A dream is a wish your heart makes?

I just woke up (with a start, I might add) from a work dream I've never had before.
The diner was short on cash and about to be closed down.
So the cooks all stripped for money.....

Now there's maybe one I wouldn't mind seeing in his birthday suit, but most of these guys are total trolls. Thank god my brain had the decency to blur out the naughty bits.

What is wrong with me?! Finals are getting to me.
What's your craziest restaurant dream?

Cooks are jerks, aka The Gods were smiling down on me last night.

We have one family that comes in. Mom, dad, son about 16-17. If just the dad and son come in, they are awful. Condescending, needy, subpar tippers. It drives all us servers nuts to be talked to like that by someone 5, 10, 20 years younger.
But if either of the two come in with the mom, they are quiet and respectful, if not even friendly. The mother is sweet as pie and they tip better. I had the mother and son last night, which is why I was the luckiest little waitress - the cooks screwed up their order beyond comprehension.
The son always orders "A bacon burger, just bacon, burger, and bun." No cheese, no tomato, no coleslaw, no pickle. French fries and bacon hamburger. I get the mom's order as well.

I take the order out to the table. As I'm setting down the burger, I realize with horror the cooks put cheese on the bun. I immediately say, "Oh my goodness, they put cheese on it, I should have checked, I'm so sorry!"
They both tell me, "Oh, it's not your fault, this happens all the time!"
I tell them they can just switch out the bun, I'll have it back out in two seconds.
"No," he tells me, "I need a whole new burger. I can't have any cheese."
Okay, that's fine, let's be on the safe side. I take it back and tell the cooks they need to READ my checks, and now I need a whole new burger. The one insane cook I've written about before scrapes off the cheese and throws the old burger back on the grill.
"No, no, no - I need a NEW PATTY. This guy cannot have cheese."
"It's fine, no cheese, it's fine."
"No, it's not fine. You made the order wrong, now you're going to make it right. I want a completely new order."
I stood there and watched until I was sure I was getting a new patty. It comes up pretty quickly for a medium burger, and I take it back out. They call me back almost immediately.
"Please don't hate us, but this burger is rare."
"Oh my god. I'm sorry. They were trying to get it out too quickly and didn't cook it enough. Let me take it back, I'm so sorry."
They tell me again it's not my fault, and I take the burger back a second time. The cooks curse and rant and rave, etc. etc., but they do it. I take the burger out again, and tell him to cut into it to make sure before I even leave the table. As he cuts into it, we see the bottom bun. It's soaked in blood from the raw burger, and he looks at me. "I'll get you a new bun."
I have to go back in the kitchen. I have them toast me a new bun. I take it out, apologize once more, and we're finally good to go.

So, by the time he can actually eat his meal, I've had to go back to the kitchen three times. His mom is halfway through her meal. I understand trying to get orders out quickly, but not at the cost of quality. They cost the restaurant three buns, two patties, and mine and the customers' time because they were trying to cut corners. And at the end of the meal, I got the burger taken off the check because it was just ridiculous. The table, again, was wonderful, told me it wasn't my fault, asked if I was sure, etc.

Sigh. I'm going to tell my boss today, because this cook is getting out of hand. He hates his job and just doesn't care. I can't imagine how much our food costs have gone up since he came in. If he can't read the ticket, he makes whatever the hell he feels like, which ends up being thrown away.

Increasingly bad blonde moments....

I keep saying 'ohemgee when I get home I'm totes going to blog about that' and I keep forgetting.

But allow me to elaborate on a tale that happened the day after my last post, and was eerily similar. For some reason, people seem to look at me and think, "hey, this 20-something looks like she makes all the business decisions for this restaurant. Let's berate her for the things we don't agree with."

So, at my diner, like most, we give rolls with dinners.
Side note: doesn't it seem like most of the people you give them to don't eat it, and then when you don't for some reason, they get really indignant and HAVE to have the damn bread?
Anyway. We give rolls/cornbread with the soups and salad. On our dinner menu, it states that you can replace that with garlic bread if you choose. I don't normally point this out, as many of our regulars know this and it's, you know, right there.
I have two ladies order lasagna with salads. I bring out their salads and rolls, and when dinner comes, they request more rolls. I happily oblige, so far they have been pleasant and normal.
When I do my check-back, one asks if we have any garlic bread. I say, "sure, I can bring you some!"
Check time comes. I charged them for the entrees, the drinks, and the garlic bread because they had ordered it separately.
When I cash them out, the one who ordered the garlic bread says to me, "You know, I have to complain about something. Garlic bread should come free with Italian dinners."
Uhm. "Well, ma'am, you can replace the original rolls and cornbread with the garlic bread if you'd like, but you two had extra rolls in addition to that, so I had to charge you for something."
"Well, it SHOULD come with it when you order lasagna and spaghetti and such."
"Okay, ma'am. You know for next time, you can order it in advance and not be charged."

WTF? They got rolls. They got EXTRA rolls. They didn't ask for garlic bread until halfway through their meal, expected it to be free, and scolded me for.. I don't know, doing my job and charging people appropriately?

At least they didn't stiff me.

It goes without saying, but...

Damn, people are assholes.
I waited on two women tonight who seemed nice enough. One asked what our stew came over and I jokingly replied, "A bowl."
She decided to get it over pasta, which I warned her would cost extra so come check time, there would be no surprises. They agree, have their meal and dessert, everyone is happy. I drop the check, and they call me over two minutes later.
"Can you tell me why this stew is so expensive?"
"Well... it was this much to begin with, and I told you I had to add in the pasta, so there it is."
"The penne was THREE NINETY FIVE? That's outrageous!"

Now, maybe I should have specified how much I had to add for the pasta from the get-go, but I didn't want to insult them and they agreed to a higher price. They asked me once more why a side a pasta was so much.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry I don't have a better answer for you, but I don't make the prices; it's just my job to charge them."
"Well, NEVER again."
I meekly smile, apologize once more, and walk away.

They pay at the register, and somehow this meal has turned into the WORST MEAL they've ever had. The food was dry, the prices were too high, etc. etc. Mind you, they complained about none of that when I checked on them.
I go to clear the table, no tip. I check the register to see if they left it on the card, nope. The bitches stiffed me. This pissed me off more than usual.
I understand you're upset about the price, and I'm sorry for that. Maybe I should have told you up-front, maybe you should have asked. I'm sorry your food was dry. Maybe you should have told me while I was at your table and could have done something about it. But the person you're pissed at in the end is the restaurant, not me. Cheating me out of a tip doesn't hurt "the man," you still paid for your food and they're none the wiser at the end of the day. The only person you're hurting is the 22-year-old who has college tuition and car payments, who just happened to be your waitress. And that's just a downright mean thing to do.

Cunts.

DIY

Mr. Blonde and I went out to dinner last night, as young couples are wont to do. It's a really good place, I love it there, but it's a little hard to describe. There are white tablecloths, cloth napkins, and a guy designated to pour water for you when you sit down, but it's not a really upscale place. People go there in diner attire. Hard to explain, and probably irrelevant to the story, but very curious.

Anyway, we had our dinner but alas, could not finish our entrees. We requested boxes. Our server (who was a little overbearing, but I could tell she meant well) boxed up our leftovers for us at the table.
I, personally, don't like that. A) She was all up in my personal space. B) I prefer to put it in the box myself, because I am controlling and also I didn't want her all up in my personal space AND my food.
Depending on how mouthy I am feeling that day, I will usually speak up and say something like, "Oh, I prefer to do it myself." Although on the inside I am screaming, "OH MY GOD JUST LET ME DO IT AND GO AWAY."

It just got me thinking. Some of the girls at my restaurant will take plates off the table (I don't know if they ask the customer's preference first) and box it up nearby. Some people (myself included) will just place the boxes on the table and let the customer handle it.

I understand the reasoning behind this practice, you're out at our business, let us serve you, don't lift a finger, blah blah blah. But I personally just don't like it. I wish they would say, "Would you like ME to box that up for you?" instead of just thrusting your boobs in my face as you grab my plate.

Thoughts?

Am I pushy?

This story didn't happen to me, but to a coworker yesterday afternoon.
She's waiting on a single man, maybe late 50's, early 60's. He orders a salad and his dinner. For purposes of this story, remember that my place of work used to be a fast food joint, before being converted into a diner.
So he's about three quarters done his salad, and his dinner comes up so K brings it out. He says to her, "I know this used to be *fast food place,* but I wasn't expecting this fast!" in a snotty manner.
She says, "oh.. I'm sorry.. do you want me to take it back to the kitchen until you're done your salad?"
"Yes I do!" he responds.

Fine, so she lets it sit under the heat lamps for five minutes and get all.. congealed. He finishes his salad and she brings it out a second time.
"Here you go!" she says, cheerfully, because everything K does is adorable.
"You know.. you're being a little pushy. You should say, 'here,' like I HAVE to take this food."
uhm, WHAT? Did you not order it? Do you not want it? So she apologizes, although she's not sure what for, and everything else is smooth. He even leaves her a 10 dollar tip!
This was really weird, and I didn't understand it. I'm tiptoeing around my other tables at this point because I'm worried I'm being "pushy."

Any thoughts?

Maybe someone else can explain this to me..

So I'm waiting on a nice family of five in the back.

Enter: fucking crazy lady. We see her every now and again, and she is absolutely nuts. I hide when I see her in the parking lot because last time I waited on her she told me I should model and immediately segued into dentistry which turned into a horribly racist diatribe. She once told us her father died and came in with him a week later. Bitch is nuts.

So, I guess she knew someone in my party in the back and sat her crazy ass right at the table (while leaving her poor dad, who's about 120 years old, sitting at a table alone and probably had no idea where he was) for like twenty minutes. I had already taken their order, thank god. I hate trying to maneuver those situations, where people are horribly engrossed in conversation (in this case, my poor family just being talked AT) and I want to take their freaking order.

