Everyone knows how much I hate ghetto trash, no matter the color.  Tonight was the full assortment!

I didn’t make the amount of money I should have made for almost 800 bucks of sales.  Just about 13% for the night.  Don’t get me wrong, I did make some good tips, but they just couldn’t make up for the bad ones tonight.

First we have the price checking bitches.  Starkesha and Weavetta.  “How much do dis be?”  “What do dat coss?”

Then we have the little ghetto family with the Ghetriarch..I just made that word up…Ghetriarch.  Anyway, this bitch obviously doesn’t care that her 14 year old child can’t read nary a word and can’t speak properly.  Oh, the joy of teenagers.  “What do dis come wit?” asks the 14 year old girl about the chicken fingers, stated clearly in the menu to come with fries.  Pointing at the picture of the wings and fries platter, “What do dat come wit?  Do it come wit fries?”  Maybe she was just a moron.  Then we have Momma Maybellina, “Brang me a ta-qualla mahgarita, don’t make it wit dat rum.”  “Ma’am, margaritas are made with tequila, that’s what makes them margaritas.  If they were made with rum instead of tequila, that would make them fruity mixed drinks, when they’re frozen we call them daquiris.”

“You stupid, mahgaritas be made wit rum, I wan mine wit some ta-qualla.”

“Right away ma’am.”

Then we have the fat women who couldn’t fit into the booth because the table next to theirs had pushed the seat back a bit.  “Why ya’ll boof be dis litta?  Is it jus me?  Is I too fat to fit in heah?”  I guess she thought she was being funny.

I could be funny too.  “Do you want the honest answer?”  I asked.  I still don’t know if she got what I was implying or not.

We had the kids who thought they’d be slick and get drinks.  “I loss my id lass week, but da managah say I can drank anyway.”  “Then the managah can be the one who serves you that drank, I’m not getting fired for it.”

Finally, we have the bitch and her faux gold tooth boyfriend.  They had the nerve to eat twice.  First time:

“I only gots eleven dollah.  How much dis philly gon’ be aftah tax?”

“Well, it’s about 9 bucks before tax, I’m going to assume it’ll be about 10 something.”

“Why you ain’ know fa sho?”

“Because my brain isn’t a calculator for percentages, only adding and subtracting, I’m very sorry.”

Total check comes out to be 10.04.   I drop it off and wander.  When I come back, bitch hands me two 5 dollar bills and a quarter and tells me in the sweetest voice possible : “Keep the change, sweety.”  Fuck you, you dirty bungfucking, cooze sucking, drippy snatched, weave wearing, ugly reddy rock smelling whore!

“Thank you just EVER so much.”  I snapped back at her.

They came back at last call, and I was pissed behind it because nobody else would serve them.  “You’re not seriously ordering at last call are you?”

“Yeah, we still be hongry.”

“Seriously?”

“Why, you ain’ wanna serve us?  You ain’ got no choice!  Brang us dis chicken philly heah with some jalapenos.”

“I’ll have it out as soon as I can, but it is last call so it may be a few minutes.”

“Is you gon’ cut it in half fo’ us?”

“No ma’am, but I’ll make sure to bring you a knife and an extra plate.”

Another 10.04 check, another 2 fives and a quarter.  Fuckin scrotum sucking, anus smelling ugly drippy snatched gonasyphaherpified cheap whore!

I’m thinking of changing my hours so that I don’t have to deal with the trash anymore.

Oh yes, I didn’t get the bar this time either, because “Your department just can’t lose someone as strong as you right now.  The store needs you to stay where you are.  The business is too important to put you somewhere else and have you start over.”  The whole time they were telling me these reasons, I kept saying to myself, “Bullshit bullshit bullshit.”  I merely heard, “You’re just not wanted behind the bar.  You’re just not wanted behind the bar.  Stop applying.  Stop applying.”  Well, they didn’t come out and say that, but I’m not going to apply next time unless I’m GUARANTEED a bartending spot.  A year and 5 months where I’m at and I’m not even getting to teach class anymore because people are prudes.

I teach an excellent class.

Ribeye

Weekends at my job suck ass in the beginning of the year.  Ghetto trash, white trailer trash, and redneck trash all swarm us.  They run us like dogs, and we’re still nice to them.  They camp for hours, run up huge bills, and then they leave a shitty tip if they leave a tip at all.  I’ve decided that I’m going to try something new with this trash, knowing that I’m not going to get tipped from them no matter what I do.

All night, I was nice.  I was in an awesome mood, and we were decently busy.  I thought for sure I was going to get some great money tonight.  BOY WAS I WRONG!!!

I had over a thousand dollars in sales, and before tip out I’d only made 70 bucks.  35 of that came from 3 tables, a total of 90 bucks in sales with those 3 tables.  The rest of what little I made was from the aforementioned trash.

