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

Only this time, it’s nothing about tipping so much as us all being racist, and daring us to spit in her food. You can see my comments if you actually visit the page for the video posted below. Basically, it says that most black people with the exception of the ghetto are embarrassed by people like her, and that because of her showing her ass (publicly and figuratively) no server in their right mind is going to willingly serve her, and most management is going to back up the server in fear of losing close to 200 dollars because she’ll play the race card. I know the talk that’s gone around in Nashville restaurants, people know her face, servers and managers alike. I know of managers who would ask her to leave just on the basis of that video and the fear that she would besmirch their restaurant over nothing. I still don’t believe the server actually followed her out over the tip, that rarely happens anymore, and the server is usually fired on the spot when it does.

Tags: bitch, black, entitlement, entitlement junkie, ghetto, liar, scam, scammer, stupid, tipping, trash, video, youtube

A recent post on the BitterWaitress.net forums inspired me to make this post, and I’m sure it’s going to make me pretty unpopular for a while.

Wrong again. I got a comment on the Women can be so dramatic sometimes post saying that I was a “racist pig”. I get e-mails on a daily basis saying that I’m “evil racist slime” and “I wouldn’t spit on your cracker ass if I were on fire”. I don’t know how many ways to say this, but I AM NOT A RACIST! Yes, I dislike certain portions of different racial groups, and you all know that I’ve lumped those groups into one group, the Entitlement Junkies.

Yes, this might be a bit callous, but after serving these different people for so long, I’ve learned the hard way that Entitlement Junkies just don’t tip, and they treat servers like shit. If you think that makes me a racist, then you can stop reading this blog right now. Sorry to offend you, but that’s just how I feel.

If some of you haven’t noticed, I’ve never once used a racial slur on this page, and I never will. I don’t agree with using it, and if you think the words “ghetto trash” are a racial slur, then you also can stop reading this blog right now. I’ve said it time and time again, I don’t have a problem with all black people. I have a problem with the dregs of the black race, the ones that come in with either their pants hanging down their asses, weave four feet on top of their heads, ebonics so thick that I can barely translate it, etc. I have a problem with black tables that are so demanding that I spend more time with them than any other table in my section, therefore losing tips on other tables for a table that I’m not going to get tipped on anyway. I get tired of doing nothing wrong, giving exceptional service, and getting no tip. I’m tired of people assuming that I fucked up their order on purpose, when it was the fault of the kitchen, pulling the fucking race card, and leaving me no tip. I get tired of ghetto hoochie mommas that let their vast numbers of crotch spawn run around like dogs doing whatever the hell they want with no discipline whatsoever, and then yelling at me because I ask them to keep their kids under control. I get tired of being disrespected because I go to a table happy and in a good mood, and serve them just like I serve anyfuckingbody else.

What I don’t get tired of, are my black guests that are my regulars. The ones that are respectful, that talk to me and laugh with me. I don’t get tired of hearing how they hate the ghetto trash that I talk about. I don’t get tired of hearing how embarrassed they are with how their brethren act out in public. They don’t like to be lumped together into a group with the trash, and I don’t lump them together with the trash.

Black servers hate serving black tables. Black servers think they have a right to give substandard service to black tables, whether they are trash or not. They know the drill, only they don’t care if it’s a table that’s trash or a table that’s not. They get away with treating their black tables like this, yet if a white server treats a ghetto table (not a table of non-trash black people) perfectly, with no change in attitude, they are stiffed and usually end up with a ticket full of comps and complaints to the manager.

I have a ton of black friends. I get along great with the kitchen, that is primarily black men. They know I’m gay, and they know my feelings on ghetto tables. They know that me, along with other white servers don’t hate all black people. They know that we only hate those that come in with a chip on their shoulder against us and those that come in expecting to get something for free. We have lots of black servers that work where I do. One of my best friends, who just moved to Kentucky, is a black girl that could regularly be heard in the break room yelling “I HATE black people!” and on one particularly bad night after serving a group of extremely ghetto guys and girls that took the time to puke in a bowl and leave it on her table and spit in her menu, “God as my witness, I’ll never wait on another mother fucking nigga!” while holding a spot sweeping broom into the air, then throwing it across the room.

I have news for anyone who thinks that I’m racist. I love waiting tables, it doesn’t matter who it is. I don’t like being called “white boy” at the table, and I don’t like that some black tables insist on trying out 4 different alcoholic drinks before settling on a water with lemon.

Once again, I’ll also tell you about my first regulars. A black couple who comes in with their well behaved kids. They were the first couple I waited on when I got onto the floor, and they come in every week to see me. The wife sits at the table with me and listens to the gossip of the place, and loves hearing my stories about the ghetto trash I have to wait on. They tip great every time they come in, because I treat them just like anyone else I wait on. I don’t give them special treatment, save for getting them a free dessert for the kids sometimes, and that’s on my dime because I enjoy them coming in to see me. I couldn’t give a shit if they tipped or not to be honest with you, I enjoy it when they come in. I enjoy talking to them, because they are my friends. They have been coming to see me a little over a year now, and they have no plans to stop coming to see me. When one of their kids had appendecitus, the mother came in to let me know that they’d be back next week. I told them I’d buy them dinner, seeing as they were about to have a ton of medical bills for surgery. They came in the next week, and asked me for their check before I let them know that I’d already paid for their bill OUT OF MY OWN POCKET! They are good friends of mine, and they know that I’m not a racist, so I would appreciate it if you’d all stop judging me based on my feelings for the fucking ghetto trash I have to wait on. I know not all black people are like that trash, and I don’t prejudge anymore. I wait until after I meet the table before I decide the way it’s going to go, and even then I still give exceptional service until I am disrespected.

Just had to get that rant off of my chest.

Ribeye

Tags: black, disrespect, entitlement, ghetto, happy, judgement, nice, profiling, racism, racist, regulars, respect, serving, tables, tipping