I don’t know what makes people so stupid.  To me, it seems like it’s an age old “Nature vs. Nurture” question.  Are people just born stupid, or are they raised stupid.  I don’t know how many times tonight I was asked “Do you work here?”  How can you not know I work there when I am wearing an apron!  I know I’ve bitched about this very topic before, but it’s something that keeps happening.

Another big one in my area tonight was this.  “Can we just sit down?”  One lady in particular was really annoying.

She walks up to me while I’m bussing a table.  “Do we have to get on a list for these tables?”

“No, ma’am, they’re first come first serve.”  I say, not paying much attention to her.

“So we can just sit down?”

“Yes, ma’am, these tables are open seating.”

“Is it the same food as the restaurant?”  No you stupid bitch, it’s a completely different restuarant connected by a hallway.

“Yes, ma’am, the menu is exactly the same.”

“So we can order the same food as in the restaurant?”

“Yes ma’am, this is just another part of the restaurant.”

“So we don’t have to get on a waiting list to get a table?”

“No, ma’am, you can sit right down and a server will be right with you.”

“Do we have to see a hostess to get the table?”  I want to stab people like this.  How fucking stupid can one person be?

“Ma’am, if you’ll just sit down at a table, then one of us will be right with you to take care of you.”  She walks off, doesn’t ever sit down, and I didn’t see her again for the rest of the night.

The next table that comes in was a table of rednecks.  Why do they have to torment me?   Did I do something in a past life to deserve constant redneckery?  They sit down, it was a family of 4 guys.  Dad and his sons.  They order girly drinks.  Mai Tai, Strawberry Margarita, and a Bay Breeze.  I check ID’s.  The first two are fine, but the third.  The third is cracked, taped up and the expiration and issued dates are all faded out.  It’s not an ID that I can legally accept.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t take your ID.”

“Well why da fuck not?” he asks.  I list the reasons above.

“So you can’t give me a drink, even though I’m old enough?”

“Sir, there’s nothing I’d like to do more than to let you have your drink, but I have to worry about my job.  If I were to serve you, I’d be fired.”

“But I’m old enough to drink!  You need to get over to that bar, and get my drink.”

“I can’t do that sir, I’m sorry.”

“We ain’ never had this problem before.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not going to get fired.”

“Well I wanna see a manager.”

The manager comes by, and tells him the exact same thing.  He gets even more pissed, and his dad tries to give him a drink.  I’m forced to remove all the alcohol from the table.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” the dad yells at me.

“He can’t have a drink without a valid form of ID, and I obviously cannot trust any of you to not let him have a drink, so none of you will have a drink.  I’m very sorry, but that’s the way it is.”  Manager gets called back to the table, table bitches out manager, who bitches back at him just as hard, tells him we’re not risking out liquor license.  Makes them pay and leave.  Somehow, I still got a tip off the table, although it wasn’t close to 10%.  Oh well, fucking redneck scum of the earth.

The first carnival post is coming guys, I know I said it would be yesterday, but it really is coming.

Ribeye

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

I’m back you guys, and I’m back in a big way if you couldn’t tell by the name of this post.  To those of you who are offended, I’m quite sorry to you, but it was necessary to let you know the extreme seriousness with which rednecks must be dealt, and soon.

I hate rednecks with ever fiber of my being.  I hate them all.  Fat redneck women, and I don’t mean fat as in pleasantly plump, I mean fat as in forklift fat, are the worst that you’ll ever meet.

Enter the redneck family.  Fat Frannie, Bucktooth Billy, and the rebelling redneck kids, Gothic Gary and  Dumbass David.  I watch them come in about 5:15 yesterday (Saturday) and I hope and pray that they veer around the big open table I have in my section.  The gods above are angry, and they sit their asses right on down.  The kids immediately abandon their parents to go play games, and Bucktooth Billy the Dad goes to the bar to get beer and watch football.  I get to the table to greet Fat Frannie the Mom.

“Hey there, how are you today?”

“Fine.”

“My names Ribeye, I’ll….”

“We need a couple of swate tay’s, don’t you bring out no lemon now, and the boys nade uh coke and uh dr. peppah.”

“Alright, ma’am, I’ll have those right out to you.  Would you like to go ahead and get an appetizer cooking while you wait for the guys?”  As I say this, I glance down…I don’t know why I did but I wish I hadn’t.  As with most….larger..women, this woman had very large titules.  These were overly large, and they were bursting out of the little tiny sweater she was wearing.  That wasn’t what really got me though.  One of her titties, the left one (yes I had a photographic memory of this one because I needed it for this post) had a huge wart growing on it.  I’m not just talking big like you’d see on a witches nose in a cartoon, I’m talking over a quarter size in diameter and about a half inch high.  Just sitting there like it was nothing, staring up at me.  It was all I could do to not puke all over her.

“So we’ll get a free 10 dollars of games for every dinner we get?”  She’s referring to a special we have at my job (you all know where I work there’s no need to post it) where for a certain fee you get an entree and 10 bucks of gameplay.  It ends on Friday and Saturday at 5, but the managers have some leeway if the guest has been waiting for a table since before 5.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t give you that promotion.  On Friday and Saturday, that promotion ends at 5pm.  I’ll gladly get you the gameplay you’d like but it’ll have to be paid for separate from your meals.”

“But that’s the only reason we came here.  We’ve been here walking around for over 30 minutes now, it’s not our fault we couldn’t get a table.”  Fucking lying fat wart-boobied bitch.  They walked in the door at 5:15, it was now 5:30.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am, but the computer locks that promotion out at 5pm.”

“Well you better just wait on those drinks then, I just don’t know if we’ll be eating here or not now.”  That’s fine with me you fat bitch, “You just let me know once you’ve made a decision.”  I walk to another table in my section, and start talking to them.  They’re some regulars that come in every few weeks and I was really happy to see them.

