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

I have had another exhausting day today…another double shift.  I went in at 12 today, originally scheduled off at 10 pm.  When I got to work, the managers were asking if I have a phone.  An odd question seeing as how they have my phone number listed in my file.  I change numbers a bit often for my liking, but I always make sure to update, can’t take the chance on missing out on money.  Apparently they were trying to call me and tell me they didn’t need me till 4.  I couldn’t afford to leave, so I convinced someone else to go home and come back later.

After staying up late Saturday night, despite my trying to sleep, I went in exhausted.  It was dead during the first couple of hours and that didn’t help my exhaustion.  I didn’t even have time to get any Red Bull before I went to work.

I went through the normal motions I go through, waking up naturally and getting annoying guests that tipped 10% or less.  We started getting busy later in the day, about 2:30.  That’s when I started making money.  Other than my feet getting blistered though, nothing bad really happened….

Until the night shift….

Every month, on the last Sunday of the month, we have a group that comes in.  I don’t know what the significance of the end of the month is, but it never fails.  The entire young Kurdish community of Nashville comes to my job.  They’ve been doing it since I started my job over a year and a half ago.  Ever since I started, there’s been a group of this community that I have to deal with.  It never fails.

This portion of their little “family” gives me some type of problem every time they come in.  In the beginning, when we still allowed smoking, we didn’t allow cloves or cigars.  It was a corporate thing that I never really understood, but it was a rule.  Some of the guys happen to smoke cloves, and got very pissed off at me when I used to put them out.  They bitched about every little thing, from having to pay an upcharge to go from a cheap side to an expensive one, to having to pay by the hour when they bowled.

It doesn’t matter if I happen to be in the bowling/billiards area or in the game room, they always end up with me.

Tonight (Sunday) happened to be that night again, and I didn’t even realize it until I heard the quacking of their voices.  I looked to see where the strange noise was coming from and my good night suddenly got bad.  I prayed they weren’t going to sit in my section.  There are about 24 of them that gravitate toward my section when they’re there and sure enough tonight was no different.  Half of them didn’t order, the other half ordered one thing at a time.  Not as a group, where it would have been easier.

They spread out across my section, taking up 5 of my 8 tables.  Only the people at 2 of the tables chose to order anything tonight, the other three were just hanging out.  Being that they were a party of more than 8 people, I had to put a gratuity on the checks.  *note* We got a memo at work recently saying that we no longer have a choice at whether we put a gratuity on a check or not.  If it’s 8 people, they get a grat no matter what.

They didn’t like the gratuity.  The first couple of checks I delivered had 5 of the 9 orders on them.  I dropped the checks and walked to the kitchen to pick up some of their food.  When I got back, Bartender B pulled me aside.  “They are pissed off that you put a gratuity on their checks, they say you have to have 8 people for a grat and there’s only 4 at the table.”  Well yeah, of course there are only 4 people at their table, they aren’t piled in to the point of bursting anymore.  At any rate, another part of the memo was that we have no choice but to remove a grat if the guest asks.

I hunt down Manager B the Wise and have him exempt the grat.  I then try to explain to them that I had no choice in the grat, that despite them sitting at different tables, they were still one big party.  They didn’t care.

They left me exact change.  I got no compensation on the 110 dollar check and I did everything right.

I hate Kurds.  Not all of them, just some of them.  The ones I have on a monthly basis have a harsh smell and a superiority complex.  I don’t like being around them, but nobody else will pick them up.  They see how I get treated, and I get stuck.

I think next month I’m going to exercise my legal right to refuse service to them.  I’m not even going to care if they call me a racist because of it.  I’m tired of being shit on by these fuckers.  Let them go to a restaurant that caters to their nationality.  I’m tired of them changing every single thing they order to something completely different than what’s in the menu.  I’m tired of the attitudes.

Right now, I’m just plain tired!!!!!!  I’m going to take care of that problem in a few minutes though.  The toilet calls, and the RagingPartner needs cuddlings, and I just plain need sleep.

I’ll post something tomorrow so until then…make sure to check out the Horror Stories page, and submit your own from there.  I can only update as long as you all send them to me.  I put up a new one earlier, bringing the grand total to 4.

Enjoy,

Ribeye

Tags: asshole, bad tips, bitchery, cigar, clan, clove, community, family, foreign, fuckers, gratuity, group, Hell, Kurd, Kurdish, language, odor, party, quacking, smell, smoker, smoking, stink, tip, tipping

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

Tags: ankle holder, bitches, ghetto, gratuity, prom, prom night, skank, slut, sluts, stealing, theft, thieves, tips, Whites creek high school, whore, whores

Welcome to my 150th post here on RagingServer.com!!!