Aaaaanyway, one of the women had ordered a salad, and I somehow forgot to ask what kind of dressing she wanted. I brought out soups, salads, and bread, and said,
"I'm sorry, I had a blonde moment and forgot to ask you about the dressing on your salad! Can I get you some?"
Enter insanity incarnate. "Of course she wants dressing!"
Uhm.. okay. I return to the lady I was actually talking to, "What can I get for you?"

At the same time the poor thing says, "Italian," Crazy interrupts.
"She wants IRISH dressing!" In a I'm so cheeky kind of way, like she was making a clever joke or innuendo. Everyone was silent. I walked away and got her italian dressing.

You like me, you really like me!

I had to miss work yesterday due to crappy weather and slick roads causing me to crash my car.
I'm totally fine, but unfortunately the car is not. Which is awful, because it will cause me to miss work which I need to PAY for the damn thing.

But my heart has been warmed by the barrage of texts and phone calls I received  from managers, co-workers, even cooks to make sure I was okay. It was so damn sweet, and I felt bad for the shit-talking I normally do on my job ;)

Teacher's Pet.

Let me preface by saying apologies in advance if any of this post comes off as tooting my own horn, but I promise, it's integral to the story.

I've always been a bit of a 'good girl.' (Sometimes 'good girl gone bad,' but that's a story for another time)
At work, I've always tried my best to avoid drama - come in, do my job to the best of my ability, and go home. For a while, it worked out for the best. But lately, it's been biting me in the ass.
The great thing about good work ethic is first pick in scheduling, stations, etc. I'm allowed to run the register, and usually put in charge if the manager on duty isn't around. You can get away with a little bit more if you're not running your mouth or causing problems, as long as you don't take advantage.
But then, it turns into a high-school flashback. For example, I recently picked up Thursday nights.
I was told, "Okay, when you start, you'll have station two."
Great station in the front, five small booths and a six-seater. Good amount of turn-over, but usually not enough to get stuck. Easily my favorite.
That pushes the person who WAS on station two into the back, a less desirable station. I know it's because the previous person can't handle it as well as I can, and because I'm much more help to the MOD - register, seating, to-gos, etc. I didn't ask for it, and no wasn't taken for an answer.
Now, I know this will spawn some shit-talking behind my back.
"I had that station for months, and she gets to come in and take it from me in one night!"

I know I shouldn't feel bad because I didn't do anything WRONG, but I don't like the thought of people disliking me. I've been called anywhere from cold, to conceited and stuck-up, to a brown-noser, all because I'm doing what I should be doing.

Since when did being a good worker become a bad thing?

That's not my name.

First of all, I would like to say thanks for the feedback on my last post!
Yes, I really did tell that lady to go elsewhere since she was so tense about our lack of birthday cake and my lack of interest altogether.
And Anonymous, loved your story! Check the comments on the link above for a similar anecdote.


Aaaaaanyway, on to the customer I would like to write about.
He's recently become a regular, coming in three or four times a week the past month or so. Nice enough guy, mid-60's I'd say, albeit a little smelly.
The first time I waited on him, he asked my name. I told him. He either misheard or forgot, because that is not what he calls me. It's something close enough to be an honest mistake, but not close enough to be a nickname. Think.. Michelle/Danielle.
The first couple times, I either didn't notice or was too busy to correct him, and now I feel like it's gone too far. He's been calling me the wrong name for about two weeks now.

Do I correct him? Or do I just let him look silly in front of the customers who actually know my name?

Blondie will not be bullied.

I had a table tonight of three ladies. They requested me, which made me want to crawl in a hole and die because they are obnoxious and tip like shit.

One lady must have really enjoyed hearing herself talk and not so much my responses, because she continually repeated herself. She must have asked me three times if the ribs were tender, and I responded at least three times that I personally have not had them, but have never had a complaint and they were one of our most popular menu items.
Then she asked me more stupid questions.
"How often do they change the oil they fry in? Do they use the powder to clean it? That stuff will make you sick!"
Well, lady, I don't have chef's pants on, but if you got sick and died I wouldn't cry at your funeral.
She told me three times it was her birthday. The other two ladies reiterated the fact. I continued not caring.

Now, a lot of our menu items come with dessert, a small dish of ice cream or pudding. She asked if we had birthday cake. I said no.
She told me four different times, in four different ways, that EVERY OTHER place has birthday cake.
Eventually I told her, "You should have gone somewhere else then, because we don't."

Sometimes, Blondie is very blonde.

I was a little off tonight for some reason. I forgot things, got wrong things, cut myself twice, mixed up my words, etc.
I managed to make great money for a Sunday night, but I think people just felt bad for me, or enjoyed watching me trip over myself.

The best one was while I was waiting on a man and a woman, maybe late thirties. They order dinners, and I bring out salads for them. He immediately picks the tomatoes off his to give to her.
I make some comment to the effect of, "Oh, that's how you know you're meant to be, when you like something the other doesn't so you get a little extra! I love getting my boyfriend's pickle!"
They stare at me. I realize what I said. I blush intensely until they start cracking up.
"Honey, you could have worded that a little better!" She said to me.
We share a good chuckle, and they leave a good tip.

Did he just say...?

So, last night I had a party of eight.
Seven women, one man. This man was old as shit. Like, old as caveman shit.

He was the first to arrive for their reservation. We told him he was the first to arrive, and the table was set up back there for him. He told us a strange, rambling joke. We stared at him blankly, until we realized he already told the punchline and we chuckled uncomfortably.
I said, "Okay...well.... I'll be taking care of you tonight. Why don't you head back to your table and I can grab you something to drink?"
He got uncomfortably close to me and told me water was fine.

The rest of the party arrives. Dinner goes smoothly. Separate checks, of course.
For some reason, Old Man River thought his check should have been less. I pointed out that I was, in fact, correct. He paid his bill while a co-worker and I start clearing the table.

He comes back to tell me, "Sorry about the mix-up." I say it's okay and he HUGS ME.
I squirm out from his grip and tell him to have a great night.
As he leaves I hear.. "Thank you, love you!"

And isn't it ironic..

That Sunday morning is the most unholy day to work in the restaurant business?
You'd think after a morning of being filled with the Good Word, you'd be a little cheerier to come out and have brunch with your family.
But no. People are cranky bastards who want what they want and NOW, regardless of if they see my full station I'm running around, and the tables I picked up in other stations.

Yes, the money is good. But the aching back, the aching knees, the aggravation - aren't worth it.

It's not just the customers. The servers totally lose their shit and steal stuff. We make our own toast and butter cups for pancakes/french toast, and without fail every time I made some, it would be gone when I got back.

I'll stick to my night shifts, thank you.

Blondie goes corporate?

No... she tried.

I applied at a restaurant with a few locations in the area... but didn't go back for a second interview after learning they split tips.

I'm going to keep applying though, I think I'm ready to get out of the 'family business.'

And to be honest, I'd really like to work up to bartending.

Advice? Stories?

Never disappointing.

Yep. Some... rural types came in.
More polite than they looked, everything went smoothly.

Until the six-dollar tip on the eighty-dollar tab.

Blondie gets fancy.

Well, my honey took me out to an upscale place last night to celebrate his first paycheck.
This excited me. I got to dress up, show off my cute boyfriend, and drink a nine-dollar glass of wine.
Of course, if you've been reading my blog for any amount of time, you know I'm not exactly the classiest bitch. Yes, I know what fork to use and I don't butter my bread before I break it, but I did spill water on myself and giggle like a schoolgirl when Mr. Blonde dropped his knife. Three times.
You can't take us anywhere.
But the food was incredible, the service was great, and my company was divine.

And now... I get to wait on the ritzy folks that come into my diner. Well, I had three days off, I can't be too jaded yet.

Who are my buddies using Blogger?

I don't really understand the 'stats.'
Is it possible to narrow down the locations? Like, are my US viewers in California, Texas, New Jersey, what?!

Also every now and then I see a totally random referring site. Today's was "Best Baby Monitors."

We have a lot of FNG's.

I don't like them.
Well, one is alright. One has grown on me but is still very... aloof, seems a little cold.

One is way too chatty and contrary to what my line of work would have you believe, I do not want to talk to people more than I have to. I do not want her to give me nicknames, I do not want her to joke with me. Also, she's kinda bitchy. The bitchy where they're trying to make a joke... but it's just bitchy.

I've been at this place too long. I'm stuck in my ways and I don't like change.

The streak is broken.

I had three $100+ shifts in a row, until last night. Where I only made half that.

Customers have been pretty normal, no one glaringly stupid.
Except... a man who wanted to order breakfast.
He asked me what we meant by 'hot italian sausage.'

"Well, sir, we have this really sexy guinea in the back for the sole purpose of cooking it."

I had a great night.

I picked up a closing shift tonight.
I thought I would hate it, going from class all day to work all night so I drank a ridiculous amount of coffee.
Instead, I was bouncy and smiley and made a great amount of money.

See, serving isn't all bad.

I also got to tell one of my customers, "Damnit, I wanted you to order the ABC soup so I could take all the letters out except F and U."

Not much to say recently.

I've started school and have been spending time with Mr. Blonde (again, not Michael Madsen), and have cut back my shifts from 5 long ones to 4 shorter ones.

But today, I will write about The Original Comedian.
You know. "How would you like your burger cooked?" "On the grill."
"Can I get you anything else today?" "Stack of fifties/winning lottery ticket/a cabana boy that can suck a golf ball through a garden hose"

I mean... if you come in and say those things EVERY TIME, you know we've heard them before. So why do you continue to say these things? I am at work. I am not amused by you.

I heard a cute one the other day though:
"Do you need a minute?" "Why, you giving them away for free?"
I had never heard it before. I was genuinely surprised and laughed sincerely.

Then he said it again the next time he came in. Sigh.

How do these people get through life?

"I'll have the chicken parm."
"Sure! Is spaghetti alright?"
"What kind of spaghetti is it?"
"Uhm..... spaghetti kind?"

