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 have had another exhausting day today…another double shift.  I went in at 12 today, originally scheduled off at 10 pm.  When I got to work, the managers were asking if I have a phone.  An odd question seeing as how they have my phone number listed in my file.  I change numbers a bit often for my liking, but I always make sure to update, can’t take the chance on missing out on money.  Apparently they were trying to call me and tell me they didn’t need me till 4.  I couldn’t afford to leave, so I convinced someone else to go home and come back later.

After staying up late Saturday night, despite my trying to sleep, I went in exhausted.  It was dead during the first couple of hours and that didn’t help my exhaustion.  I didn’t even have time to get any Red Bull before I went to work.

I went through the normal motions I go through, waking up naturally and getting annoying guests that tipped 10% or less.  We started getting busy later in the day, about 2:30.  That’s when I started making money.  Other than my feet getting blistered though, nothing bad really happened….

Until the night shift….

Every month, on the last Sunday of the month, we have a group that comes in.  I don’t know what the significance of the end of the month is, but it never fails.  The entire young Kurdish community of Nashville comes to my job.  They’ve been doing it since I started my job over a year and a half ago.  Ever since I started, there’s been a group of this community that I have to deal with.  It never fails.

This portion of their little “family” gives me some type of problem every time they come in.  In the beginning, when we still allowed smoking, we didn’t allow cloves or cigars.  It was a corporate thing that I never really understood, but it was a rule.  Some of the guys happen to smoke cloves, and got very pissed off at me when I used to put them out.  They bitched about every little thing, from having to pay an upcharge to go from a cheap side to an expensive one, to having to pay by the hour when they bowled.

It doesn’t matter if I happen to be in the bowling/billiards area or in the game room, they always end up with me.

Tonight (Sunday) happened to be that night again, and I didn’t even realize it until I heard the quacking of their voices.  I looked to see where the strange noise was coming from and my good night suddenly got bad.  I prayed they weren’t going to sit in my section.  There are about 24 of them that gravitate toward my section when they’re there and sure enough tonight was no different.  Half of them didn’t order, the other half ordered one thing at a time.  Not as a group, where it would have been easier.

They spread out across my section, taking up 5 of my 8 tables.  Only the people at 2 of the tables chose to order anything tonight, the other three were just hanging out.  Being that they were a party of more than 8 people, I had to put a gratuity on the checks.  *note* We got a memo at work recently saying that we no longer have a choice at whether we put a gratuity on a check or not.  If it’s 8 people, they get a grat no matter what.

They didn’t like the gratuity.  The first couple of checks I delivered had 5 of the 9 orders on them.  I dropped the checks and walked to the kitchen to pick up some of their food.  When I got back, Bartender B pulled me aside.  “They are pissed off that you put a gratuity on their checks, they say you have to have 8 people for a grat and there’s only 4 at the table.”  Well yeah, of course there are only 4 people at their table, they aren’t piled in to the point of bursting anymore.  At any rate, another part of the memo was that we have no choice but to remove a grat if the guest asks.

I hunt down Manager B the Wise and have him exempt the grat.  I then try to explain to them that I had no choice in the grat, that despite them sitting at different tables, they were still one big party.  They didn’t care.

They left me exact change.  I got no compensation on the 110 dollar check and I did everything right.

I hate Kurds.  Not all of them, just some of them.  The ones I have on a monthly basis have a harsh smell and a superiority complex.  I don’t like being around them, but nobody else will pick them up.  They see how I get treated, and I get stuck.

I think next month I’m going to exercise my legal right to refuse service to them.  I’m not even going to care if they call me a racist because of it.  I’m tired of being shit on by these fuckers.  Let them go to a restaurant that caters to their nationality.  I’m tired of them changing every single thing they order to something completely different than what’s in the menu.  I’m tired of the attitudes.

Right now, I’m just plain tired!!!!!!  I’m going to take care of that problem in a few minutes though.  The toilet calls, and the RagingPartner needs cuddlings, and I just plain need sleep.

I’ll post something tomorrow so until then…make sure to check out the Horror Stories page, and submit your own from there.  I can only update as long as you all send them to me.  I put up a new one earlier, bringing the grand total to 4.

Enjoy,

Ribeye

Once again, the Ribeye is involved in drama at work.

Last week, during a conversation with a couple of other employees, we got onto the topic of underage drinkers.  A certain co-worker, we’ll rename him Igganunt for todays purposes even though he’s been mentioned here before by another name,  and his girlfriend had been coming in during our now extinct employee bowling night, and drank a bit.

