I went into the racial issues a little in the last post, about what happens after 8 pm.

Holidays are different. Holidays are unpredictable. Holidays just plain fucking suck, and Labor Day 2008 was no different.

When I got to work, I knew the day shift had been busy. School was out, and when school’s out, we get all the worthless high school students who think they’re hot shit when they don’t tip, and even hotter shit when they walk out on their bill. They try to talk a big game, trying to sound like fucking worthless assed ghetto rap stars, but when security is called they get on their cell phones crying to their mommies.

The day shifters weren’t at all happy with the money they didn’t make compared to the business they did and who can blame them? When school is out, it’s just like the after 8pm crowd. Nobody makes more than 9% of their sales unless they have parties that don’t bitch about the automatic gratuity.

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you all will remember what I went through with the Whites Creek High School prom goers, and know my reasoning for not wanting to deal with them. I don’t envy those that have to work the day shift on any holiday that allows school to be out. Well, the night shift was no better than the day shift, let me tell you…”after the jump”…Gods I hate that phrase….

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Tags: african, african-american, bad tips, bitch, black, ghetto, hateful, high school, kids, racial, racism, racist, stealing, teenagers, thief, thug, tips

I’m just plain done working them. Someone always ends up calling out “sick” and fucking the rest of us who diligently show up for our jobs despite our lack of sleep, the kitchen inevitably crashes due to everything coming in at once, and the managers are generally useless. Tonight was no different. Talk about a Happy Labor Day Weekend…I dread tomorrow (the actual Labor Day).

I’ll go ahead and take some responsibility for tonight: I went into work on next to no sleep under the impression that we wouldn’t be at all busy based on our lousy Labor Day Weekend last year. I can’t take all the responsibility for it, however, as there were many aspects to the Hell this night.

First, when I get to work (on time for once), I learn that one of my other 4 cocktails has called in “sick”, and we will only be 4 in the game room. I’m okay with that at first, except for the person scheduled to close didn’t want to close and the person who wanted to close took forever to find the closer to switch sections. Things were a bit confusing the first hour due to bad communication, which could also be due to my apathetic attitude when they asked me what to do. I just didn’t want to be in the building and didn’t care who knew it.

The first few tables I had were pretty awesome; good money and great conversation, people as insane as I was in my fatigue induced dementia, I had a blast. The first three tables of the night were the only ones I had fun with for a while. The kitchen was crashed when I went in, and no matter how I tried to tell these “guests” that their food was going to take up to 30 minutes or beyond, they were still hateful when it came out late. I was perfectly honest with everyone as they were sitting down, so I’m not sure I really deserved their sour attitudes (though they sure as hell deserved the sour attitude I returned).

At around 7:30 or so, I made a really fucked up judgement call, and sent the girl in the section beside mine (the other 4 of the 8 tables on our side) on her break. At the time, it seemed like a good idea; she’d been working since noon without a break and wanted to get something to eat. I felt a little bad because I’d already taken one but I was under the impression that she’d had hers already. At any rate, she got her food ordered and came back to the game room. I was expecting to be introduced to her tables, then be able to close them out one at a time, thereby getting them bussed and re-seated at my own pace. Ms. A’s guests, it seemed, had another plan in mind.

The last thing Ms. A said to me as she went out the door on her break was “I’ve only got those guys, everyone else is paid out, here’s my card.” As her tables appeared to be empty, I thought it was still a good idea, because I could finish up with my two new ones and start bussing hers so that people could sit down. I get the drinks for my newbies and am about to head to her tables to start cleaning, when I see the busser in her section. The busser is cleaning all 4 of them, and there are guests waiting to sit down at each of them. I just rolled my eyes and got ready for the worst.

Part of my preparation included letting the manager of my area know that I was most likely going to need help because Ms. A was on break. He started to get pissed at her about it until I let him know it was my own stupid decision to let her go. Let him yell at me, not someone who just wanted to get a bite to eat. I made a quick run through with a towel and menus, letting each table know that I’d be with them as soon as I could as I was now running the entire side. Had these been my own tables, I probably wouldn’t have been worried but when I’m giving someone else a break I have a certain style, a style that was now blown out of the water. I return to the manager and ask him if he’ll greet a couple of the tables for me and get their drink orders. I’ve now got another new one of my own, a party of 6 (two adults and four of their groin spawn) that I haven’t even been able to say hi to yet. I know when I need help, I know when I’m in the weeds, and I’m not afraid to admit it. You’re only as good as the team that helps you out when you’re fucked.

The manager decided against greeting said tables. I don’t think he had a call on his radio to take care of, as he just wandered for a bit, leaving me to sink or doggie paddle as needed. Thankfully, all of the guests except for one of my tables were very patient and could clearly see that I was slammed. They can see me going to all my tables, and to one of the games that I had tabs running at, and back to them, so it didn’t end up being too bad until I had to fix a mistaken order (meal was supposed to be steak and shrimp and I’d only heard sirloin). It was no issue for me to get the shrimp for the gentleman, and we gave it to him free for his inconvenience, yet he still stiffed me. Fucker.