Somehow I figured out that she was using spaghetti as a blanket term for pasta.
Unfortunately, this is not the first time this has happened.
She finally ended up ordering the "peony."

Sigh.

Okay, one of the stories promised.

It was a Monday.
What we do on Mondays is I come in at two and everyone goes home. I work the floor by myself with one hostess until the other night girls come in at 4. Sometimes it's very boring, sometimes we get a little hit and I can make a lot of money. That day was the latter.
So I'm running around, taking orders, bussing tables, taking food out, making coffee, writing checks, and trying to keep my wits straight. Then I see a horrible regular walk in the door. Let's call him Steve.
He sits at the counter, yells across the diner at you when he needs something, will argue until his face is blue (whether he's right or wrong), and DOES NOT TIP.
I'm as nice as I can be considering I'm slammed and he's an asshole. I get him his coffee and soup, and when he asks how I'm doing, I flatly say "Busy."
I'm done with him. He has his food and his drink and he's not getting anything else from me. I' running around taking care of my TIPPING tables and avoiding eye contact.

I hear him behind me.
"Oh, Steve, would you like another cup of coffee? Sure, Blondie, I'd love some, thanks for asking."
I can't help myself. I turn around and I snap at him.
"Well, STEVE, maybe if you could ask me like a normal customer and possibly say PLEASE, you might get your coffee."
I shocked myself. I immediately walked away to hide my blushing face and pretend I knew exactly what I was doing. Thank god for the hostess that day. She knew this guy was an asshole and whispered to me, "Good girl."


He never got his coffee.

Bad Blondie, bad!

I am not posting as I should be. I am a busy blondie beaver with school, work, and trying to end the summer as awesomely as possible.

But for now, a mispronunciation that I had to walk away from before I got the giggles:
"Hi guys! Your server will be right with you. Can I grab you a drink?"
"She'll have iced tea and I'll have a Sahara Mist."

Well, y'all asked for it.

I'm going to start with the cook. I have a lot a lot to write about in the next few days, so I'll try to make a post every day until I get it all out. You guys will be sick of me.

So this cook started maybe two, three months ago. He would get angry at us when he didn't know the menu or was left alone, which was understandable at first.
But now, any time he is alone (between 2-3pm when the other cook on duty takes a break and after 8pm when he is closing) every order is a fiasco. He curses in Turkish. He curses in English. He curses in Turklish. You have to read your order to him three times, and it's usually still wrong.
"I need a chicken a la king." (Which comes over rice)
"Over nothing?"
"No, over rice."
"Over mashed potatoes?"
"NO, it comes over RICE."
I get it over nothing. And I get cursed at when I tell him it's wrong.
Sometimes, if we're not busy and I don't feel like dealing with him, I go behind the line and cook the food myself.

If you hate your job as a cook, there's four doors. Use one and go somewhere else.

He despises modifications. His most famous quote is, "Everybody special, everybody order something different."
Uhm, YEAH. That's why we hand out those little booklets we call MENUS when we seat people.

Now, keep in mind I started at the diner as a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, innocent little 18-year-old. I've since gone to university and worked there for four years, so I'm a little wiser and a little more cynical, but they all still think of me as "their daughter," "little girl," etc.
The first time I got so fed up with this cook and used the f-word, it was silent in the kitchen. Everyone came out to apologize to me, it was adorable.
Since then, every night I work with him, one of these phrases leaves my mouth:
"Do me a favor on that order. Shut the fuck up and cook it."
"Nobody else is bitching about their job, we're just as hot and tired as you are. Shut your fucking mouth and cook."
And other colorful phrases. When the second cook comes back from break, depending on how pissed I am at that point, they get a
"Get the fuck back there and help him." (I always feel terrible and apologize after that one)
"THANK GOD YOU ARE HERE."

Everyone else has the same problems with this cook. Why is he still there?!

Okay, I don't know what you guys did...

or what entities you prayed to, but I made EXACTLY one hundred dollars tonight!
I feel so warm and fuzzy.

I'll have a post about one of the previously mentioned three tomorrow for you, and as a special "thank you" for your well-wishing, how I got smart with a dickworm "regular" today, and got stiffed twice.

I need a hundred dollar night.

Everyone keep Blondie in your thoughts and prayers today - I've got a credit card bill due and a birthday to fund for Mr. Blonde (my boyfriend, not Michael Madsen. Although it would be nice if those two were synonymous).
I've actually been doing fairly well lately, due to some pretty good tippers and co-workers who don't want to pick up.

But anyway, it has been drama.com/diner lately. A drunk dishwasher who walked out (and was back the next night, of course), a cook who's really starting to see my bad side, and waitresses, waitresses, waitresses.

More on that later, right now I've got to put on 'Eye of the Tiger' and run up and down some stairs. Gotta get my game face on.

Post in the comments what you'd most like to hear about:
a) drunk dishwasher
b) me telling off the cook
or c) random waitress drama.

Odd makeup choices.

I've noticed a few girls who I work with have a habit of only wearing eyeliner on the lower lash line. It makes their eyes look... heavy, I think is the word I'm looking for.
Does no one read Cosmo anymore?

Hmm.

I have been up since 5 and I have work at 9.
For some reason, I'm just absolutely DREADING these exchanges:

"Something to drink?"
"A shot and a beer!"
We don't serve alcohol at my restaurant.
"Sorry, sir, I drank the last of it when I saw you coming in and knew it was my turn."

"How would you like that burger cooked?"
"Well, on the grill, of course!"
"Oh, I was thinking if I stared at it and hoped long enough, it would come out medium-well."

"Can I get you anything else today?"
"A stack of fifties!" "A few hundreds!" "Someone to pay the bill!" etc, etc.
"If I had any of those things, do you think I'd be serving y'all's asses right now?"

"Here's your check whenever you're ready."
"Oh, we didn't want that!" "It's not on you today?" "Oh, I guess I'll have to head in the back to wash dishes!"
"I don't give a damn who pays it. Just pay it, tip me, and get the fuck out of my station."

"Do you know what you'd like to have?"
"Food! HAHAHAH."
"In that case, I'll give you an extra helping of my earwax. I mean... that's food, right?"

I mean, if you say the SAME things EVERY time you go into ANY restaurant, can you really and truly think you're being original?

The only original (but still not amusing) thing I've heard recently was:
"Do you guys need a minute?"
"Why, are you giving them away?"

Please, God, just take this.

How can people be so oblivious to their surroundings and the people around them?
I had an 8-top a few days ago, and I will not hesitate to say they were straight-up white trash. I don't feel bad profiling them because I've had them before, and they're just assholes. Dirty clothes, no teeth, three of them cross-eyed, dollar per person if you're lucky. Inbreeding at its finest.

But anyway, they wanted three separate checks. Five on one, one single guy on one, and one couple I didn't recognize as being with them before on the last. This last couple was probably the only reason I managed 13% on the table, because they left 18% on their tab.

But anyway, after listening to them all talk over each other and me while trying to take their orders for "biscetti" and "deep-fried french fries" (I am not lying), I finally got their courses started. The one guy on his own tab was in the middle of the side of the table I could not reach. He refused to take any plates from me or hand any over so I could clear them. I was literally bent at the waist, chest rubbing against the guy across from him, pleading in my eyes, while he just stared at me and let me almost lose three plates in the process.


What the hell?

Something that made me giggle today.

When I asked a young man whether he wanted soup or salad, he said, "I'll have the soup, with bleu cheese."

Classy.

Last night, a coworker was sat with a table of two adults, two children. Unremarkable family, maybe a touch on the ghetto side, but nothing to be concerned about. The only comment their server made was that they were taking a hell of a long time to order.

They were sat in the back so I think I only happened to walk past their table once, so I basically forgot about them until they were ready to cash out. I do register if the host is not around, so I took their money. The bill was 48.46, and he gave me 60.
He says, "Just give me ten back, the rest will be for the tip."
I literally paused in my count-back. $1.54? I tried not to let him notice I was confused, and hoped against all hope there was more money on the table. As soon as they were out the door, I ran back to where the busser was clearing it. I checked the table, I checked the floor, I checked the bus pan. Nothing. They left him a 3% tip and thought that was okay.

They weren't foreign, so they should have known our tipping customs.
They seemed happy when they left, and their server said they had no complaints.
He told me to give him ten back, and I purposely counted the whole thing to show him how much of a "tip" he was leaving, so it wasn't a mathematical error.
So they really just... screwed him. For no good reason.

C came back for his tip as I was finishing my once-over to look for it. All I could say was,
"It's up by the register. I'm sorry, buddy."

Oh, day shift.

It is so much different than night shift. Also, I appropriately mistyped it as 'day shit' at first.

Aaaanyway, today was a lovely day. Busy, but not too busy. Big checks and 25% tips. I even got to tell one bitchy co-worker not to talk to me because she's a miserable prick and I don't like her face.

But I'm going to tell a sweet little story about the man I had on table one. Older gentleman, quiet at first, but opened up a bit when I helped him out with his order and smiled at him. I joked with him that I was too young to be a 'ma'am' and he started calling me 'young lady.'
He told me the saddest story about how his wife passed away four years ago, and he couldn't bring himself to come in since then. He had been going to McDonald's across the street, but today decided he would come back to the diner. He said knew he had made the right choice when he saw we had macaroni and cheese today, which he always used to take home to his wife when she was ill because it was her favorite. It softens a jaded server's soul.

Something else I find strange..

People who fill out an application as an afterthought.

About two weeks ago, I served a table and as I handed them their check and told them to pay up front, she asked me "Are you guys hiring?" I was a little taken aback because a) it seemingly came out of nowhere and b) why would you ask your waitress? Why not the manager-type who will take your cash before you leave?

Then a few days ago, I took a to-go over the phone. Young girl comes in and tells me she had ordered, so I go into the kitchen to check it's status. As I come out with the boxes, she's sitting at the counter filling out an application.

I feel like if you want to apply and be hired, you should come in of your own accord, with the sole purpose of filling out an application, not just 'Oh... well, I'm here and I guess I could use a job.."