I had seen the girlfriends MySpace page, what little is visible when an account is set to private, and I remembered seeing her age listed as “18″.  As to it being accurate, I’ll never know, but I mentioned to the people I was talking to that I saw the age of “18″ on the page.  I made it quite clear that it was on MySpace, and that I didn’t know but I wouldn’t take the chance of serving her alcohol…not that I’d serve Igganunt or his girlfriend anyway, she’s one of those that weirds me out.

One of the employees that was involved with the conversation worked again the next day, which was this past Thursday (4/24).   Igganunt, whose girlfriend we’d discussed the day before, was also working.  The employee from the day before (Employee X to avoid confusion) asked Igganunt how old his girlfriend was.  He told Employee X that his girlfriend was 23.

Employee X then tells Igganunt that I, the Ribeye of your Dreams, was telling people his girlfriend was 17 and that we were getting her drunk.

What was actually said by the Ribeye, many times during the course of the conversation the day before was “I saw it on MySpace, I don’t know if it’s true or not”.

Igganunt gets pissed off.  Igganunt decides to revert back to the age of 14, impressive for a 26 year old that’s in school.  Igganunt begins going to every other employee working on Thursday and telling them something interesting about me that I didn’t even know.

I walked into work Friday night (4/25), and I see Employee X.  Employee X walks up to me and says, “So I hear you have Herpes.”

Wow.  That’s news to me, especially since I haven’t recently been to a doctor, had sex, or even a cold sore.  “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, Igganunt’s been running around telling everyone that you’ve got Herpes because you said his girlfriend was 17 and we was letting her drink.”

“I never said that his girlfriend was 17.  I said the age I saw on her MySpace profile was “18″ and that I didn’t know for sure.  I also said to pay close attention to the ID just in case.”

“Nuh uh, you told me she was 17.”  It later came out that after Employee X asked the age and found it out, Employee X was the one to inform Igganunt of this false information, and that I was running around telling everyone this false information.  There were only 4 people total involved in the original conversation, and the age of 17 was never mentioned.

“No, that’s not what I said.”

“I coulda swore that’s what you told us.”  That’s how I found out it was Employee X who gave Igganunt the false information.

Now I find out that all through the building, even though it’s not believed by anyone but our English challenged workers, people have been told that I have Herpes.  Something that I myself didn’t even know.

I now find that I have a few options.  I’m not pissed off about the rumor itself because quite frankly, Igganunt and I don’t like each other and it doesn’t surprise me in the least that he’d start one like that.  This is the same server who refuses to do sidework, who doesn’t polish silverware and rarely rolls it, and as of a few weeks ago forges the signatures of the closing servers, the bartenders he’s supposed to tip out before he leaves, and the manager.  This is the same server who cuts himself off the floor whenever he pleases, and refuses to pick up tables because he just “doesn’t want to”.

I have dirt on this server that I could use.  I’ve got access to a couple of pieces of media that I know he doesn’t want publicized at work.  I have the rumor skills to make his life a living Hell at work.  I also have grounds to get him terminated based on the number of people he bluntly and falsely informed that I have Herpes.  Slander is a bitch when you have people willing to write statements.

I must admit that I’ve been having fun with the rumor thus far, and none of the above ideas appeal to me save for the last one.  I’m not a child, I’m 27 years old and haven’t been in school for 9 years now.  I don’t plan to start any rumors about him, anything that I say about him is the truth and everyone knows it.  It’s why there’s not many people that actually respect him, that and his utter disdain for doing his job.

The fun I’ve been having so far:  Thinking up a few replies when people ask about it such as “Well, he’d have never known about it had he not been giving me oral pleasure” and other variations of that.

Joking with my friends about it: “I’m sorry, I can’t pick up that table for you, my Herpes is acting up.  I feel all crusty.”  “I haven’t gotten my Valtrex this month and I’m oozing everywhere, I just need to go home and rest.”  “I have stress and exhaustion…it’s because of my Herpes.”

The best fun I’ve had so far though is laughing with the actual adults that I work with that someone who is over a quarter of a century old now is about as creative as a flea, and is showing his true inner child in starting a rumor that someone has an STD (not to be confused with THE STD).

My question to you, my friendly and even my not so friendly readers, is this:  What would you do in my place?  Would you take the route of revenge rumor?  Would you take the route of the witty joker, as I have thus far?  Or would you take it to the next level, and pull out the restrictions on slander from the corporate handbook, demanding that he be terminated?  I’ve gotten someone fired before, for calling me a faggot in front of witnesses.  Remember the story of Ms. K.….

