necessarily busy, but it wasn’t exactly slow either.  I was in the bowling alley, right by the front door.  I’m walking toward the front bar to get a drink for my lane, and as I pass the door, something made me look to my right.  I see a big, ugly van, parked diagonally across the front porch, blocking the door, maybe 2 inches from hitting the building.  It’s Tony’s van.  Apparently, he doesn’t feel the need to park in the handicapped parking spots, so he chose to park nice and close to the building.

The managers hunted to find him, and when they did, they told him, “Either move your van or we’re having it towed.”

He responded, “Tow my van and see what happens next,” refusing to move his van and going back to drinking.  Mall security takes a hand also, meeting our management staff outside the front doors.  Tony refuses for a while to move his van until mall security tells him that the tow truck is on the way.  He moves his van then, almost hitting a few kids and their families as he does.  He then comes back in the building.  Why he hasn’t been banned, I’ll never know.

Later that night, I’m bored and wandering around in the game room, when I find out that Tony ran over another foot of one of our servers, then proceeded to shove her because she was in the way.  He was rolling though the employee area trying to get a beer.  A beer that he got from the bar, and proceeded to throw on the ground and break as he was wheeling his way out of the building.

I really hope he’s not a veteran because I’d hate to disrespect one of a majority that I normally care about.  Most of us just want to steal his hovaround and see him stand (he can stand just not walk) until he falls, then leave him on the ground and watch him whine.  That’s how big of a dick he is.  And let him run over my toes, I’ll knock him from one end of the building to the other.

Ribeye

You’ve all probably been wondering where the post explaining the pregnant woman poll has been. Well, after the results, you’ll see the reasons for the poll.

Should servers have the right to deny alcohol service to pregnant women?

• I’m on the fence: I don’t agree with pregnant women drinking, but I don’t agree with denying something legal either. (43%, 99 Votes)
• Yes, servers should be allowed to deny alcohol service if they feel it will be unsafe. (29%, 67 Votes)
• No, it’s not the servers place to dictate how a woman chooses to treat her unborn child (11%, 25 Votes)
• No, if they are legal the women should be allowed to drink what they want, pregnant or not (10%, 23 Votes)
• Yes, women should not be able to put the baby’s life at risk, especially if they chose to continue the pregnancy (8%, 18 Votes)

Most of you are on the fence about this issue and that’s quite understandable.  Many doctors tell pregnant women that one glass of wine or one beer a day is good for them.  I wasn’t as specific as that with this poll, and maybe I should have been.

I had a guest last week that was almost 8 months pregnant.  Legally, here in TN, a server cannot deny a pregnant woman alcohol if she is legal and not already intoxicated.  We can’t deny her alcohol just because she is a pregnant woman, no matter if we have a moral or ethical issue with it.

This woman was not ordering just a glass of wine or a bottle of beer.  This woman started out her night with a Jager Bomb.  During the two hours they were at my table, I served this woman the Jager Bomb, two Long Island Iced Teas, and a shot of house tequila.  That’s just the stuff that I served her.  I was told that if I refused to serve her that I could be fired for discrimination.  Nobody else would take the table from me, and I couldn’t get a manager to pick it up.

After they cashed out, leaving me nothing on their 70 dollar bill, fucking redneck scum, she had her boyfriend get her about 5 more drinks from the bar.  I tried to tell the bartender that they were going to a pregnant woman, who by that time was starting to get lit, but they didn’t listen.  She went outside to smoke about 9-10 times, don’t know how many she smoked but it was at least 9.  She was quite loud in asking the other girl at the table for a xanax (after cashing out, that would have given me a reason to deny her service), so she was taking nerve pills on top of all the alcohol.

This is why I made the poll.  I was fuming by the time this scum left my restaurant, and I could do nothing about it.  Had I been in the mood to lose my job, I would have said something to her, but I can’t really afford to lose that job.  The other job doesn’t provide enough income to survive on.

I’m all for a woman’s right to choose.  I’m all for the one glass of wine or beer during pregnancy if they really want one.  Hell, I don’t even care if the woman smokes.  I’m almost sure my mom smoked when she was pregnant with me.  This bitch was going overboard, however, and it made me want to hurt her.  I can only hope that she’s not doing this on a regular basis because that child will be born with fetal alcohol syndrome if it’s not stillborn.  What she did was criminal, and the laws that say we can’t deny a woman alcohol based on pregnancy need to be fine tuned a bit.

This bitch is the reason that I started the poll.

I’d appreciate your opinions on this, elaborated from your answers on the poll.  I’m curious to know the reasons for your answers.  I can see why most of you would give the “on the fence” answer and once again, that’s my fault for not being more clear.