The good thing is, they appear to want to leave a good impression and leave great tips.

If you're going to request me, make it worth my while.

Why would you have a favorite waitress and then be an asshole to her? Or not tip her?

I have one table that's fucking weird as shit. I THINK it's a son and his mom, he's about 40ish and she's older (maybe). She's missing some teeth and he has big goofy glasses. They always organize the sugar packets.
Whenever I walk by, he always asks things like 'making lots of money today?' or 'is it busy on Mondays?'
When I take their order he will interrupt to ask me about a different nail color, a new bracelet or necklace, etc etc. It's not like he's hitting on me (I hope), it's like he just has no social cues.

Anyway, they got me by accident like a year or two ago, and now they always request me. The thing is, they're very inconsistent tippers. When I first started serving them, they always left me five - which was 20% or more. Then they started slipping in a few two- and three-dollar tips, which freaked my the fuck out because I thought I did something wrong. Yet, they continued to request me and the low tips became more and more frequent. Now they're the norm, but I'll still get five at the most random times.

They're not assholes, nice and easy and quick, but it's so strange to me!


What is up with that?

I don't have much to say anymore.

People have been... well, not retarded.
So I'll write about OTHER servers. Does anyone else get really tense when eating out after working in 'the biz?' I know I do.

If the server isn't attentive or too much so (a recent waitress must have asked us literally every three minutes if we were okay. I wanted to tell her to shut up and go somewhere.) I either start justifying everything they do - "oh, she just got this big table at a bad time, she'll be back when she has a minute" - or think of how I could do it better - "why is everything on my plate the same temperature? how long did she let it sit there? I know she's not busy."

It's gotten to the point that I prefer takeout because I can barely enjoy my meal because I'm so absorbed in the dynamic of the restaurant. I wonder if they make good money, I wonder what the tip-out situation is, I wonder who disappeared for a smoke break and who's snorting a line in the bathroom, etc etc.

Just me?

Happy Birthday, America.

I will be spending the day at work... but it's pretty ugly outside so I guess I don't mind. I'll have good company and hopefully make some money.

What a surprise.

I had a table of two ladies that irritated me tonight.
Seriously, girls, do you have to be so freaking uptight that someone younger than you is in your presence? I'll be your age, too, one day, and I will be extra nice to my servers.

They come in and promptly start ignoring me when I ask for their drink order. Okay, I can deal with that. They're here to catch up more than they are to eat.
So now whenever I approach the table, I say, "Excuse me, ladies..." so they have to cue to stop gossiping and give me the answers I need to get out of their way.
But still, my doing my job is just ramming whatever stick they have up their asses further in.
They sneer and ask arrogant questions about the menu. They sneer (if they respond at all) when I ask them if they need anything else. They sneer when I ask them how everything is.
When Head Bitch has ONE BITE left of her food, I return.
Blondie: "Excuse me, are you two finishing up? Can I get anything else for you tonight?"
Head Bitch: "Well, I'm not finished yet, so I don't know, do I?"
Blondie: Eyebrow raise. Retreat.

Okay, fine. So I wait, and I wait, and I wait some more. I am extra friendly to the tables in their vicinity. She pushes her plate to the side and I make her wait an extra five minutes before I return.
"Oh, good! Are you finished? I wanted to make sure everything was finished before I came back. I can take this... if you're finished."

Another sneer.
But that passive-aggressive shit really gets me through the night.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve

When I come in for the night shift, I do a cursory check to make sure we have everything we need for the night. Dressings, puddings, bread, etc etc.
However, it never fails that the one thing I forgot to check, didn't think to look for, or just underestimated is the thing that I (always me!) need. Last night it happened three times, and I thought I was going to slap everyone in the place. Need strawberry ice cream? It was left empty. Mint chocolate chip? Also not replaced. Coleslaw? Empty and no one put a back-up in the walk-in.
I really came up with some new bad words, as I was cursing a blue streak. So, I guess that's a good thing.

hi!

I've been a bad little blogger lately. I'm still working as much as I can (because I am clearly a crazy person), but lack stories.

I'm about to go in two hours early because they have a big party coming in and apparently no one wants to actually work. I don't mind making a few extra bucks, but it's just frustrating and tiring to feel like I'm the only one actually making an effort.

I'm going to petition for a shift drink.

I really needed one tonight.
We had two graduations, three servers, and a whole bunch of assholes. I feel like recalling it all will just be more exhausting and make me angry all over again, so I'll save it for another day and write about what I originally intended to - pranks.

Pranks in the workplace are always funny. There are the classics, like putting salt in someone's coffee or convincing the new guy they have to do a whole bunch of extra work. We convinced a new(ish) girl who covered someone's shift that she wasn't allowed to do certain things on Tuesdays, and she had to do everything exactly as the person who she was covering for - like getting us water ice across the street or ordering a liverwurst and onion sandwich for dinner. She was a great sport about it, and ribbed us right back.

Some of the good stories I've heard include an older lady who was at the diner for years before moving on. The girl who trained me used to tie her apron in knots every day when she wasn't looking so she couldn't get it off. One day, the bus boys filled her car with to-go boxes, mops, anything they could find. She ran through the kitchen holding the mop trying to find them, and they ran out the other door and put another mop in her car! They must have gone in circles three times before she caught them. Imagine a pack-a-day voice coming out of a little old lady calling them cocksucking motherfuckers.

Lately, we've been having fun with a life-like toy lizard. We put it on top of the french fry bag and ordered a sandwich. The poor cook screamed like hell and ran out cursing. Then, we got his roommate to put it on his pillow that night. The best part was he didn't turn on the light for some reason, but woke everyone in the house when he starting screaming bloody murder at 3am when he noticed it.

Anyone care to contribute?

I'm back!

First of all, happy fathers' day to any daddy readers I may have.
I would like to thank my father for his good genes, so I can be as cute as I am today. Thanks, dad!

Now, to my Sunday Night Pet Peeve!
I don't understand why people feel the need to answer a question one way and a different way when asked by a manager-type person.

Example:
Teenage boy has chocolate milk. He chugs it before the food comes out and I ask him if he wants a refill.
"No, I'll wait till my sandwich comes."
A few minutes later I see my manager getting a chocolate milk.
"Uhhhmmm... is that for table three?"
"Yeah, he had an empty glass and said he wanted another."
WTF kid. I just asked you thirty seconds ago, and now I look like a ditz who can't do my job. Thanks for nothing, asshole.

Taking a break from the whining...

and general restaurant complaints.

I'mmmm excited! Everything's coming up BLONDE.

I've finalized my schedule for next semester, and I'm (95% certain) graduating in December!
I've gone through a lot of crap with school (dropping out to change majors/schools, being jerked around by admissions, etc etc) and it feels so incredible, almost surreal, to be ready to move on.
I'll officially have an associates' degree, and well on my way to my bachelors'. And hell, why not masters while I'm at it?!

I've also lost 10 pounds! Since being able to drink legally (and some seriously bad caloric decisions last summer) my body was not happy with me, and I was not happy with my body. I'm now watching what I eat and exercising regularly. It's awesome to see results.

Last, but certainly not least, I'm going on vacation tomorrow! 6 days on the beach, filling my ass up (not literally) with sun, sand, and liquor. So if I don't post tonight/tomorrow morning, have a great week, and I'll be back with fresh bitching next weekend.

Breakfasts suck.

Why? Because people are idiots.
We have a page of breakfast specials, which is a breakfast, coffee or tea, and a small juice.
Breakfasts are such things as: two eggs (any style), pancakes and eggs (any style), chipped beef on toast, two eggs (any style) and choice of breakfast meat.

CONSTANTLY, people will say "I'll have a number six." and close the menu.
Uhm..... so many questions. How would you like your eggs? What kind of meat? Coffee or tea? What kind of juice? What kind of toast?
Sometimes I'll stare at them in wait and hope they notice. They usually don't. Then I have to painstakingly go through this exchange:
"How would you like your eggs?"
"Oh! Scrambled."
"...and your meat?"
"Oh! Bacon."
".........toast?"
"Oh! White."
"....Sigh .....Double Sigh. Coffee? Tea? Juice?"
"OH! Coffee. Cranberry juice."


You would think by the first or second question they would realize.
Work with me here, people. Or you're getting over easy, sausage, white toast, decaf tea and oj. Probably with some of my bodily fluids in it.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #10

Chuggers.

I mean, the kind that will finish their soda before you even come back to take their order. And then finish another one before you bring their food. And then three more during the course of the meal. How thirsty can you be, bitch?

On this note, I can't stand when I'm handing food out and I hear "I need another Pepsi." "Can we get more napkins?"
My tray is still half full. I'm not going to throw the thing on the table and run away, reappearing only to drop off your check. I will ask if you need anything else, if you just wait ONE FREAKING MINUTE.

I waited on Edward Cullen.

Not literally, so anyone who only wants to read about the dude from Twilight should leave this page.

Let me start by saying today sucked. Crappy customers, crappy tips, crappy coworkers, crappy cooks. Just a big ol' pile of crap. I had my pissy pants on and was not taking shit from my tables.

However, that doesn't have too much to do with the story. I was just in a terrible mood and my last table made me giggle every time I went to them.
It was two ladies. One was unremarkable, unless you count the fact that she was obese.
The other was a sight to behold. I don't know what sort of body shimmer or glowtion or what she had going on, but her skin was covered in sparkles. Bitch was glistening, twinkling, glossy, and lustrous. It was so silly to me for some reason, and helped me leave work in a better mood than I came in.

What day is it?

I've been picking up extra shifts and covering for people and going in early and working late and I don't even know what the date is anymore. And the customers are getting weirder and weirder.

