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.

Read the rest of this entry »

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

Sunday nights at my job are generally pretty lucrative, however evil the people are. This past Sunday night, they were more evil than normal and let me tell you, I was in rare form.

I was in bowling, which I prefer on Sundays because I make good money in there, and I’m generally alone. I was alone this Sunday, and didn’t expect it to get busy. It did.

First group is a party of 11, but they couldn’t get two lanes side by side. They get one, another group has the next one, and the rest of the third group has the last one. There’s a group of people in between the party. The party is made up of ghetto as hell women, a Ghetriarch, and a couple of corn-rowed guys.

When I say ghetto here, I don’t mean ghetto in the normal sense I have to deal with, I mean ghetto as in even the two teenage girls (13 and 14 years old) had full mouths of fake gold, all the women had weave built a foot high on their heads, I could barely understand half of them, and they all, including the older woman who I took to be the Ghetriarch, reeked of pot.

I went to the lanes to try to get drinks, and was nearly overrun by them. I don’t know what makes people think I can write down 11 drink orders when they’re spoken simultaneously, and have to check ID for 8 of them. All the women had frozen strawberry margaritas. All the men had Hennessey and cranberry, a total waste of a cognac.

While I’m taking their drink orders, three more lanes go down. One of them sends their kid after me, which is something I hate. Don’t send your crotch spawn to get me, I see you there, and I’ll be over there when I can.

About 15 minutes go by before I get back with drinks for all 4 parties (the 11 top, a 4 top, and two 2 tops). I stop at each lane and deliver drinks on the way, letting them know I’ll be back to get orders after I finish dropping all the drinks off. I stop at the 11 top first.

“We ready ta ordah!” one of the women, named Quintiara according to her ID, screams at me as I walk up with a double sized tray full of drinks.
“Let me get all these dropped off and I’ll get your orders, ma’am.”
“But we is ready ta ordah now! We hongry!” she yells.
“I understand ma’am, but I have to get these dropped off before I start taking orders.”
“Dat bullshit. We was heah furst!”

I get a few paces away and I hear yelling again. “Hey you, waitah!” it was Quintiara’s sister, Shiquitta. “Get ovah heah, dis drank don’t look like da pickcha!”
“I’ll be there in just a moment ma’am, let me drop the rest of these off so I can take care of it for you.”

By the time I got back, three minutes later, the drink she was bitching about was gone and she was demanding it be taken off the check. I refused because she drank it. I told them I was ready to take their orders, and again was bum rushed by them, yelling their orders in my face like they did with their drinks. I finally got them to shut up and give them to me one at a time. I made sure to charge for each and every extra that I possibly could, including extra cherries on their drinks. I was very happy it was all on one check, so they had no reason to bitch about a gratuity.

Flash forward to 25 minutes later when their food comes out. I read back each order to all 11 of them, so I knew exactly what they ordered and that it was all correct. Unfortunately they didn’t see it my way.

“Where my baby chickin strip is?” Quintiara yells at me. “Why day ain’ heah?”
“Ma’am, you didn’t order any chicken strips for anyone.”
“Yes I did, is you callin me a liah?”
“No, ma’am, I’m just stating a fact. I went over each order with you all before I rang them in.” I ended up having to ring in two orders of wings, a kids chicken strips, and a cheeseburger. This was extra food.

The extra food comes out, and I start to walk off after giving it to them. I don’t get more than 4 steps away before Shiquitta grabs my arm and yells, “Hey you, get yo’ fuckin ass back ovah heah.” She yells this right in my ear. I turn around so fast it makes me a little dizzy, and it took all I had to not knock this bitch straight to the ground.

“Ma’am, I’m only going to say this once. If you yell at me or grab me one more time tonight, you’ll be wearing your next drink. Do NOT do it again.” Quintiara, when paying for the meal, told me she was thrilled that I went off on her sister as Shiquitta was embarrassing the hell out of her.

Total bill, including 18% gratuity: $298.45. Quintiara gives me 312 bucks and tells me “Yo’ tip is in der wit da bill, you was great.” She hadn’t noticed the gratuity of 38 bucks included on her bill. (I know it seems like the grat should have been more, but we do not add gratuity to gaming credits, that’s why it’s lower than it seems like it should have been.) She was only intending to leave me 13.55. Fucking whore.

Then we have the part of the night that just pissed me off the most. It’s about 8 pm, and I’m busy as fuck. I had to get a server from the game room to come help me out because running 8 lanes and 4 pool tables is just stressful and I was in the weeds big time.