During this whole time, I’m randomly forgetting what I’m doing, survival owed solely to the fact that I write everything down when I’m that busy. The fatigue didn’t help either, yet somehow I made it until Ms A returned. I wasn’t all that thrilled with the manager in question (this manager shall remain undisclosed owing to my co-workers that read this and not wanting drama to follow). It seems that with every new set of management we get, they get less and less “team oriented” when it comes to doing the job of a server, and that’s going to be a whole post in itself. I just don’t get it, there’s a couple of managers at my job that don’t mind greeting tables and getting orders, or even serving tables when we’re slammed. It’s part of their jobs! This one, however, has been heard to say such things as “I don’t care” in regards to guest issues, and proved to me that he just doesn’t care when his staff is in the weeds and needs his help. He did go to the kitchen to relay instructions for me a couple of times but I think it’s because he sensed that I was about to lose my temper with him.

Disclaimer: The remainder of this post is VERY racially charged. I don’t use the “N” word, but I make clear where I stand on the race issue in ways some of you may not agree with. It doesn’t matter if you agree or not, though, as I’m only human and I can only take so much. Click the little button following this warning if you want to read the rest.

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Tags: african, african-american, bitch, bitches, black, charged, cocaine, crack, cumshot, curdled, dark, darkness, drug abuse, fat, food, fuck, fucker, gang, gang bang, ghetto, gratuity, gun, Hell, judgement, Labor Day, money, negro, racism, raging, redneck, regulars, respect, ribeye, serving, shit, stupid, tip, tit, trash, weekend, whore, whores, worthless

You all know how close I am to being over it at my job, well tonight, I almost walked out the door.

First three tables of the night were nice people.  Two were families, one was a guy and his girlfriend on a date.   I had a great time with all three of them.  I got two of the tables to get dessert, the one with the kids got chocolate cake and cheesecake, both with ice cream, running up a grand total of 67.14 on their bill.  The other one got cheesecake too.

The 2nd table, the one with the singled out cheesecake, the couple on their date, had a slight issue with dessert.  The girl had an allergy to almonds.  The girl didn’t bother asking me about any nuts in her dessert, nor did she tell me about her almond allergy, else I’d have told her to just avoid all the desserts completely as they all have a potential allergy warning on them.   While she didn’t actually start swelling up, she started feeling sick to her stomach, and I was worried that I’d killed someone.

Grand Total?  48.52.  They gave me 51.52 and told me to keep the change.  3 bucks on table number 2.

Finally, we have the two sisters and their daughters who were out for a night of shopping and fun.  I flirted with the sisters, a middle aged pair of beautiful black women, and gave the daughters free games.  I got the sisters a couple of drinks after flattering them about their ages.  Their total?  47.82.  They gave me 52.00 and told me to keep the change.  4.18 total.  10 bucks in 2 hours, from 5pm till 7pm.

I made about 15 more bucks in the next hour and a half, and then the ghetto trash black women and He-Ra, their ghetto trash black Tranny decide they’re going to come in and fit their ugly asses into a 4 top booth (there were six of them).

When I walked up to the table, there were only 3 of them.  One looked to be about 50 or so, one looked to be about 22, and one looked like an amazon, my height (6′4), skinny, plenty of weave of a deep orange/red color, and a skin tight gold/brown outfit on.  Ugly as sin the amazon was, and you’d think that one was the tranny.

“Good evening ladies, is this everyone in your party or have you got more coming?”  I ask, trying to be in a good mood despite the bad tips I’ve gotten so far.

“Der gon’ be six uh us,” Amazon Andranettie answers.  Her real name I’d find out later was Chanel.

“Have you already stopped in our dining room, this table is going to be a tight fit for six people.”

“We gon’ sit heah, why?  You don’ wanna wait on us?”  Old Orthapedia asks.

“I’m just trying to make sure you are all comfortable, ma’am.  Would you like…”

“Jus’ come back when da ress of ouah grou get heah.” Chanel tells me.  I go on to the next table to prebuss it and go back to the service station to wait.  A few minutes later, the rest of their group shows up.  I go back to the table.

“Now that you’re all here, my name’s Ribeye, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.  Are you all going to be on one check tonight?”

“We ain’ know yet, we nee a frew minute.”  The girl speaking is sitting right next to Chanel, and she’s got a slightly deeper voice than most women.  She looked to be about 22 years old.  She was a bit shorter than the amazon, and had in some blonde weave laced with red.  Ugly ugly gold glittered spike heels on, which immediately made me think Hooker, where’s the pimp at.