The Experiment:  I’m going to start being the biggest asshole to my tables that anyone has ever seen.  I’m not going to be nice to anyone except for my regulars that I know I’ll make money off of.  I’m going to be rude, short, abrupt, and just plain hateful.  I’m not going to let my guests make any special menu requests, I’m not going to let them drink more than 2 drinks per hour.  I’m going to stop short of cussing out every one of my tables, only because I’d like to keep my job.

When they ask me if we have strawberry lemonade? “This ain’t Red Lobster.”

When they ask if they can substitute things on our appetizers that say in the menu no substitutions: “No.”  When they ask why?  “It’s in the menu.  No.”

Bread?  “It’s not O’charleys, you’ll have to pay for that.”

Guest: “Is ya’ll gonna clean dis table?”  “When I get good and ready to, you’re not the only guests in the building.”

Hot water for silverware?  “It’s clean, stop being so anal.”

Absolut, Cuervo Gold, Tanqueray, Grand Marnier, Bacardi, Jack Daniels.  These are MY new house liquors, especially for parties with gratuity.

Milkshake?  “No, there’s no ice cream.”

I probably won’t actually do all that, but for fuck sake, something has got to give!  This trash has got to start tipping!  I’m going out Monday to find a second job, because I can’t handle making shitty tips when I’m doing everything possible with a smile on my face and a great attitude.  I can’t keep running my feet to the bone and not getting paid for it.  I’m so sick of going above and beyond for people that aren’t going to reward me no matter what I do.

If I see any more fucking Heelies, I’m going to pull out what hair I have left.  I hate parents that let their kids run wild, and I’m going to end up being a dick to the kids.  No more running around unattended, this isn’t a playground.  I hate looking at those fuzzy boots with the spiked heels that the ghetto girls wear lately, with their 4 inch and bigger ankle holders on their heads.  I’m sick of looking at fake gold teeth, I’m sick of smelling weed at every one of my tables.  Tonight was like the TSU Homecoming night that I got spit on.  I’m sick of being cussed out by ghetto trash because I don’t let them have any discounts.  And, I’m sick of the new general manager that’s not letting us fix problems without a manager anymore.  I’m sick of his overstaffing, which is costing us money by the bucket load.  We had 6 servers in our area tonight when we should have only had 4.

I just had to vent tonight guys, more than normal.  We had a mother who’s toddler wandered off while she was drinking, and she didn’t even know the baby was gone when we finally found her, half the restaurant away.  The baby was just walking around, not with anyone.  Ghetto momma had the nerve to cuss out the server who brought the kid back, for putting hands on her baby.

I love serving, and I don’t hate the job in general.  I hate the clientele that I’ve had to put up with lately.  I want it to be like it was before Christmas, when we actually made a bit of money.  Sure, we had our trash, but it was only about 10% of the overall guests that come in.  Now, that’s more like 60%.  Nice families don’t want to bring their kids in because of all the trash, and we’re losing that business.

Things have got to change soon, or I’ll be finding 2 more jobs, and dumping this one in the cold.

Ribeye

I don’t know what makes people think that when they get shit-faced at my place of business, they can just puke on their lane and keep on bowling.  I’m not a fucking janitor, and I’m not going to clean it up!

This bitch I was serving tonight, was drinking shots of patron.  And our biggest draft of miller lite.  And more shots of patron.  Apparently, she was also hitting up the bar after I cut her off, and the bartender was out to get a tip so he kept right on serving.

She pukes.  She pukes hardcore, tequila smelling, gut wrenching nastiness.  She then proceeds to bowl, stepping around the puke on her lane, while her friends yell for someone to come clean it up.  I happen to be walking by the lane, and one of them waves me over.  I don’t want to go yet I also don’t want to listen to their hollering.

“Can you clean up this mess on the floor?”  One of them asks me.

“No, I cannot.  Nor would I even if I could.  That’s not my vomit, it’s hers.  Make her clean it up!”

“But you’re the waiter, you’re supposed to clean up after us!”

“I have my limits, and bodily waste is at the top of that list.”

“You ain’t gettin a tip if you don’t clean it up.”  Moron blond heifer, you’ve already paid and tipped me!  About that time, Madame Patrona comes walking, and I use the term very loosely, back from the lane where she’d gotten a ball halfway down the lane, and nearly slips in her own waste.

“Ma’am, you need to clean up this mess, and we have a cab on the way to take you home.”

“But I’m havin fun!”

“Not on my floor you’re not!”

The sad thing about the group is that they tipped quite well.  However, a tip does not a vomit-vacuum make!

Other things I refuse to clean up:

Diapers…some mothers are just trash.

Snot rags.  For fuck sake, it’s flu season!  I don’t want to catch your bird flu or you’re MRSA.  Throw the shit away!