I also have been wondering if Igganunt is just doing this to try and provoke me into causing a scene at work, a physical scene that would get me fired.  Sorry, Igganunt, but I’m not that stupid.

At the moment, I think I’m going to continue having fun with the rumor, at least for a couple more days until it blows over.  After that, I’m sure he’ll do something else work related that will piss me off, and I’ll then pull out the Slander card.

Note: I probably would have already gone to my GM about this had it actually bothered me, but everyone already knows it’s just a rumor, and everyone knows who started it.  I’ve been with the company over a year and a half to his 6-7 months, and I actually do what I’m supposed to do at work.  We all know who the better person is professionally, and we can obviously see who has the bigger mental capacity despite my immaturity in joking about it (hey, I can’t just let it go completely).

What would you all do?

Have any of you heard of the Dove Awards? These are the people I got to deal with at work today and tonight. Those who sing for Jesus..

The Jesus Singers are evil people no matter how “Christian” they claim to be.

They came in like a swarm, starting around 2:30 today, once I was the only person left on the floor in my area. They swarmed the dining room. They swarmed wearing nice clothes, and ID badges to get them backstage. They also slammed our skeleton crew kitchen today, ordering hundreds of dollars worth of food and then bitching when it wasn’t out in 5 minutes or less like a fucking Burger King.

I had lots of complaints, and lots of bad tips today. I had a few good ones, not enough to make it worth staying for a full double shift, but what can ya do.

First table: “We’re singing at the Dove awards later. Please pray with us that we do a good job, it would mean so much if you would!” I didn’t have a chance to tell them I was a sodomite Pagan infidel before heads were bowed and they were invoking the names of various Biblical Prophets and Jesus Himself.

Second table: They seemed to be dressed in their Sunday best, however, their Sunday best was truly Redneck Chic. The mother of that demonic horde of groin spawn was extremely large. Think of the “Dark-Sided” Woman from Wife-Swap…

As I walked to the table, I was greeted with the sight of her holding a baby….to her…breast. The memory still makes me want to puke. She wasn’t just holding the baby, her other hand was forced to hold the breast….it’s size, it’s blubbery size…she had to pinch out the nipple for the baby because it was surrounded by the fat. She let her nip go as I walked up, startling her, and like one of those parasites that burrow into the skin of kitties and people alike, it wriggled back into it’s hole. I turned away, said “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” as quickly as I could, and barely made it to the bathroom. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem seeing boobs, but that was just about the sickest thing I’ve ever seen. They stayed for 3 hours playing games, then tipped me 10%. They too, chose to include me in prayer without my consent.

Table 3: By far the best table I’ve served in a while. Party of 7. Attendees of the Dove awards, but not singers or anything. Just people who were going to watch. They didn’t ask me to pray with them, they didn’t ask to pray for me, they didn’t even pray! They did however treat me like a person and not a slave. They did however talk with me, and they were very nice people. They tipped me a very nice rate of 50 on 200. I hope to see them again this weekend. Hopefully, they weren’t leading me on like some of my guests do.

Table 4: This particular table overheard me talking with my friend about the RagingPartner, and they figured out that I was a homosexuadaggah. They chose to pray for me for having a “perverse heart”, before requesting a different server. I made sure to inform them that not only did I have a “perverse heart”, that I was also a Pagan Infidel as well. They ended up leaving.

I had to endure more singing of praise than I ever had to deal with as a child, or on any Benny Hinn show. I’ve said it before, I don’t like dealing with religion at work, and now you all know the truth. I am a Pagan. I’ve been called a “godless infidel”, and a “western infidel”, and “Satanist, devil worshiping bastard”, and none of those things are true, especially not the devil worshiping part. It’s not that I disbelieve all Christian beliefs, it’s not that I don’t believe in Jesus and in God, I just have other beliefs too. Those don’t involve listening to the songs of worship while I’m at work. I don’t care if it’s the mighty Gospel awards, Gospel gets on my nerves even more than hymns!

With the exception of my 50 dollar, 25% tip that I got today from the one group, I never once got anything more than 10%.

So much for the generosity of hardcore Christians. It’s the Christians that don’t force it on ya that are generous. They’re the ones that understand that God just doesn’t pay the bills, no matter how hard they believe otherwise.

I don’t hate all Christians, I don’t even hate most of them. I just hate having praise forced on me!