It’s not all night shifts, just some of them.  You all have probably read the last post by now, my calling out of the Whites Creek High School students that came in after their prom.  That was only part of the night.

The kitchen crashed at some point, making me wonder if all my cooks are just illiterate, when they can’t read “No fries, with green beans” plainly showing upon a screen.

We got killed by the fucking prom kids.

I had a table earlier in the night, party of 6.  Seemed like a really nice table at first.  I was having fun with them like normal, laughing and talking.

Lanettie, the oldest at the table (about 50 years or so), her husband Bernie, their friend Berthreetia, and three kids.  I tried to take all their orders at once, but that just didn’t work.  I ended up getting only three orders and an appetizer in the beginning.  That was the start of all the problems.

Lanettie orders spinach dip for an appetizer.  It arrives, and she asks, “Where my cheese fries at?”  I was at a loss, because she didn’t order any cheese fries.  I made sure to write my orders down like always, and made sure to read them back because I was tired at work tonight.  “I’m sorry ma’am, I just must not have heard you order them.”  No sense in pissing her off more than she already was.

After I walk off, the manager walks by doing his normal table visits.  Instead of ordering from me, they order some wings.  I ring in said wings, and go back to let them know their wings would be out soon.  “I don’ wan’ no hot sauce on dem, make ‘em bahbeque,” says the little girl, Danyireeta, and yes that’s her name.  Lanettie then chimes in, “I wan’ some mild wangs.”  I figure, I’ve already got some mild wings rung in, so I’ll just ring in bbq next.  By this time, the first orders are out.  One of them is a buffalo chicken sandwich.  You’ll need this information later.  This was Bernie’s meal.

Later, I bring out Lanettie’s wings.  “What da hell is dat?” she asks as I’m delivering them.  “It’s your mild wings, ma’am.”

“I ain’ ohdah dat.  I wanted what he got.” pointing at Bernie’s buffalo chicken sandwich.  I still haven’t figured out how mild wings turned into a sandwich, but I digress.

“I’ll get it taken care of.  Can I take some of these plates out of the way?” I ask, pointing to the appetizer plates used for the spinach dip.

“No, we need some mo’ chips fa da salsa so we gon’ keep doze plate.”  I thank her for her patience, and walk away.  Her cheese fries finally come out, the kitchen running extremely long at this point.  I apologize again for the wait.

When her buffalo chicken sandwich comes out, she starts yelling for me to come back to the table.  “Why da hell you lie ta me?  Deez ain’ mild, it be hot as hell!”  I end up getting one order of wings comped off, along with her cheese fries and her buffalo sandwich because of the time it took.

She gets her bill, and I try to explain what all was taken off.  She couldn’t understand that even though the items were still shown on her bill, the price of those items had been removed.  She then asks me, “Why is you chahgin fa doze kid dranks?”

“Because we don’t offer free kids drinks.  They are the same price as all the rest, and they are free refills as the rest are.”

“I don’ thank I should haff ta pay fa doze dranks, day only had 3 refill each.”  These kids drinks were in regular sized cups, despite their ordering kids meals.

She ended up taking off the price of her kids meals and the other buffalo chicken sandwich herself, with the calculator on her phone, and when I got back there was 43 bucks in her book.  Her check was 56.  “I ain’ payin fa dat chicken samwich oh doze drank.  You jus gon’ haff ta take dem off, cuz I done put da money fa da check.”  She then leaves, and I was so busy I didn’t have time to bitch about it.

Sure enough, after taking off the drinks and her other chicken sandwich, it was 42.96.  4 cent tip.

The high school kids trying to walk out:  There were about 12 of them, all walked in together after prom.  They sat together.  They ordered together.  They were gratuity’d together.

I took their checks, and they immediately bitch.  “Why we gotta pay dat?”  I go into my spiel about how parties of 8 or more get a gratuity.  “But we ain’ paht uh dat pahty, we sittin ovah heah.”

“Yes, but you were all the same party, so I’m not having it taken off.”

“But dare only fo check heah, we ain’ gonna pay it.”  I got manager.  Manager talks to them, gets pissed like I was, and decides to comp something off one of their checks.  While he’s doing that, they make a break for the mall doors, and we take off running.  That’s when I started cussing, and security was called.  After they bitched for a while, we followed them into the movie theater and forced them to pay their bills.

Fucking kids.  I still say they’ll all end up hookers and drug dealers, they already dressed the part.  The girls didn’t look like they were wearing prom dresses, they looked like they were wearing lingerie.

Fuck them all.

Until next time,

Ribeye

I just want all you little ghetto assed girls know that you sorely misrepresented your school tonight.  I thought, being that you came in dressed in your prom outfits, that you ladies and gentlemen might have been worth serving.

You weren’t.

Not only did you lie about being part of a large party, when both myself and my manager saw when you came in and sat together, you tried to walk out on your bills because you didn’t want to pay for the gratuity.

You’re damn right I cussed you bitches like dogs, you disrespected me and you attempted to commit a crime.  Had you little skanks not come back and paid those bills, we would have had your asses arrested, and those 19 year old boys you were with would have gone to jail for statutory rape just for being with your underage asses.

Take off the giant ankle holders, they make you look like the whores you are.  Learn how to act when you go out in public.  If you keep going the way you’re going, you’re going to end up as nothing more than hookers and drug dealers.  Guess you really want to be like your parents.

I guess I have to admit, it doesn’t surprise me.  Whites Creek is not one of the better schools here.  Next time I see a bunch of kids come in after prom, I’m just going to ask them to leave, after all, technically I wasn’t supposed to serve those little bitches anyway.

I hope you all grow up someday, though I doubt it.

Ribeye