Blood. I’ve cleaned it before, and while I don’t shudder at the sight of it, I just don’t feel comfortable, nor do I get paid nearly enough.  That’s what salaried managers are trained to do!

On a different note, I’m going to have to think up some way to come up with the money to get the Raging T-Bird fixed.  My car is in need of about 800 bucks of work, and I just don’t have it.  I thought about putting up a PayPal thing, but I don’t feel right about it.  I’m going to end up getting a 2nd job, quite possibly another serving job which means more stories and more bitchery.  Then you’ll never know which restaurant I’m talking about unless I mention the bowling alley, so I probably won’t mention it!  Best to keep you all on your toes.  However, if any of you come up with an idea for me to make a bit of extra cash to fix the Raging T-Bird, please let me know.  Problems have arisen that make me really need to have the car running, especially with me about to have 2 jobs and RagingPartner about to have one also, and one vehicle just ain’t gonna cut it.

Come back soon, er’body!

Ribeye

I worked a double today for my first day back to work after vacation.  It got really ghetto early in the day, and I’m not sure how.  It wasn’t just ghetto black people, it was ghetto crackhead looking white people too.  They were all trash.

First table of the day:  Ganeeta and her 4 crotch spawn.  They come in and I knew something was wrong when the 2 boys who weren’t even ten years old had their pants down around their asses.  How fucking ghetto can these people let their kids be.  These little fucking brats were rude as hell too.

Ganeeta “Brang us waddah.”  This is before I even get my greeting out.  After the demand for water, I try to introduce myself.  No luck there.  “Dis table be dirty.  Ain’ yall clean dis aftah otha people is done?”  The table wasn’t dirty, the table is stained and no amount of wood soap has cured it yet.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I’ll get a towel while I’m getting your water.”

“Don’t fo-get ta brang us a lotta lemon.” So I walk off, a piece of me dying inside that my first table after vacation is a bitch and her bitch kids.

When I get back to the table with the towel and waters, Ganeeta is nowhere to be found.  Her crotch spawn is sitting by themselves, the oldest is 12 or so.  Lamarrita, the oldest, decides to open her big assed mouth, with her rubber bands that had the big fucking beads on it.  I hate those rubber bands.  “My momma say you gotta do what we say.  She gonna be back in a houah.”  This bitch has pawned off her kids on me.

“I’m sorry, but she has to be here with you.  She can’t just leave you all here.”

“You need ta brang us some wangs and rainch.”

“Where is your mother?” I ask, not putting up with this shit.

“She shoppin.  You gon’ brang us ouah wangs?”

“No, I’m going to get security to take you to find your mother.”  Ganeeta later comes in to bitch me out, and complain on me.  Sorry bitch, but it’s not a daycare service.

I get another table later in the night, of 6 black kids, all under 18.  Company policy says we don’t serve kids under 18 without an adult.  I tell them this, and immediately get called a racist.  This has nothing to do with the color of your skin you little bastards, it has to do with the fact that you’re fucking CHILDREN.  I don’t serve high school kids without parents.  Fuck them all.

I had a guest stiff me tonight because the prices of the drinks were not on the menu, and she never asked how much they were.  I’m sorry they don’t come with the kids meals, but it’s not O’charleys.  She said I should have told her how much the drinks were, yet she never asked.  I don’t volunteer that information.  I give it when it’s asked of me.  I had a guest stiff me because the food took too long, when I told her up front the kitchen was running 45 minutes.  Her food was out in 26.  I had a guest leave me 2 on 50, and this is after giving them a comp they didn’t bother asking for, because I felt bad they had to wait for as long as they did.  Being nice gets me nowhere, obviously, so I’m just going to have to be a dick to everyone.  The tables I was an asshole too left me good money.  Time to change my ways.

On another topic, Springs1 seems to have returned to RagingServer.com.  She’s made a comment about me being a hypocrite because I’m mad that RagingSisters purse got stolen.  She calls me a hypocrite because “Isn’t it funny how it’s OK for YOU to STEAL from your customers not to return someone’s coin change”.   She states that she doesn’t feel sorry for me.  Nobody asked you to feel sorry for me, springs, I’m merely getting out a message.  I’ve never once had anyone bitch about that change, because it’s never more than a quarter or so.  I work in a fast paced area, and people just aren’t as Nazified as you are when it comes to things.

Once again, bitch, I’ve never asked once for any of you to feel sorry for me.  I was and still am merely trying to help my sister, who has been screwed by a crackhead bitch.  A crackhead bitch that I’m sure complains like you do about every little thing that goes wrong.  Fuck you Springs, and Fuck your husband.  He must not be too much of a man to be able to put up with you, you obviously wear the pants.  Do you wear the strap on too?   Nobody asked you to come back here and start commenting again, and nobody really wants to to be here.

