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

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

Tags: annoying, balloon, bid day, bimbo, bitch, bitches, bitching, bowling, ditz, ditzy, evil, girl, Hell, loud, mixer, music, scream, slut, sluts, sorority, sorostitute, whore, whores

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

Going along with the theme of things that shouldn’t happen, just like the last post on “Things you shouldn’t say to your server”, today’s post is going to be on the things you shouldn’t do if you want people to take you seriously out in public. They can be at restaurants, they can be at the mall, this one is not just a server issue, this one’s a life issue. Stupid is spreading like the plague, so don’t be the next person to catch it.

Don’t go out in public drunk or high. People can tell, no matter how hard you try to hide it, and when people can see your intoxication, they know better than to believe anything you say.

Don’t make out with someone while you’re sitting at your table, or in the theater. If your server walks up and sees you making out with your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/trick/brother/sister/who the fuck ever, they’re going to roll their eyes, most likely tell you to get a room, and know that if you make a complaint, it’s only so you can try to impress your other by being a badass.

Don’t eat everything on your plate, then complain to a manager that the food was prepared wrong, or that it didn’t taste good. The manager isn’t going to give it to you for free just because you don’t feel like paying for it. If it was really prepared wrong or tasted bad, you’d have complained early, not eaten every last crumb.

Threatening to call the corporate office when you don’t get your way is just another way of throwing a temper tantrum. Managers and employees know that you’re just out to get something free, they won’t cave. Every time you threaten to call the corporate office, those employees make sure to call them first to let them know the exact situation.

Don’t pull out the race card unless it really needs to be pulled. Not everything is because you’re Latino, or because you’re black, or because you’re a Muslim. Sometimes, things just don’t go like they’re supposed to, and that’s no reflection on you. Sometimes we cannot give you the same thing we gave another table, either because we’re out of that thing, or because it’s going to be a while before that thing is ready. Sometimes you’ll be wanting to sit down, and while there are open tables, that doesn’t mean there are servers available to take care of them. It’s not that we don’t want to seat you because believe me, we want your money. It’s because we can’t seat you. If it’s a first come first serve area, and you sit down at someone else’s table, we’re going to ask you to move. It’s not because of your race, it’s because the table is someone else’s.

Another problem with the first come first serve (aka, cocktail) areas of restaurants: Do not sit down at a dirty table and immediately send your crotch spawn out to find someone to clean the table off. First of all, you sat at a dirty table in the first place, and we see you sitting there. Second, we’ll get there when we can. Sometimes you just have to wait. If you bitch at us about cleaning your dirty table, not even 2 minutes after you chose to sit down at said dirty table, we’re not going to take you seriously because you’re probably going to find other things to bitch about during your meal. Patience is a virtue, it’s time you learned to use that virtue to it’s fullest extent.

Don’t bring your unruly crotch spawn out to a nice restaurant if they don’t know how to behave, or if you don’t know how to control them. You’ll piss off other diners, and you’ll piss off your server.

Don’t go to the Wal-Mart with all your unruly crotch spawn in tow, and try to return things at the service counter while you have your cell phone stuck to your head. When you’re talking loudly about who’s fucking who and who’s beating on who. If you can’t talk in a normal indoor voice, without getting pissy, then they’re not going to take your return.

Don’t lose your temper when they don’t take your return without a receipt. Put yourself in their place, if you can. If you saw a string of people coming in without receipts trying to return things, would you allow it?

Don’t run around with your pants hanging off your ass, your cap all crooked on your head, your clothes 8 sizes too big, and a bunch of fake jewelry. Nobody likes a thug, and nobody likes a poser thug. You look stupid, you look immature, and you look like a moron. When you come in dressed like that, no matter where you are, we don’t care. We know when you bitch you’re just trying to get a discounted price on something, or get something free. Just don’t bother. Nobody likes a thug.

Women: Don’t run around wearing next to nothing, it cheapens you and makes you look like a street-walking whore.  When we see a woman walking around in a shirt that shows more skin than it covers, a pair of shorts that are more or less a pair of panties, and earrings that a 6′6″ man can put a fist through and still not have the metal touch his wrists, then you’re dressed improperly for public viewing.  Go back to the strip club.  Even worse, don’t go to a family restaurant or family business.  Other than lecherous old men, adolescent boys, and 20-something guys, nobody wants to see your goods, and they don’t want you, just your cooze.  Dress like a person, not a dirty little skank.

Women: Plastic surgery should be used in moderation.  The gods made you the way you were for a reason; getting new tits, a new nose, a new ass, new lips, a new stomach, a new forehead, and new everything else makes you a new person, and usually a very hateful person.  Be yourself, people don’t want a fake.  And yes, fake tits feel just that…fake.

Going out in public and acting like a child just shows that you shouldn’t be out in public at all.  Restaurants are not frat houses, act like a fucking adult.

That’s all I can think of right now, but I’m sure there will be more later.  There may or may not be a part 2 to this post, depending on if I have more material after work tonight.

Ribeye

Tags: ankle holder, child, childish, clothes, crotch spawn, drunk, earrings, entitlement, fake, frat, Hell, high, idiot, moron, plastic, poser, serious, slut, spawn, stoned, stupid, stupid people, surgery, thug, trash, whore