I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d make it to this post, and without you it just wouldn’t have been possible.  By the way, to those of you with sites, I’m very sorry about my lack of commentation, I’ll remedy that.  It’s hard to work as much as I do, post as much as I do, and still have the motivation to actually visit the site outside of Google Reader.  Once again, I’m sorry.  I’m workin’ on it.   You’ve all made me so happy, and I haven’t reciprocated as much as I should other than giving you links.

Once again, my job was redneck hell tonight.  I hate them.  I hate them all.  I give all of you on BitterWaitress a nod that claim rednecks are not all bad and I’m thinking of white trash, but I’m sorry, you’re just wrong.  Rednecks are now tied with Ghetto trash as the scum of the planet.  They come in smelling like a fish tank, the women do anyway, the men smell like body odor mixed with motor oil and feces.  Despite this, I was in an exceptionally good mood tonight, and in rare form just like I was on Black Friday.

My first table was a table of redneck scum, and had I the time during my shift, I’d have posted about it then.   They actually started out alright, except for one guy at the table.

“Hey dude, I’m gonna naid some hawt sauwce.  Ya’ll got a big bottle of it back thaih?”

“I’ll bring you a bottle of tabasco as soon as your food comes out, sir.”

“But I wanna drank some of it now.”  How fucking nasty.  Tabasco is gross at the best of times with it’s smell and taste, that you want to drink it makes me want to hurl.

“Then give me a minute and I’ll bring some out to you.”  I go to another table, and start chatting with them, when I hear, “Hey, where’s my sawce?”

“Sir, I’m with another guest, I’ll have it to you in a minute.”  His parents (he’s at least 16 or 17 years old) don’t say a word to him, they don’t look embarrassed, they don’t look surprised.  “Hurry up then, I been waitin too long now.”  I keep talking to my other guests for a minute, our conversation has now turned into a mutual hatred of hickdom and we’re all laughing together when I hear, “What tha hells takin that waitress so damn long?”, just loud enough for me to hear.  I ask my guests to hold on for a minute.  I walk to the service station, snatch a bottle of tabasco sauce, and walk back to the hick table.

“First of all, sir, do not again yell at me or you won’t get served anymore.  Second of all, I’m not a waitress, I’m a server or a waiter.  Here’s your tabasco, your food will be here shortly, and once again, do NOT yell at me again.”   I start to set the sauce on the table and he snatches it from my hand.

“You do what I say, waitress, not the other way around.”   He opens up the tabasco, and puts his nasty lips around it and starts drinking it.  I wanted to retch.

“That’s alright, sir, you call me what you want, just remember, I’m the one who handles your food and you’re putting me in a bad mood.”  The family thought I was just joking with him, when in reality I was really getting pissed off.  His attitude was ruining my uncommonly good mood, and I wasn’t happy about it.  He stopped being a prick after that though.

Thirty minutes or so pass, and I go back to the table to see if they need anything else.  The dad grabs my arm, “You need to take that shit off my bill,” pointing at the cheeseburger.

“Is there something wrong with it, sir?  Were you just not that hungry?”

“I just want to eat it at home, I don’t want to pay for it if I’m not gonna eat it here.”   I was shocked.  “Sir, I can’t take it off your bill just because you want to eat it at home.”

“You pose to do what we want though, the customer always right!”

“Sir, there’s nothing wrong with your burger.  Nothing at all.  Therefore, being that you’ve eaten close to half of it and intend to take it home, I can’t take it off.”

“Then you better brang ya managah over here, cuz I ain’ payin for somethin I ain’ gonna eat!”

“But you’ve said you’re going to eat it, just not here.”

“WE ONLY GOTTA PAY FOR WHAT WE EAT HERE, NOT WHAT WE TAKE HOME WITH US!”  I’d known the whole time I was getting no tip, so now I didn’t care what they threw at me.

“Sir, I’m going to tell you like I told your son.  Do NOT yell at me again.”  I walked off.  Manager J the Spineless, cohort of Manager J the Impartial visits the table, and caves in.  He comps the burger.  I ring up an extra soft drink for the tabasco drinker.

I go back to the table and take the check.  As I walk off, I swipe the guys burger right off the table, and toss it into the trash.  “What the Hell did ya do that for?  I was gonna eat that!”

“No, sir, you weren’t paying for it, so you’re not going to take it home.”  I start to walk off again, and this time Momma grabs me by the arm.  “Ma’am, let go of me, right now.”