In the pool room, there was a group waiting to be served. Two guys and two girls. One of the guys, with his nappy braids (see above picture) looks slightly familiar, but I’m not sure from where. At any rate, I can’t get to them. I tell them I’d try to be with them in a couple of minutes, but it may be the girl I had helping me out.

About 10 minutes goes by, and she still hasn’t gone over to see them. I’m slightly caught up by then, so I go over there.

“Sorry about the wait guys, we’re slammed and I was a bit behind. How are you tonight?”

“Axe da ladies what day wanna drank.” Says the taller ghetto fabulous guy, the familiar looking one. I ask, and they want a coke and a water respectively. All four of them reek of pot, and I realize that I’ve got a fun time on my hands. Pissed off and stoned ghetto group that’s had to wait for service from a white guy. They’d already been glaring at me as I passed them with trays of drinks, so I knew they didn’t like me.

“How bout for you guys?” I ask, trying to subtly rush them.
“What ya’ll gots wit some Belvedere dat’s frozen?”
“We don’t have any frozen vodka drinks, sir, I’m sorry.”
“Brang me a cwayvo mahgarita den.”
“Can I see your ID please?” I ask.
“I’m Young Buck.” Now I realize where I recognized him from. He’d been in there before, and I’ve seen him on tv a couple of times.
“That may be so, but I still need to see your ID.”
“She gots it up front fa da poo.”

“How about for you sir?” I ask his stoned friend. “Brang me a goose and cranburry.”
“Just need to see your ID sir.” Apparently, Young Buck doesn’t need friends that can drive, because this guy doesn’t have a license.

Just to let you all know, this guy truly was Young Buck. I checked the ID, and got their drinks. I looked him up on my laptop after the rush to make sure (I took it to work with me Sunday).

They were demanding, hateful, and constantly called me “boy”. I was too busy to make a scene. Their total bill, 81 and some change. Buck gives me 85 and tells me to keep it.

Young Buck, I’m calling you out. You are a fucking sub-rate rapper, you’re worthless, nothing but drug using ghetto trash. You think you’re hot shit, you think you’re famous, but nobody really likes you, and nobody really likes your music. I’d rather listen to a real rapper, like Ludacris or 50-cent than you, and I know they’re better tippers. You are not worth the money it cost to produce your failures of albums, and if you don’t end up in prison for your drug dealing, I’ll be surprised. You come back into my job reeking of pot again, and I’m going to make sure you don’t get a single drink. You talk to me the way you did Sunday night, and leave me another shitty tip, and you’ll never get served at my job again.

Take those whores you were with, and that ghetto trash friend of yours and go straight to Hell you worthless piece of dog-meat. If you left that 4 dollar tip to make a point, you made the wrong one. Not everyone is there to bend to your will, it’s not like you’re a real celebrity. You don’t have any pull anywhere because nobody wants to be around you. You’re not intelligent, you’re not smart, and you’re damn sure not a nice person.

If you think you’re hot shit, Buck, then you better start acting like it. Tip like it. Treat people better, because they remember you. You want to know why I didn’t care when you said you were Young Buck? It’s because you mean that little to me. Your name isn’t one that people who enjoy rap toss around regularly, when you’re mentioned it’s to say how much you suck.

Fuck off, Young Buck, I’m ashamed to share my birthday with you (March 15th, everyone, mark your calendars.)

Now that I’m done with my roast, everyone, please feel free to comment.

Buck, if you can’t handle this kind of criticism, then maybe you shouldn’t be part of the public eye. Fuck you.

To other celebrities, if you go out to eat, and you treat your server like shit, that server is going to remember you and is going to call you out in public. Let this be a lesson to you all. We don’t mind waiting on celebrities, some of you, like Steve McNair, who I’ve also waited on many times, are fucking awesome people and we wouldn’t care if you tipped or not. But when you come out and treat us like shit, we remember. For those of you who are wondering, McNair is a fucking awesome tipper, and his family are some of the nicest people I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. I only wish that he hadn’t gone to another team, because he came in more often when he was still on the Titans….

All of the Tennessee Titans except for Pacman are awesome people too, and awesome tippers. Pacman however, you are worthless. You tip 1-2 bucks on a huge meal, and you beat women. You wonder why nobody likes you.

Even with all the bullshit Sunday night, I still made damn good money, close to 23% of my sales. I was quite proud, and being that RagingPartner and I are in the process of storing our things and finding an apt., and trying to fix the Raging T-bird, every little bit helps.

