I waited tables last night* and it never ceases to amaze me how amazing people are. I’ve been doing this for over 6 years and to this very day people blow my fucking mind. Here’s what I mean:
GUEST #1: She sat down at my booth all red-eyed and wild-eyed. She sat her two ten dollar gift certificates on the edge of the table proudly. When I approached I saw her Diet Pepsi in a plastic bottle (we carry Coke products) and I tried not to let it bother me. When people bring in their own beverages or dressings I can’t help but think one thing: “You picky, uncompromising cheap-ass freak.” I know it’s irrational, but most of these people are enormous assholes. Generally, speaking.
Anyway, I greeted her, introduced myself and began engaging her about the menu. She sternly told me she was ready to order and began her succinct lecture. Wagging her boney finger in my face she demanded what she wanted. She wanted the rack of lamb [finger wag] , medium rare [finger wag], do NOT [finger wag] cut it into chops, do NOT [finger wag] put any seasoning on it, make me a salad with NO [finger wag] croutons, NO [finger wag] onions, NO [finger wag] tomatoes, EXTRA bacon, EXTRA cheese and EXTRA cucumbers, EXTRA [finger wag] 1,000 Island dressing, and I want a baked potato with everything but green onions, you all shouldn’t be serving those anyway [finger wag]. (We don’t.)
I shook my finger right back at her, “YES MA’AM! [finger wag]** and sprinted off to fill her order.
GUEST #2: This totally weirdo guy who looked at me suspiciously and frankly, reminded me of someone who lives at home with their mom at 33 and has dirty nails and beats off to Everquest or whatever. He wanted a glass of milk and a beer. Don’t tell me this buttfuck isn’t SuperWeird. Anyway, he’s all greasy and dorky, but who cares? After I brought him his milk he asked me for some paper napkins, because, he divulged, he had to blow his nose. I seriously almost threw up in my mouth a little bit. When he left I noticed a small lightning bolt tattoo on his shaved scalp.
GUESTS #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9 and #10 (aka Ladies Night): All. Seperate. Checks. Know how you can tell? All women. I’m one of them. Proudly, I am woman. But oh my Jesus God, ladies, enough with the seperate checks. Use your pretty little heads to do a bit of rough math. That, mixed with a bit of NOT BEING SUCH A CHEAP ASS would maybe make you all a little less tense in general. And what the fuck, women? Why, oh why do you never have anything smaller than a twenty? Servers have no tills to work from, they carry just enough change to get them by, and with all your seperate fucking checks you usually have your server screaming in the kitchen, “ANYBODY HAVE CHANGE FOR SEVEN TWENTIES?” It’s a nightmare. It makes you late for your candle party at 8.
That said, these ladies were the exception. They all had seperate checks, because that is standard procedure from which few women deviate, but otherwise they were kind and patient and only three of the seven of them even needed any change (even if it was all twenties). They tipped the full 15% and where I’m from, it’s tough to complain about that.
*In fact, I’ve had nothing but scheduled wait shifts lately. Guess I’m in trouble.
**It felt so good.