We talk for about a minute, and I feel a tap on my shoulder.  I ignore it, as is my custom, when it happens again.  I look at my regulars with the look that says, “You might need to bail me out of jail soon,” and turn around.  “Can I help you?”

“Yea, Son, you need to get us a manager over here.”  It’s Bucktooth Billy.  His arm is in a sling, so apparently someone has kicked his useless ass recently, too bad it wasn’t me.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Just get the manager and don’t ask questions, Son.”  I HATE when people call me son that aren’t related to me, and even those who are don’t do it often except for Dad.

I run around looking for a manager, mainly to keep from backhanding this hick straight to the ground where he stood, and I run across Manager T the New, GM extraordinaire.  I don’t know that he’s technically still observing our store, so I get him to the table.  He comes back and tells me “They’ve been waiting for a while for a table, go ahead and give them the promotion.”  Way to pull the rug out from under me there, boss.  This means I have to ring up their gameplay separately and get it comped to the price it would be with the normal promotion, then try to explain it to these morons.  I go back to the table…

“Have you all decided what you’d like to eat tonight?”

Fat Frannie takes the lead.  “He,” pointing to Gothic Gary, “is going to have this double cheeseburger.  Just ketchup, no lettuce or any of that shit.”

“It all comes on the side, ma’am,”

“Don’t even bring it on the plate, then!  He,” pointing next to Dumbass David, “is going to have chicken strips, with a big bowl of ranch.”  “I’ll have to charge you for two sides if you get a big bowl of it, ma’am, it only comes with one small side and the bowls have 4 sides in them.”

“You better not charge for it, it already comes with it!”

“I have no choice, ma’am, I have to follow the rules.”

“FINE, I’m gonna have this chicken alfredo.  There ain’t no mushrooms or nothin in there is it?”  If you’d read the menu you’d know the answer to that question.

“No, ma’am, it’s just chicken and pasta.”  “Well whats all that green shit in the picture.”  “It’s just a sprinkle of parsley flakes for a garnish.”  “Then you lied didn’t you.  I said I don’t want anything else but the chicken and pasta.”  Well bitch, no that’s not what you said.

Bucktooth Billy decides to order for himself, “Chicken Fingers” and didn’t say anything more.   “I’ll get these into the computer and have them out just as soon as they come up.”

“Make it quick, we’ve already been waiting an hour.”  Fat Frannie orders.  Fuck you you wart-boobie bitch, and your decrepit hick hubby and your crotch spawn.

Flash Forward to when the food comes out.  Even though I had on the ticket ‘no burger set’ it still came out.  I get to the table, “I thought I told you to leave this off.”

“Ma’am, I wasn’t in the kitchen when the food was set up, and I wasn’t here when it was delivered.  I can show you the ticket where it was entered correctly, but other than that I wasn’t there to ensure it was right.  I’m very sorry, and I”ll be glad to take the vegetables off the table for you.”  As I’m reaching for a plate to put them on, she grabs them off her sons plate and throws them at me.  Did I mention that I hate fucking rednecks?

“This chicken tastes like ass, did you throw it on the fucking floor before you brought it out?”

“Once again, I wasn’t back there when your food was set up, but I’ll be glad to bring you something else.”

“Bring me a double cheeseburger like his. Make sure to bring a lot of mayonnaise too, and hurry the fuck up, they gonna be done before I get to eat.”  I’m very close to hurting them all…very close.

“Right away, sir.”  I don’t want to be fired, so I’m trying to hold my temper.  I put in his new order, and go to another table.  I’m stuck there for a minute taking an order, and I see the manager walk past me with 2 teas, and I know where he’s going.  He comes back to me, and asks me why his burger didn’t come out with the food.  They told him I forgot to ring it in, I told him what really happened, but it was too late, he’d already comped the burger off.  Fucking Bastards!!!

I go back to my regulars, and again I feel a tap on my shoulder.  I turn around, knowing full well it’s Bucktooth Billy, “You just fuckin up left an right tonight boy, this tea tastes like ass, you better bring me some more and quick.”

“Just as soon as I’m done here, sir, I’ll do it.  Please do not touch me again.”

“You getting smart with me boy?”

“I’m just telling you like it is, sir, if you touch me again I’ll snap your wrists.”  A write up, but it was well worth it.  My regulars just glared at him.

I finally get around to taking their new tea out after standing around a few minutes.  I was in no hurry, I knew I wasn’t getting tipped, and I was getting a complaint, and I no longer cared.  Fuck them.

Check time.  I have to go explain the comps to them.  It takes about 20 minutes, because even after I point things out, and show them exactly what the managers did, they still didn’t understand why they were paying 65 bucks.  The normal bill for their dinner would be about a hundred.

Rednecks are by far the stupidest people on the planet, which is where the name of this post came from.  Once again, sorry if it offended ya, but well, it had to be done.  I only wish that Fat Frannies wart gets bigger and bigger until it finally consumes her alive, and Gothic Gary feasts on the corpse.  I hope that Dumbass David and Bucktooth Billy are run over by a tractor on the farm, or stampeded by a cow or something.

Later on, before they leave, I’m cleaning up the game area, and I happen upon Fat Frannie and Bucktooth Billy near one of the racing games.  Fat Frannie tries to get into it, and can’t fit.  Bucktooth Billy ends up playing, and a black guy sits in the chair next to his.

“Oh fuck no, goddamn n****r sittin next to me.”  I took it upon myself to have him thrown out, and made sure they knew they were banned.  I don’t tolerate that shit in my place of business, and I’m not going to have some fucking redneck piece of shit start a riot either.

I can only hope I chance upon them in public sometime…

Ribeye