• "Can we order anything on the menu or is it just this page?"
  Why the fuck would I give you a whole six page menu if you could only order 10 things?
• "How are your tomatoes?"
  Sandwich tomatoes? Salad tomatoes? What are you even asking me?
• "I gave up drinking for Lent."
  Seriously. This guy would not even take a glass of water and it was about a month after Easter.
• "What kind of spaghetti do you have?"
  Uh, regular kind? Turned out she meant 'pasta' and was just using 'spaghetti' as a blanket term.
• The lady who asked me questions about four different things on the menu and then said "Oh, I'll just have the other one." "Which one?" "The other one." "Which other one?" "The other one!"
  

As I've said before, all you can do is break into giggles at this point.

Overheard at the Diner

"I went to see my boy Hobo Jack and he hooked me up."

HA!

I feel insulted.

This lady the other day boned me on multiple levels.

She asked me about my natural hair color, which is fine, I get it all the time.
Then she asks me how long I've worked there, etc.


Then she says "Oh, so are you doing anything else with your life?"
A lot of people know I also go to school, they ask me how it's going and such, but no one has ever straight up talked to me like I was a failure for being a server.
So what if I wasn't going to school? I have a job that pays the bills and for the most part I enjoy. There is nothing wrong with that and I was pretty offended.

Then it got weirder. She said "Oh, that's good. You know, you're a very pretty girl."
What the shit? Should I have said "No, I'm just waitressing until some Tiger Woods type comes and scoops up my sorry ass to be his trophy wife. Or mistress. I plan on getting by on my looks, so thanks for reinforcing my self esteem"?

And the 15% tip really helped too. Thanks, dickworm.

Monday Night Reasons I Like My Job #7

On the right day! I'm so proud of myself.

On Mondays, we have a great crew. Me, two other girls about my age, and an awesome hostess.
We laugh, we tell dirty jokes, we gossip, etc.

Even when it's slow (as in, we had one table that left at 7 and didn't see another one until 7:30), we can sit around and talk about "I Survived" and other crap shows. I made barely any money, but still had a great time.

I'm dumb.

I guess all my years of schooling did not teach me how to read a calendar, and I did a Sunday Night Pet Peeve on Saturday. So, to honor this blonde moment, I'll write about another one I had a few months ago.

During the winter, we serve homemade chili. They make it in massive quantities and reheat as needed.
I waited on a nice couple who had never been in the diner before. I love doing this, because it gives me an opportunity to show my knowledge of the menu and make sure they have a good experience. It makes me super happy when people enjoy their first time and say they'll definitely be back.
So, anyway, this guy is asking about the chili and decides to try a bowl. We didn't have any out, so the cook grabs some while I go back out to get the rest of their order.
As I'm sure it is in most kitchens, the soups and such are sitting underneath where we pick up so the girls can grab it themselves. The chili was out, so I get a bowl and take it out. A few seconds later, there's another bowl on the line one of the cooks put out for me to pick up.
I say, "Don't worry, I already got it."

The rest of the meal is uneventful, they enjoy everything and ask for the check. They man says, "I wanted to ask you something. Is your chili always served cold?"
I respond, "Uhm.... no... was yours?" He had eaten all of it.
"Yeah, I mean it was still delicious, I had just never eaten it chilled like that and I thought that's the way you guys did it, like gumbo!"

The cook had heated up a bowl for me and put the rest into the steam table. I took cold chili and didn't realize it. Thank god the guy still liked it.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #9

How can I wait on two tables at the same time, give the same service, and receive the same tip on two different bills?

A single man left me 2 on 9, while the couple right behind him left me 2 on 20. The fuck.

Only one thing pissed me off today.

so that's cool.

so, we recently got new menus. new specials and a price raise. people still come in and ask for a few of the old specials, and usually we'll still make them.
A couple comes in and the lady is asking after.. we'll call it the Jersey Burger. I explained we got new menus, but if she remembered what was on it, we could either find something similar or just go ahead and make it. She didn't remember and had me ask around. "Manager, do you remember what was on the Jersey Burger?" "Co-workers, do you remember what was on the Jersey Burger?" Finally, the cooks remembered, and I reported back.
"It has cheddar cheese, fried onions, and bacon."
"Oh, okay," she says. "We need another minute."

This was slightly aggravating. You got a boner for this burger and made me find out what was on it, and now you don't want it?
So, they order. A lot of food. Soups, two appetizers, and two burgers. She gets the Jersey Burger.
I bring out the soups. She makes me take her coffee back because the "saucer was dirty." It was a drip of coffee from the pour. Okay.
I bring out the apps. They seem happy so far.
I bring out the burgers. She looks at it like I served her a dead rat on a bun. With a side of fries.
"I don't like cheddar cheese. I wanted provolone."
UHM. I respond, "I told you it was cheddar... should I take it back?"
"Yeah, I hate cheddar. I want provolone."

There are so many things wrong with this. She purports that she used to get this all the time, but she doesn't like the cheddar cheese that came on it? I remind her what was on it, cheddar cheese, and she orders it anyway? What WORLD is she living in??

Luckily, the cheese was on the on the bun, not the burger - we could just switch out the bun for one with provolone on it and all was well. They left me 20% and I was pleased.

Other than that slight snag, which mostly baffled me rather than upset me, today's shift was quite nice. A little slow, but I still made my usual amount for a Friday day shift.

We got another new cook.

This one can't read. Or listen. I will give several instances.

We still use handwritten checks, no computers. We use a carbon sheet, so the top check is for us/the guest, and the bottom (the dupe) is for the kitchen.
We give the kitchen the dupe and usually holler out what we need.
For example, we may write "chix chs stk fr on" and holler out "chicken cheesesteak with fried onions" when we put in the order. Simple stuff.

Okay, so let's talk new cook.

• I put in an order for a chef salad no carrots and a chicken caesar. I read it to him. I receive a chef salad with carrots and a greek salad.
  
• Chicken breast with fried onion and mushrooms, I get chicken breast with a giant side of fried peppers.
  
• Two cheese omelettes, one homefry/one french fry and two pork roll cheese sandwiches, one french fry/one nothing. I read it. He repeats it back to me wrong. I read it again. He asks me, and I read it again. When the food is almost ready, he asks me again and I tell him again. I get two omelettes with french fries and two sandwiches with homefries. Exhausting.
  
• Every time we put in an order for the Athenian Meatball special, we either get veal or spaghetti.
  
• My personal favorite: M puts in an order for a caesar salad, dry. The customer wanted a different dressing. When the salad was ready, this is what happened.
  New Cook: "You want caesar dressing?"
  M:"No, I got the dressing."
  NC proceeds to slather the caesar dressing all over the salad.
  M: "What the hell are you doing?!"
  NC: "Honey, I ask you if you want dressing!"
  M: "AND I SAID NO!"
  I can't stop laughing at that one.
  

The list goes on and on.

Monday Night Reasons I Like My Job #6

They like me, they really like me!
I can be a bit of a complete narcissist at times, and I love attention.
My nether regions become damp with joy when I have new views on my blog, even more so when I get comments. I shudder with happiness when I get a request at the diner. It's been happening more and more lately, either because I'm officially one of the senior members of the staff or because of my winning personality. I assume it's the latter, because I am freaking awesome most of the time.

I especially love it when I'm not expecting it. A few older couples have seen me when they came in and said "Oh, blondie's here! Where's your station, honey?" It's usually the ladies, for some reason. Maybe men feel weird about asking the youngest waitress in the joint to wait on them.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #8

We have a serious language barrier at work.

Our chef is Greek. Or possibly Spanish, I'm not sure.
Our cooks and busboys are Turkish.
Our dishwashers are Mexican.
Our waitresses are American.

This is fine. Most times I can speak slowly, with lots of hand motions and get my point across. It's not offensive, I promise. Or maybe it is, I don't care.
What bothers me is our one busboy does not even try to make us understand! I will ask him for something and he will go off on a Turkish rant. Or he'll just see me and go off on a Turkish rant. And then laugh uproariously. He doesn't point at anything, speak slowly, give examples, draw pictures, send smoke signals, anything. He just doesn't care if I understand him or not, and he's probably cursing my family. I find that frustrating. And rude.
Sometimes the others will go off on rants in their own languages as well, but making it obvious they are talking about us. Also frustrating and rude.

My motto at work is usually "I don't understand what you're saying, so I'm going to go ahead and ignore you."

Wrangle your children!

Seriously, muzzle and leash them if you have to, 'cause they're pissing me off.

Today, we had a child who apparently wanted dessert. I know this not because I am a mind reader (seriously, I'm not, so when your order is wrong because you didn't tell me you hate tomatoes you can suck one), but because his parents let him scream "I WANT MY DESSERT I WANT MY DESSERT" the entirety of the meal. If I were his parents, I would have been forced to say, "If you can't shut the hell up and ask nicely, you're not getting anything." And if he did not shut the hell up, his happy ass would be on the car, on the way home, sans dessert.

Another little snot-nose punk I have a history with. I will preface this by saying a few people call me "blondie" at work. I will respond to it if it is used as an affectionate nickname, I will not of their eyes are telling me they mean it as "dumb blonde" or "I do not care to learn your name, simple server, now bring me my french fries." And I've been a blonde all my life, I know the difference.
Now this kid's white-trash dad? uncle? inbred cousin? took to calling me 'blondie' in the latter form. I told him semi-politely (but with an undertone of "I will follow you home and put sugar in your gas tank, you wang banger"), what my real name was. But the little brat will still holler "HEY, BLONDIE!" across the restaurant at me when he needs something. AKA, every thirty seconds. His family giggles like it's freaking adorable and lets him be a self-entitled asshole. That, among other reasons, is why they are one of only two or three tables I refuse to wait on.


Seriously, parents. I'm all for bringing your kid out and socializing him/her or whatever, but if they act up, they won't learn if you don't correct them.

No more signage.

The wall where the time clock is at work is covered in notes. Notes about schedules, notes about dinner, rules and regulations about ev. ery. thing. I should take a picture.