As for the thief, come Monday, we’ll have pictures of the bitch posted here at RagingServer.  She’ll be a very public bitch after that, because the liquor store she used my sisters credit card at didn’t bother carding her.  They are, however, giving us the picture from the video, and her face will be online, on myspace, on facebook, and everywhere else.   Bitch is going down.

Until next time,

Ribeye

Let me preface this by saying: I fucking hate serving ditzy assed females. I hate serving ditzy assed bitchy females. I hate serving ditzy assed bitchy young females.
EDIT: I’d also like to add: I know that not all sorority girls are like the ones I will describe here.  I’m sure I have many sorority readers, and I’m hoping you’re not one of the following or the previous.
I’m all about working parties. Really, I’m not lying about that, I do enjoy parties. This one, however, was one of the most annoying parties I’ve ever had the misfortune to be assigned. Today, myself and three other servers had the “pleasure” of serving 140 sorority girls….on bid day. I’m not going to say the name of the sorority because I don’t need a thousand bitchy old former sisters coming after me with the power of Ivy League father lawyers, but it was Kappa ____ _____. Bid day, with all the hundreds of fucking just out of high school females trying to be sisters, wearing stretch pants and throwing confetti and glitter around, feather boas losing feathers for me to sweep up as I closed tonight.

I didn’t know it would be a “Bid Day” party. Had I known that, I would have avoided working it. I got out of working it last year because I saw the results. Shitty gratuity, females scared to eat for fear of gaining a half ounce of weight, 2 boxes of diet coke syrup used up, countless bottles of grenadine making Shirley Temple’s, and annoying snotty attitudes.

When I saw them putting up their decorations, I knew what I was in for. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck is it too late to get out of this? Yes, yes it is.

We get everything set up, while the sorority demons were putting up posters. They have a helium tank, and proceed to put balloons everywhere: taped to the counters, strung to the bar, ribboned to the glass partitions between the bowling lanes. Great to know I’ll have to get rid of those before I can take actual lanes tonight.

The party starts. We start getting drinks for these sorostitutes. “Oh my god, you have shirley temples?” “Can I have a shirley temple?” “Bring us 4 shirley temples!” Not only did they have really thick valley accents that snotty just out of high school girls have, but they were almost as perky as fucking cheerleaders. We ran out of 3 boxes of diet coke, 2 of sprite, about 8 bottles of grenadine. There was a ton of food left over because they were afraid to eat.

I also came out of this party with a major headache. Screaming and screaming and screaming. Yelling and yelling and yelling. Lots of girl on girl hugs doing absolutely nothing for me. Lots of girls dressed fugily, and more screaming. The last few malingering scumlettes started releasing balloons to the ceiling of my bowling alley. The bowling alley that I was trying to clean. Then a hostess who shall remain nameless decided to run through popping the balloons. Over and over again until me and Mr. S went off on her because we had to clean the balloon guts up.

All of this for a lousy 50 bucks each on our check. They didn’t think we were good enough for anything extra. Fuck you Kappa _____ _____, Fuck you right in your stuck up little ear!

Some interesting knowledge I’ve figured out on the tipping debate. I’m learning that people with smaller checks, around 15-40 bucks, don’t mind tipping 18 to 20%, or even 25%. 45 dollars and more, and we a lot of time get 10 to 15% of the check, no matter how hard we work. Anyone want to shed a little light as to why that is?

My idea is that people don’t want to wait for the change on little checks, but on big checks, they use bigger bills and want most of the change back. I get a lot of people with 25 dollar checks that give me 30 bucks and say keep the change. That’s 20% right there. 30 bucks, they give me 36 or 37 and say keep it. Sometimes more. The bigger the check though, depending largely on the class of the guest (ghetto, redneck, entitlement junkie), the lower the tip. 5 dollars from rednecks or ghetto trash seems to be the norm, regardless of the amount of the check. Entitlement Junkies? If there’s a check left at the end of the meal for them to pay, then their job is unfinished, and they’ll tip on the post-comped price if anything.

Tipping on post comp prices screws us because we have to tip out on the pre-comp total. The pre-comp sales are also held over our heads, because if we don’t claim enough money when we clock out to equal what the IRS thinks we should have made on those sales, we get an audit. So we have to claim tips we didn’t make. If we claim less than 10% that puts us in danger. Legally, we claim 100%, but there’s some nights that we have so much trash that we don’t even make that 10% to claim to stay safe.

New group of people I hate to serve after this weekend? Gospel Singers/Fans. Crowds of them came in Saturday night, an hour before close. They were still coming in 10 minutes after last call. They were bitching because we weren’t allowed to seat any more tables. They were bitching because of how long the food took to come out. Some Godly people those Gospelers. No tips though, lots of bitching about gratuity. Just go somewhere else.

Ribeye