I give them a few minutes before I go back to the table.  When I finally get back, I don’t even have a chance to speak before they start ordering drinks.  “I’m gon’ have ______ Margarita.”  Amazon tells me.  “Can I see your ID please?”  The ID question is repeated 3 times, as people just don’t want to get it out and ready, or they don’t think I’m going to card them.  The girl sitting next to Chanel tells me she doesn’t want anything, as does the last girl at the table, a quiet girl I’m going to call Fran.

When I get back with the drinks, the girl by Chanel tells me she wants the same drink Chanel got.  “I’m going to need to see your ID please.”  I tell her.  She pulls it out, and it’s a TN ID card with the name Chanel on it.  Chanel had already given me a drivers license, and I didn’t remember the last name on it.  The picture looked more like the Amazon Chanel than the short girl.  “This is a little weird, ladies, this ID has the same name as the one you gave me,” I say, pointing at Amazon Chanel.

“Da descripton diffrent.”  she says, and being that I’m in a hurry, I don’t think much about it.

I get Chanel #2’s drink, and go back to the server station.  Mr. N comes up, and informs me that he’s served my party before, and that Chanel #2 is a cross-dresser.  I remember him telling me about this person a few weeks ago when He/She/It was in there, and I started thinking about something.  I got Manager S the Feminine over, and told her about what happened.  We talked about the ID situation for a minute, and it was decided that I was going to go and check the ID of both Chanel’s at the same time.

Flash forward to me going back to the table.  “Ladies” I begin, looking at Amazon Chanel and Chanel #2, “Something’s been bugging me since I saw your Id’s, and just to clear it up, I’m going to need to see them both again so I can look at them side by side.  Something just doesn’t add up, because they both had more or less the same picture on it, and the same first name.”

“You done seent em once already.”  Chanel #2 says, looking pissed off.  “We ain’ gettin dem out again.”

“I’m sorry to be rude, ma’am, but if you don’t let me see your ID again, I’m going to have the manager come and take all the drinks from the table.”

“Why you gotta see dem fo?”  Tatarethia asks, heretofore a silent figure.

“In all honesty, I believe that one of them has passed off an ID to the other, and that’s illegal.”

“Well day ain’ gotta brang dem out fa you, day aready got day dranks so day cain’ get in no troubah.”

“Yes, they can, if they don’t show me the ID.”

“You need ta brang out ouah checks den, and cancel ouah food.”

Grabbing Chanel #2’s and Amazon Chanel’s drinks, I reply, “Right away ma’am.”

“What da hell is you doin?” Tatarethia asks again, reaching out to grab my hand.

“I told you, if I don’t see the ID, they don’t get to drink.  If you don’t let go of my hand, you’ll not finish your drink either!”

“Brang ya’ll managah ovah heah, you gon’ pay fa dis!”  Tatarethia tells me, her fist shaking as she let my hand go.

I get Manager S the Feminine to the table, and they proceed to tell her that Chanel #2 doesn’t have her ID on her, and that I let them all drink.  She was told by the bitches that I didn’t card any of them, in an attempt to get me fired.  Too bad the manager knows that I value my job too much to let someone slide.  I missed the ID pass off, which was on me. However, I did catch it before more than a couple of sips were taken, and they didn’t get any of the drinks free.  As they were getting up, I heard one of them calling me a “Snaggletooth Cracka”, which gave me the idea to take the rest of the drinks from them.  They bitched because I didn’t bring back every penny of their change, literally 4 pennies total on 3 checks.   That made me wonder if perhaps Springs is a black woman in Nashville…..

I then noticed that Chanel #2 had an Adam’s Apple, and a quite noticeable bulge in her skirt….Mr. N was right, she WAS a he.

I’ll damn sure recognize this ugly black tranny next time it comes in, and that mother fucking fake titty wearing cocksucking flaming dress wearing coke snorting crack smoking methhead weave wearing cunting whore better watch the fuck out because my foot is going right into it’s nuts.  It was quite obvious that this tranny is NOT a post op yet, and I’ll cause some pain.  Fucking piece of shit trying to get me fired!  Had it been a manager that hasn’t seen me work forever and didn’t know how rigid I am about ID’s, I probably would have been fired on the spot, especially since it’s a corporate place.  Justice prevailed though.

They were also informed that if any one of them were caught drinking on the premises again, they would be reported to the police for using false identification to obtain alcohol, and summarily arrested.  Fuck them and they boats they sailed in on, I hope all six of them get beaten by their pimp and are buried alive.  I hate it when I’m threatened like that.

Fucking whores.

Back tomorrow,

Ribeye

Tags: african, african-american, bitch, black, cross-dresser, cross-dressing, cunt, drag queen, entitlement junkie, hair weave, hermaphrodite, hooker, pimp, prostitute, she-male, slut, snatch, tranny, Transsexual, Transvestite, trash, weave, whore