The Restaurant Customer Stereotype series will return tomorrow, and Ghetto names of the week will be back next week.  I’m also trying to find the time to call a young news producer of a radio station to set up an interview, something that was offered to me a month and a half ago.  That’s the lack of time I’ve got right now, as I was supposed to call her last week.  I’ll make sure to let you all know when it’s set up, and where you’ll be able to hear it.

Thanks as always, and keep coming.  I’m not getting as much posted but I’m doing the best I can!

Ribeye

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ribeye

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

It didn’t happen until the end of the night that I started getting people who pissed me off.  I don’t know why the worthless people wait until the last couple of hours before they come in and make the server’s lives Hell, but they do.

Around 10 tonight, Mizz A, a fellow cocktail, tells me that there’s a guy in the bowling alley that needs a couple of beers.   Knowing that there’s a server in the bowling alley, I don’t jump to do it immediately.  I also wonder why Mizz A hasn’t rung said beers up herself.  She tells me to ring in two tall Bud Lights.  I ring them in, only to find out from Manager J with the newly grown backbone, that they are Coors Lights.  I don’t care, it’s the same price for both of them.  They don’t bother telling me who is supposed to get said beers, so I have to go hunting.

I don’t have the full story about the guest at this point either, but it didn’t really matter in the end.

I finally find him, and it’s a redneck guy and his friends.  Loud, smelly assed bastards.

I don’t really think anything about it when he says, “Bout fuckin time, how much I owe ya man?”

“It’ll be 12.21 sir.”  He hands me a 20, and I start digging out his change.

Taking his 8 bucks from my hand, Redneck Bastard says to me, “Ya know, I’d give you a tip, but I’ve already been waiting on these drinks for 30 minutes, so you ain’t gettin shit.”  Exfuckinscuse me?

“I’m sorry?”

“We’ll I had to go to all three bars before I could get anyones attention, and I’m not tipping after it taking so long.”

Come to find out, he’d been standing at the game room bar (bowling bar was closed) for about 10 minutes, not that I ever saw him, and the only person who said anything to him was Mizz A.  Now, why she didn’t ring his drinks up or ask someone to get the beer for him, I’ll never know.  Instead, she goes hunting the bartender, Mizz V, telling her that she has people looking for her.  Long story short, this guy took out his problems on me, pissing me off.

While this is going on, I have my last table of the night.  A ghetto party of 6, with one of them celebrating her 21st birthday.  The girls are actually pretty nice, at least 2 of the three of them are.  The third one bitched about every little thing.  Her long island was too strong, so I added more sour and coke.  Then it tasted like “waddah”.  The guys, utter fuckin trash.  They went outside to get high, tried to get 3 different people to give them drinks with no ID, and insisted on changing their orders completely from what was listed in the menu.  We’re not talking about minor changes, we’re talking about the meat, the bread, the side item, the stuff on the sandwiches, everything.

What pissed me off the most about this table, with their 111.26 check, they left me exact fucking change!  Even with them pissing me off, I managed to stay in a good mood with them.  I laughed with them, let them use my game credits to play DDR, and thought that I’d get a good fucking tip from them.  Well, I guess I’ll not get my hopes up again.

The ghetto bitch with the Long Island comes up to me after she and her boyfriend pay, exact change on their 50 bucks of the bill, including 6 bucks of dimes, nickels and pennies.

“Dis drank tase like waddah.  You thank you can hook it up wit some mo’ acahah?”  she asks me, holding the drink in my face, the same one she bitched about being too strong.  I might throw a bit in if I know the drink is made wrong, or weak.  However, in this case…

“Maybe had ya’ll not given me exact change, I’d have helped ya out.  Now?  I’m going to have to charge you for an extra shot of miscellaneous liquor if you want anything extra, and that’s 5 bucks.”  I said it with a big smile on my face, and she could feel the hatred in my voice.  At this point, I’m really pissed off, and I decide to go back into the bowling alley.

“Can I get another beer from ya man?” Asks Redneck Bastard.  Not caring at this point, I respond, “Well sir, I’d get you another beer, but I’ve already served you for free once, so, you’ll just have to go elsewhere.”   If I didn’t have another job (that I probably won’t take because it’s less money and I hate management) ready and waiting, I’d have probably been a bit nicer and not said the things I did tonight.  But fuck it.  I hate people sometimes.

Birthday girl comes up to me after her sister and sisters husband pay for their part of the check, like 60 bucks of the 111.  She tells me that she’s a server too, and how embarrassed she is about how her sister tipped me.  She left me 11 bucks, and then proceeded to cuss her sister out and make her tip me 4 more.  15 bucks, 25%.  She then asks how the other girl and her boyfriend tipped.

“Exact change if you’d like the truth.”  She proceeds to chase them down, and while I watched and laughed, cussed them out as they left.  She came back, apologized again, and I told her I’d love to work with her.  I told her we needed people who knew what they were doing, and to put my name on her application.

She was lovely, and her friends and family were trash.  Sometimes it just works out that way.

Ribeye