The last one says "Anyone who overfills the bus pan and breaks a dish will have the cost deducted from their pay."
I have several questions about this:
Was it really that chronic of a problem? I don't think we had a lot of broken dishes. If a certain person was responsible for a lot of them, it should be brought of with that person.
Can they do this legally? Morally? I don't think it's right. It's a restaurant. Dishes break. Accidents happen.

Thoughts? Is there a policy like this at your place of work?

If you don't laugh, you'll cry.

It's always been one of my favorite sayings, but serving has truly given new meaning to it.

Last night, I was definitely the asshole. I had a family where the parents were just... rude.
The hostess told me last time the mother had said "Go ahead and give me three forks now, cause the baby will throw them everywhere." Screw that, don't give the child the damn forks! It looked like a bomb had hit when they left - crayons, silverware, placemats.. all on the floor.
She gave the entire family's order rapid-fire while looking at me like she wanted to be anywhere else, and the dad was guzzling iced teas like it was breastmilk of the gods. Okay, fine.
Then I had a couple who hollered "Miss!" every time I was in their line of view - more rolls, more soda, he doesn't like his meal, etc. I can deal with that.
Then I had the OLDEST couple ever, with their son who had to ask them three times what they wanted. What sides. What soup. And then they each asked me "what do you have?" It took me ten minutes to get an order out of them. After I told them three times we don't serve alcohol. I was patient and answered them over and over again with a smile. I don't think any of them knew where they were.

After I got rid of them, I rounded the corner and saw our least-favorite (or one of) counter regulars at the counter. Our hostess just looked at me and we both started cracking up as I got his water with extra lemon. I said, "At this point, it's just hilarious. "

I have nothing to complain about.

Today was a great day.

First of all, Happy Mother's Day to all of you mommies out there.

Second of all, I don't know what someone slipped into my morning coffee but I was a ray of freaking sunshine tonight at work. I kept smiling even when I got 6 dollars on a fifty dollar check from a man who couldn't complain enough. I didn't give a smart-ass response to anyone who said "okay" to "that comes with your choice of a potato and vegetable." I danced my way through two 5-tops, two 10-tops, and a 15.

I'm sure the nice tips helped, but I was just in a good damn mood.

Why does this keep happening to me?!

Why do fat, sweaty, old men think they can get away with pervy comments? And why are they sweaty, anyway? They should get that checked out while they're visiting the doctor after I cause their genitals serious harm.

I ask a single man what he wants to drink:
"Oh, you know, I'll have a coffee, a water, and a dance from you."
I told him, "You can have the coffee and water, but I'm going to ignore the last one if you still want service."

I do not go to work to be hit on, even by the young or attractive ones. I just want to serve you, collect your money, and have you leave. You are not being cute or funny. You are being disrespectful and I will not have that shit in my station.

I liked today.

The opener felt sick and left around noon. So, I got station one! I rarely do because it's reserved for the openers and closers.
This means I got the counter and five booths, which is a lot of money potential! And in this case, we were busy enough that I never stopped moving, but never got in the weeds. And came home with some cash in my pocket.

But it wouldn't be a post worth reading without some bitching, right?

As a diner, we do a lot of breakfast. It drives me bananas when someone asks for "sausage and eggs" or "pork roll and eggs" and just closes their menu. Tell me how you want your eggs, bitch, or you won't like what I choose.
Same goes for "soup or salad?" and I just get "salad." what kind of salad? what kind of dressing? come on guys, meet me halfway.

Do I need to see a therapist?

I've found over the years that I am completely at home calling men "sir."
"What would you like to drink, sir?"
"Have you decided, sir?"
"Sir, do you think my tip will be more than ten percent or should I just give up now?"

However, I find myself very uncomfortable calling women "ma'am" or "madam" or even "miss." Can't do it.
"And are.... you.... ready?"

Am I putting feminism back ten years every time I do this? Am I the only one? Should I examine my relationship with my parents?

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #7

Yes, I know it's Monday morning. So sue me.

This post is about the new cook, again. He pisses me off.

I hate when people try to tell me how to do my job like I haven't been waitressing for six years, at this restaurant for four.

I have a church group of 10-20 maybe every other Sunday. They are fairly simple and I have gotten serving them down to an art. Preparing the bread baskets, salads, and drinks as I see them come in to make my life easier. They usually order dinners and tip 30%, so I can make from 20-40 dollars for an hour's worth of pretty easy work.

Last night, I get their orders and get their food out. One of the kids says "Oh, I didn't want a chicken cheesesteak, I wanted a regular cheesesteak." An adult who only ordered a cup of soup decides to eat the chicken cheesesteak and I go to put an order in for a regular cheesesteak.
New cook says to me, "But you already took their food out."

gee, REALLY? I totally forgot that I loaded up three trays and carried them out to a table five minutes ago. Thank you, twat, for reminding me.

"I know. They want a cheesesteak. Are you going to make it or am I going to have to come back there and do it myself?"

"Well... you have to charge for it."

I FUCKING KNOW WHAT I'M DOING, ASSHOLE.

It was like this all night. "Can I have a side of this?" "Are you going to charge for it?"
No, new cook, I wanted to give stuff away for free in order to eventually run this business into the ground. I don't need this job, I just like to be here five days a week for shits and giggles.

Tonight was interesting.

We were dead-ass slow. It sucked.

Then, one of the girls walks out. I tell her she has a table and she says, "okay, I'll be right there." Ten minutes later.. these people still don't have drinks and we realize her car is gone. It was a bitch move. If you're going to walk out, fucking do it up. Throw your checkbook on the counter, steal some shit, and leave. Don't make us look like jackasses because your tables are sitting around wondering where their server is.

Also, new cook got reprimanded - again. He had a carrot that he put a little sour cream on the end of and was miming jacking off. The manager on duty went back and said "What the hell is that It's not funny, and you need to respect these girls!" He did a good job of acting sorry, until a half hour later when he asked me if I had my nipples pierced.

I may be blonde..

but bitch, my IQ is probably higher than yours.
You don't need to say, "I would like a cup of coff-ee... and a wa-ter... with lem-on" like I'm a freaking mongoloid that managed to crawl over to your table from the fucking La Brea tar pits or some shit, and just happened to glom onto a pad and pen on the way.

I thought I was ready for work after two glorious days off (well... except for class. where I am expanding my knowledge so I can be worthy of serving these twats), but I was not. Every customer I recognized today cause me to say "MOTHERfucker." Imagine Chris Tucker saying that, that's how I said it.
And to the ones I didn't recognize... I was saying it after they left me 3 dollars on 30 dollar checks all day long. That shit won't pay my tuition, honey, so cough it up.

We got a new cook.

He sucks.
He doesn't read the dupes and he is a condescending prick.
Example: We have lunch specials, a soup and a sandwich, no french fries.
So we write "Special ham sandwich on rye toast," which means no fries.
This is exactly what I wrote, and he gave me french fries. I said "Oh, this sandwich doesn't get fries."
He gets an attitude with me, saying "Well, then, you need to WRITE that. Next time, you write 'no fries.'"
This pissed me off. I mean, I understand he's new and doesn't understand all of our menu items, so I don't blame him for the honest mistakes. But this guy has been here less then a week and wants to tell me how to do my job, even if he thinks I'm wrong? Not to mention, he sees something on the check he doesn't recognize and doesn't ask me or one of the other cooks?
So I got snotty right back and said, "I don't have to write no french fries, I wrote SPECIAL which means no french fries."
That's just one of many, and I've only worked about four shifts with him.

Also, obviously the cooks make crude jokes and such with us, and he's started it. But he takes it over the line, and he doesn't know us yet. So one of the girls turned right around and said, "That is inappropriate and I don't want you to EVER talk to me like that again."


He just sucks. I doubt he'll last long because nobody is a fan and we have our ways.

Monday Night Reasons I Like My Job #5

Working doubles usually means something.
As I've said before, for some reason, no one wants to come in early or stay late and make more money, so if I'm staying lunch to dinner I'm basically by myself! So I'm running around with alllll the tables and the money to myself.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #6

Happy Easter! Time for some ranting.

Our one hostess cannot function with less than four people on a shift.
Unfortunately for me, Sunday night is only busy enough for three people.
So I'm taking home forty dollars in 7 hours, when I could be making eighty. Not to mention I'm bored as shit because I only have one table at a time.

Also, we had a lamb special tonight and it tasted like asshole.

Also x2, as a follow-up to my previous post, the manager I had a little tiff with apologized as soon as she saw me. She said she just freaked out and yelled at everyone, but she was over it and very sorry for snapping at me the way she did. I said I totally understood and I was so sorry for leaving them in the lurch. So, we're buds again.

I have done a bad thing.

I was supposed to work yesterday, covering a shift for someone. I put it in my phone as next week somehow, and went on my merry way.
I was a half hour away, about to order dinner, when one of the girls is texting me, "you're supposed to be here tonight, aren't you?" And I'm like.... "uh, no, that's next week."
Well, it wasn't. She sent me a little picture of the calendar where it says "Blondie 4-close."
I'm thinking "fuuuuuuuck I'm an asshole."
But I'm also thinking "fuuuuuuck that I'm not ditching my dinner to go in there."
So I tell her sorry, but I'm not going to be able to make it. What should I do?

The manager for the night calls me. She's saying I can't leave her hanging on a Thursday night, I just CAN'T. You would think working with one less girl is truly the end of the world.
I'm apologizing, saying it was my mistake, but I'm not going to be able to come in. I ask her, "What do you want me to do?"
She responds, "Don't do anything, how about that?" And hangs up on me.

Okay, that was a dick move. I was apologetic, I was completely prepared for her to tell me to start calling people to come in, or tell me to finish my dinner and come in late because someone needed to close. But she opted for a smart-ass remark and a childish hang-up (and I'm 100% sure a lot of shit-talking to whoever would listen), and that shit ain't cool. I felt bad before that, and now I'm just pissed. And I'll tell her that if she has anything to say today.
I know it was my mistake and she was understandably upset, but it was just that: a mistake. And everyone who knows me know I would never do anything like that on purpose. I love making money. I'm always coming in early, staying late, covering shifts. I'm a model freaking employee.