Ribeye

Tags: asshole, bad tips, bastard, bitch, braids, cornrow, david darnell brown, drunk, failure, fuck, fucker, ghetto, pacman jones, pot, rap, rapper, slut, steve mcnair, stoned, stoner, stupid, trash, vodka, weed, whore, young buc, young buck

I’m plain and simply put exhausted. We closed an hour later than we normally do on Monday nights, but none of the servers knew we were going to. We were short staffed all around. 4 total dining room servers, 2 cocktail servers in the bowling alley, and 3 of us in the game room. I ran a 6 table section all night long. I got my ass kicked, once again. The worst part? My dept leader was back from his time off today. He was there for an admin meeting in the morning, and spent the evening doing scheduling. Not helping out his department, seeing that we were getting our asses royally handed to us on a fucking platinum platter, oh no, that would mean actual work. This mother fucker sat on his ass in the office working on a fucking schedule. I was pissed. I’m still pissed. I want his job so fucking bad, and he wastes it. I’m so tired of picking up the slack for his fuck-up’s.

We also started out with 2 bartenders at the beginning of the night. Why the 2nd one had the nerve to leave at 8 pm, I’ll never know, but that meant that drinks were coming out very slowly. I ended up jumping behind the bar and helping out along with running my 6 tables. That was a blast, let me tell ya. I didn’t mind too much, I enjoy it when I go behind the bar, knowing that I deserved to get that job in the first place and didn’t. I’m sure I’ll get it next time.

Nothing major to say about the shift except that I got my ass kicked, and stomped straight into the ground with a stiletto heel. I’m in pain all over, and I have to go back tomorrow. I’ve also lost one of my 2 days off this week that I was looking forward to, that being Thursday…payday. I was really looking forward to having that off, stopping in for a half minute to pick up a paycheck and leave again. Oh no, I have to go in and open, and the gods only know when I’ll be getting out of there.

My dept. this week has been in a shambles, which is a big part of my frustration. I take that back, it’s not just been this week, it’s just been the worst this week. The “one in charge” actually left someone who no longer works for the company on the schedule, and said that everything was covered. How the fuck would he know that, he’s been off on his honeymoon with “Flip-Flop” the dept. boss of the dining room servers, his “roommate”. They took their vacations the exact same time. The day before Christmas Eve until today. They came back in town just in time for the admin meeting they have every Monday, but did they stay and help out their areas? Nope. The managers are royally pissed at the cocktail leader due to his short staffing and his excuses about it. Last New Year’s Eve that I worked, we only had 12 cocktail servers on the schedule, and we still had more on the clock on these holidays than we had this year, and this year we had 17 cocktails on the schedule. What’s wrong with this picture? I know that job can’t be all fun and games, but come on, learn how to write a fucking schedule, or people are going to start rebelling on you. I don’t know how true it is, but I’ve heard that a couple of people are putting in notices. More money for me, I say.

To the nice old woman that I cussed out, I really do apologize.  I was pissed off not at you, but at everyone.  You sitting down and nagging me about cleaning your table, despite the good tip you eventually left, pissed me off anymore.

Here’s how it went:

Ribeye: “Hey guys, I’ll be with you in a few minutes.  We’re extremely short staffed, and I’m running behind.”

Old Woman:  “Is there a server for this table?” No, bitch, I didn’t just tell you I was going to be with you in a few minutes.

Ribeye: “Yes ma’am, and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”  I had my hands full of dishes, and was trying to get away.  I’d started to walk away when…

Old Woman: “Are you going to clean this table? We’ve been waiting a while.”

Ribeye now loses his temper: “I just told you I’d be with you as soon as I can, now fucking wait a minute and I’ll be with you as soon as I can!  How fucking hard is that to understand?!”

Old Woman: “How dare you talk to me that way!”

Ribeye: “Because you didn’t fucking listen to me the first time I answered you!  I told you once I’d be with you when I fucking could and you fucking had to keep it going instead of saying ok!  Just wait for a damn minute, Jesus Fucking Christ, how hard is that to do?”

They didn’t stay, which didn’t bother me at all.  I felt bad about it later, but when she sat down, I was running 7 tables, and couldn’t get to them.  I just hope they don’t call corporate on me.  Even if they do, they didn’t talk to anyone when it happened, so it won’t matter much…

I guess now that it’s happened, all the pissiness from work has built up and blown up at a poor defenseless old woman who could have probably beat the hell out of me with her gigantic shoplifter purse, it won’t happen again for a while.  I felt a lot better after getting it out though…

Oh yea…

HAPPY FUCKING NEW YEAR!

Ribeye

Tags: alcohol, bitch, bitchery, bitching, dirty, fuck, fucking, hateful, Hell, holiday, new years eve, ribeye, server, serving, table, waiter, waiting, yell, yelling