“Why the Hell is there another coke on this bill.  We had 3 waters and 2 cokes, not 3 cokes.”

“Well, your son there drank a bottle of tabasco, and I saw him take another from the service station and put it in his pocket, I’m just making sure the company gets reimbursed for the loss it has incurred during your meal here.”   They ended up paying, after complaining to the manager who refused to take off the other coke, but who did make them give back the unopened tabasco.  Life is fun sometimes, but I really hate rednecks who think they own the world.

Later on, I go on break and head through the mall.  I’m going to get my Starbucks, Venti 7 shot, hundred thirty degree, white chocolate mocha with gingerbread syrup and whipped cream, and I see one of our security guards.  It’s bad enough we have security there that can barely talk and rolls around with no legs in a hovaround, but now they also have Segways, the goofiest invention since the Heely.  I hate seeing people on these expensive pieces of shit, because they’re usually yuppie scum that think they’re hot shit owning one, and they’re just goofy as hell.

Here’s the security guard I saw.

After I got back from break (sorry, haven’t figured out how to make my editor write next to the pic, only under it), I felt better, I had caffeine in my system again.  I had some great tables, and then cover charge started.  The ghetto arrived, but not in full force like normal.  It was relatively calm.  I got busy, yes, but not with trash.  The other servers got the trash at the end of the night this time…until my last table.  They sat down about 30 minutes before last call.  They ordered, and canceled their order 4 times.  I stopped trying to get them food after the 4th cancel, and started doing sidework.  While they sat, most of them got up to run around and play games, leaving a very obviously intoxicated and quite ugly white girl with her ghetto assed, pants around his legs boyfriend.  I didn’t say anything to them while they were making out, and I didn’t say anything to them when they were feeling each other up.  One of my co-workers, however, noticed that her hand was underneath the table, and was moving in a peculiar fashion.  “Please…tell me she’s not doing what it sounds like she’s doing…” I thought to myself.  They needed to get a room, and not do what they were doing in my restaurant.  I left them alone, thinking that it couldn’t be anymore than harmless petting.  Nothing major, nothing x-rated.  How wrong I was…

I was walking through my section, and I see her facing him, a couple of beads of sweat rolling down her face.  I again pray that she’s not doing it.  I then see a little kid, maybe 4-5 years old, staring raptly under their table, and the guy is leaned back with his eyes closed.  The kid runs off, yelling, “She’s touching his pee pee.”  I still don’t know if she was actually jerking him off, and I don’t want to know.  That would push the limits of my belief and yours.  I’m chalking this one up to a myth unless someone else from work tells me otherwise.  We get trash, but we’ve never had that.  I’d just like to repeat, I don’t know if the handjob was actually happening, so don’t say anything about it being false, because I don’t know.  I only know what I think, and I wish I were wrong about that.

After that, I went out to smoke for a couple of minutes.  When I came back, the whole group was back at the table, and it was enough to grat.  They all started barking orders at me at the same time, and I stopped them to say, “I just want you all to know that there will be an automatic 18% gratuity on your party, being that there are 9 of you.”  Half of them left the table, the others just sulked and whined because they were going to be charged extra to eat dinner.  I finally ignored them when they tried to order from me at last call.  I walked off, and let them sit there.  They were ghetto, but no, they weren’t all black, they were mostly white girls with great big ankle holders on each side of their heads.

I also waited on an awesome woman named Lorraine, older woman who looked like a judge from Law and Order, and she was the most awesome guest of the night, leaving me 30 bucks on top of an 18 dollar auto-grat for a large party.  She was just fun, she and her family.  I just wish I’d been able to get her drinking…

Keep coming back, I’ve got ideas for some new stuff coming, and I need ya’ll to send me some of your ideas also.  I’m still working on the submission page for your personal Horror Stories, and I need some more topics for weekly features.  I’m also thinking about taking a cue from some other bloggers and having an “Ask the Ribeye” post each week, and RagingPartner is trying to convince me to set up a podcast.  I’m not sure about the podcast though, because I don’t like how I sound “on-air”.

About the 4 posts a couple of days ago, that was due to a glitch.  I had 4 of them prewritten (including the unpopular fart post), and accidentally posted them all within a couple of hours of each other.  That won’t happen again.  Only 2 of them were supposed to go up.

I know it’s been a long post, but it was the 150th post, so yes, it was bound to be long.

Shorter next time,

Ribeye

Tags: 150, espresso, ghetto, gratuity, handicapped, handjob, heely, hovaround, record, redneck, sauce, segway, starbucks, tabasco, tip, tipping, trash, venti, Weird, wheelchair, white chocolate mocha