Am I completely wrong?

Rude.

So we have this one family that comes in... oh, three or four times a week. They are strange.
Son, mom and dad, and mom's dad - who is clearly too old to be in public.
They order at least forty dollars worth of food between them. Sodas, dinners, soups, something to take home, etc. Then, they let Grandpa tip, and he always leaves a five. I appreciate this because I'm sure in his mind, this is a great tip. And hey, five dollars is five dollars.

HOWEVER, mom and dad know that he leaves five dollars. And they know what the bill is, because she pays it. And yesterday, she paid with a hundred dollar bill.

You couldn't have slapped three extra bucks on there and given me twenty percent for being nice to your cranky husband?

Don't be sarcastic. I'm better at it than you.

When I go up to a table to greet them, I rarely ask how they are doing.
I don't care, and you can probably tell I don't care.

I greet them with a "Hi guys! Do you know what you'd like to drink?" or something similar.
I want to get that shit started and get your shit out of my station.

Every now and then I get someone who straight-up is not paying attention, and will say "good, how are you?" That's fine. Ignore what I say, I'll ignore that you wanted wheat toast instead of white.

But even better is when I get a smartass like the one I had a few days ago.
He said "Oh. And we're just fine, how are you today?" knowing full well (should that be hyphenated?) that I did not ask, and I assume trying to put me in my place.

I smiled condescendingly and asked again, "drinks?"

Monday Night Reasons I Like My Job #4

On Mondays, no busboy!
While that means we have to bring out our own stock and bus our own tables (which I don't mind doing, I had to do it at my first job), we get to keep allllllll our sweet sweet cash. And tonight, it was pretty sweet.

Blondie's Sunday Night (Morning) Pet Peeve #5

I know this has been written about many a-time, but I can't resist.
It drives me freaking cuckoo bananas when I have this conversation:
Customer: "What soups do you have today?"
Blondie: "Our soups of the day are chicken noodle and cream of broccoli, but for an extra charge you can have fried onion or chili."
Customer: "Do you have split pea?"

This can be applied to many different scenarios, which all drive me equally batty. Vegetables, breads, etc. Looking dejected and asking for something I didn't list is not going to change my answer. It's not like when you visit your hookers downtown and you have to tell the truth if they ask you if you're a cop (is that even true?).

I would not lie to you, at least not right off the bat. Now that you have asked me a stupid question, I hate you and will subtly exact my revenge.

Avert your eyes!

So, a post from one of my favorite bloggers, purplegirl, got me thinking about something that really gets my goat, and I just couldn't wait til Sunday!

The Starer.
Why, dear god, why? Why do they think it is okay to stare at you, more fascinated by your movements and work than their own delicious meal? Most people have the decency to actually wave me over and ask a legitimate question after staring, and some are smarter and avert their eyes.
But I'm thinking of one couple in particular. They come in maybe once every two or three days, sometimes request specific waitresses (sometimes me! YAY!) and then stare. Unabashedly. If you glance over and smile, they will not return it. They will stare. If you walk over and say "did you need anything?" they will not. They will stare. What kind of eyelid-less freaks raised you?!

And a close cousin - the Glarer. 
These people don't understand your purpose as a server. They will look at you incredulously when you say "Drinks?" "Everything okay?" "You want to box that up?"
as if they are thinking in their lizard brains,
"Why is she asking me this? Shouldn't she just know that I'm still eating? Why do I even come out to eat? Oh, I hate my life!"
Or, they somehow interpret "More iced tea?"
as "Would you like to come out back and slaughter virgins with us after closing?"

Monday Night Reasons I Like My Job #3 (On Tuesday)

I got caught up with school stuff last night and completely forgot.

Anyway, I like my job because they FEED US. At the end of our shift, we can have anything on the menu - except steaks and seafood. And as a diner, we have a pretty extensive menu. We usually end up with sandwiches, burgers, stuff like that - but we can have some of the dinner specials, too. Spaghetti, lasagna, pot roast.

You might not always get what you ask for (one time a coworker asked for a chicken sandwich and got eggs), but hey - it's free!

 It's glorious.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #4

People who don't know what they want (when they are old enough to know better) and I have to face the wrath of the cooks while they continue living their happy little idiotic lives. You know... the ones that order scallops and when you bring it out they say "oooohhhhh........I think I meant shrimp."

Today I had a party of six. Parents, three teenagers, and a chunky little girl who was at least eleven.
She ordered grilled cheese with ham, and said she wanted mozzarella.
Our conversation:
Blondie: You want grilled mozzarella and ham?
Little Girl: No.... like on the side? The, uhm, mozzarella, uhm..
B: Sticks?
LG: Yeah! The sticks!
Her parents: The sandwich comes with fries, are you sure you want both?
LG: No, no, no, I want the mozzarella on the side!
B: Oh, you want the cheese on the side for your fries?
LG: Yes yes yes!

Okay, fine. I put the order in. I go over for refills (LG has sucked down her Pepsi twice by now) and they're waving frantically even though I am clearly WALKING IN THEIR DIRECTION.

Parents: She didn't want mozzarella cheese. She wanted cottage cheese on the side.
B: Uhmmmm... okay.

A girl of her age should know the difference between dipping her fries in mozzarella cheese and eating cottage cheese. Especially AFTER someone else had ordered cottage cheese instead of french fries. So now I have to go in the kitchen and fight with the cooks, because her parents raised her fat ass to be an idiot.

They also felt the need to tell me it was one of the teenagers' birthdays. I literally said "Okay." and walked away. We don't do shit for birthdays and I'm not about to start.

Overheard at the Diner

"Well, as long as you don't mind seeing your sister naked."

I cannot think of any conversation where that sentence would have come about, or any direction it could have taken which wasn't terrifying.

Monday Night Reasons I Like My Job #2

When little old people surprise you with a good tip.
It happened three times tonight.

One weird-ass old lady (I don't care if she gave me a good tip, she was strange as shit) left me five on eight,
One nice elderly man left me five on nine.
And one old couple chatted with me, complimented my milkshake (I love making milkshakes) and left me six on 25.

It just makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #3

Okay, so it's Sunday morning, get over it. This has been bothering me.

So Sunday mornings we have five girls. Two come in earlier and leave at 2. Three come in a little later, and leave at 3, when the night crew comes in. Technically, the night crew (and, well, everybody) is supposed to be there 15 minutes before their scheduled shift. So when I'm supposed to be there at 3, I show up at 2:45 or earlier. I'm the only one. Everyone else shuffles in around five of, five after, whenever.
This led to complaints. The girls who were scheduled to leave at 2 and 3 are pissed because they have to work until... well, 2 and 3. So instead of saying 'Suck it up, whores, that's your schedule,' or actually scolding people for coming in late, now I've been asked to come in an hour earlier, at 2, to insure everyone gets to leave when they want (as opposed to when they are scheduled).
Does that make sense?

Now, this is good and bad. It's good because sometimes I can pull an extra 20 bucks in that hour, because everyone is trying to run out the door as soon as they see me and I can get a bunch of tables.
It's bad, because everyone is running out the door, so I get three tables transferred to me and the three tables that just walked in the door - all at once. It can be frustrating because I just walked in five minutes ago and I barely have my jacket off.
It's also annoying that we have to change the schedule around to make some loudmouth waitresses happy, instead of just asking people to do what they are supposed to do. This happens CONSTANTLY, and it's always me that comes in early or stays late. Apparently I'm the only one who wants to make money, which is good... but exhausting.

Monday Night Reasons I Like My Job #1

This weekly column stuff is neat. If only I could come up with catchier titles.

I like my job because of one manager. She does not take shit. She will not let the girls be lazy, or the customers be assholes. A lot of the girls won't work with her because they think she's 'mean,' but they are pussies.
For instance, I had a table of crotchety old people. You know, the ones that are mad because they're fucking old as shit and you still have many years ahead of you. Years without canes, pill routines, and smelling like old.
They interrupted me when I was speaking, spoke to me as if I were beneath them, etc. They were very specific about their ice cream having whipped cream and a cherry, with an unspoken "if you can handle that."
I told our manager they were assholes and I was going to tell them we were out of cherries (we weren't). She shrugged and said "Make sure they can't see them in the pie case when they walk out."


It's the little passive-aggressive things that get me through the day.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #2

"I'd like scrambled eggs with bacon, please."
"Okay, what kind of toast would you like?"
"Oh, just regular toast."

No. We only have irregular toast here.

A little bit of Blondie's background.

I've been working as a server since I was 16, and have been at my current job for 4 years.
It's a sweet little family-owned diner on the East Coast, and I do mean diner.
Handwritten checks, massive servings of food for low prices, and less than 15 servers, about half of which only work one to three days a week.

Some pros and cons to this: No corporate bullshit like 'the customer is always right' and 'turn and burn.' Sure, we are there to make the customers happy, but I feel it's not as unfair as some of the horror stories I've heard from chain restaurants.
However, we seem to breed spoiled regulars because some of our waitresses have unique (read: they don't give a fuck or they kiss ass so much you'd think L'Oreal came out with a chocolate lipstick) service. Customers who need specific coffee cups, certain things on certain plates, this split that way and that split this way, expect a free dessert because someone forgot to charge and no one corrected it for three years, etc.

Now, I'm all for giving great service and giving my customers all I can, but all our "regulars" are demanding, self-important, and shitty tippers. Why do we have to kiss their ass because they are "regulars?" They often don't request me because when I hear "Oh, so-and-so does it this way for us." I tell them, "Whoops, I guess I'll have to remember for next time!" and walk away. There is rarely a next time.

I don't care what anybody says..

It's fucking hard being a girl, and it's hard being a female server.
You spend a week ready to cry or lash out at co-workers and customers. You're not sure why.
Then, you wake up in the morning (decidedly NOT feeling like P-diddy), and realize you got your period. Now you have to spend this shift hobbling around, trying to take orders without holding your tummy, and trying to lift trays without breaking your back.

It can't be just me. Thank god I have today and tomorrow off so I can get all doped up, cuddle with the cat, and sleep the rest of this hellish time of month away.


TMI? Fuck you, I'm PMSing.

Blondie's Sunday Night Pet Peeve #1

Okay, I caved already and decided to start a regular column. Introducing: my Sunday Pet Peeves. Maybe I'll come up with a snappier name.

Tonight: We are not freaking McDonald's.
Do not order your burger with ketchup. It is on the table, you can do it your own damn self.
Do not order your burger with mayo and ketchup. I will give you the mayo, the ketchup is on the table, and you can do it your own damn self.
Do not order your burger with pickles. We do not have sliced pickles and I will not slice them for you.
Also, the ketchup is on the table and you can do it your own damn self.

Ew.

I have written about the truckers before, and how I despise them.

This is why:
One time, I had a table of four of them. The biggest, fattest, oldest, nastiest-ass motherfucker of them all had jokes. You know, "Scotch and soda" when I ask them for their drink (we don't serve alcohol and everyone knows it), "food," or "your phone number" when I ask them what I can get for them, so on and so on. After I managed to squeeze an order out amongst the jokes and inappropriate flirting, I go to move on to the next.
He interrupted me. He asked me, "Do you fool around?"

WHAT. I was so shocked, so disgusted that this Casanova thought a waitress probably 30 years younger than he would have anything to do with him. And to say something so blatant, disrespectful, and just gross. Sorry, honey, my daddy issues aren't that bad. I couldn't even respond. I ignored him completely and moved on. I barely spoke to them for the rest of the meal.

I told my boss. She said, "Well, did they leave you a good tip?"
They had, almost 20 dollars.
She responded, "Well, then, what's the problem?"
The PROBLEM is that he basically harassed me. I felt disgusted. I wanted to take a shower.
The best she could give me was to suck it up, and enjoy my tip.

Happy St Patrick's Day!

Get drunk, have fun, and please tip your server very well. They've got a rough night ahead of them.

Please, let me finish.

People, when your server is speaking - it's not for our health. Sometimes it may be because we like to hear ourselves speak for our own entertainment, but I PROMISE you I know what I'm doing. I will answer any and all questions you may have, probably before you ask me, if you just shut the fuck up and listen to me.

All night tonight:
"What can I get you to dri-"
"What kind of soup do you have today?"

"I'll be right back to take your or-"
"Don't you have any bigger glasses? Mom, do you want to order soup?"
(I liked this one because the mom said "Let her go! She'll be back!")

"Are you guys doing ok-"
"Can I get this to go?"

"Do you need a bo-"
"Doesn't this come with dessert?"


Seriously. Seriously, guys. Come on. I will tend to your needs.
On a similar note, I hate when I'm putting food down and people say "Can I have a refill?"
I want to say, "Yes, but I'm taking your food with me while I get it."

I am pleased.

The last two nights have been very good to me. If only I could take my money to the bank instead of the bar, I'd be happier in the mornings.

My only complaint: the cooks!
Why do they have to argue when they make an order wrong? I assume there is some confusion since we use handwritten checks/dupes but you would think they would understand my handwriting after four years. I hate when I pick up a sandwich on rye and say "this is supposed to be on wheat bread," and they fight with me until I dig up the ticket and shove it in their face, pointing at "on wheat." Then they grumble.
We've also got a little issue with random crankiness. The cooks generally like me. I'm not too difficult unless I have to put my bitch face on. But when I say 'Thanks, boo" or "You're the best," at least acknowledge my presence.

My favorite question.

More often than you would think, the future members of Mensa that I wait on regularly ask me, "What exactly is the difference between the baked crab cakes and the fried crab cakes?" "How are broiled flounder and fried flounder different?" and similar inquiries.

I still have yet to come up with a better response than a blank stare and "One is..... baked? And the other is... fried?" Which probably makes me look like even more of an retard than they, because that question truly breaks my brain.

Server dreams.

Everyone has written about them, most servers have had them. I, until recently, had done neither.

Last night, I had my first server dream that I can recall. I know you probably don't want to hear about it (dreams are like photo albums - if you're not in them, you don't care), but it's my freaking blog and I will write what I goddamn well please.

In my dream, I had a table of three. Mom, dad, teenage daughter. They were celebrating something or some shit. Mom wanted iced tea, and dad wanted iced tea NO LEMON, a glass of water with two lemons on opposite sides of the glass - I remember that very clearly. Daughter doesn't know what she wants.
I go to get the drinks for mom and dad, but for some reason almost all of our lemons are rotten, so I decide to give mom the one good lemon I can find, and give dad two limes for his water (which is weird because we don't even have limes, and who, besides my own father, wants a lime in their water?).
I go to drop them off, intending to explain the citrus switch, but they are engrossed in conversation and ignore me. When I go back to the table to take an order, dad is going NUTS over how great this water is, so I let it slide.
Then they order. One person at a time, one item at a time, having me fetch things one. at a. time. And as they order, they spend five minutes explaining why they picked every single thing. It's like fucking Slumdog Millionaire up in this bitch. It gets to the point that I am literally sitting with them listening to their stories.
Meanwhile, the diner gets busy. I'm being sat and sat and no one is reprimanding me for spending all my time with this family and ignoring the rest of my tables.

That's all I remember. I wonder what it means?

Violation.

One time, I waited on a table of two truckers. Truckers drive me nuts. They are rude, inappropriate, and normally bad tippers to boot.
As I'm taking their order (well done steaks, taters and gravy, obviously), the one closer to me reaches his grimy-ass paw over, touches my apron and peeks in the pocket! Customers, don't touch your waitress. It's creepy.
So I made the appropriate shocked face, and said "Sir, WHAT are you doing?! There's nothing in there for you!"
They start giggling to themselves, and he says "Oh, I'm trying to find the money!"
I raise an eyebrow and tell him, "No, YOU have the money that will go in that pocket. I repeat, there is nothing in there for you."

Weirdos!

Disappointing.

Last night, I was bored to tears for about two hours.
But then... something amazing happened. The hillbilly bastards I always have to wait on came in and it wasn't my turn.


They are so bad, so very very bad, that it put me in an awesome mood for the rest of the night. I was killing the fuck out of my tables with oodles of kindness. I was smiling, laughing at the jokes I've heard a million times, and being generally pleasant and sunny. I had one family that had never eaten with us before. They asked for my advice, took my suggestions, and at the end of the meal the little boy gave me a thumbs up and said "This diner is awesome!"
No, that is not a recap of a cheesy-ass commercial. THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED.

But then... as I go to count my money and bus out for the night... forty fucking dollars on a six-hour shift. Pathetic.

and now for something completely different.

Instead of complaining today, (my attempt to be more cheerful at work went better than expected... although it did not seem to help tips), I want to write about my some of my favorite regulars. These are the ones that we fight over when we see them walk in the door. I wish they came in every day, but I'm sure they couldn't afford to - as you'll soon see why.

These are the 'twenty dollar people.'
A middle-aged couple, completely normal looking, comes in, sit down, and we all attack the turn sheet to see who gets to take them.
Their lucky waitress gets their drink order. She brings over their sodas and gets their food order... usually prime ribs, pork chops, etc.
Before she turns to go to the kitchen, he will hand her twenty dollars and say 'that's for you.'
Obviously, they receive excellent service every time.
AND they still leave a twenty percent tip at the end of the meal as well. Girls have been known to walk away from that table with almost $30 dollars for practically no work. They are easy, they aren't demanding, and they GIVE YOU TWENTY FREAKING DOLLARS BEFORE YOU EVEN PUT THEIR ORDER IN.
These people need an infomercial. They are goddamn brilliant. They need to go on the Wendy Williams Show.
"Let me tell you the one simple habit that changed my life, Wendy.

...I tip my waitress....... before I eat."


No more guesswork on how much effort to put in the table. No more kicking the salad bar or punching the busboy in frustration. It's a beautiful concept.

well.

Tonight, I would like to look back on the only complaint about my serving I have ever received in six years. It baffles me to this day.
Table of two guys, having breakfast. I treat them as I would any other table: "how are you today? More coffee? Have a good one!" Etc.
I guess these people couldn't see the thinly veiled hatred I have for 95% of my customers (my 'more coffee?' loosely translates to 'suck one.'), because when the hostess asked how everything was, they said 'fine... but our waitress was too nice.'

Read it again. TOO NICE. and they left me ten percent. What a bunch of weirdo cocksuckers.

My first day back.

sucked wang for the most part.
I walk in, everyone's excited to see me, I tell them all about my trip (which was awesome!) and then back to the usual.
I have one or two negligible tables, nothing to write home (or on a blog) about.
Then I see a table coming in who I know is going to be trouble, and obviously it's my turn. Two old, fat, black ladies both walking with canes. They both order water with lemon, the larger one (hereby known as ABW) insisting on a to-go cup.
I bring them both over and ABW says, 'would it kill you to fill it up the whole way?'
Now I know why she wanted a to-go cup, she knows they're bigger, and obviously that half an inch brings the water to EXACTLY the amount needed to parch her immense thirst. At this point, I'm too shocked to come up with a clever response so I just go back, fill the water to the brim, and hope she spills it on her dumb, rude ass.
When they are ready to order, it becomes clear to me that they do not know how to read or hear. They ask me multiple times what the vegetables are and although pointing out our standard ones and repeating our vegetables of the day, they do not seem to grasp the fact that we have peas.
They both order dinners, ABW orders a baked sweet potato with hers but I have to 'make sure it's not small! don't tease me now, I love sweet potatoes!' Fine.
I bring out their salads and a bread basket, and am almost immediately called over because the crackers are broken. I take the first one she hands me and go back to the kitchen to get more, when ABW calls me back saying "wait a minute, wait a minute, look at me. as if I am being scolded in kindergarten. I turn around with one eyebrow raised, and she hands me another pack of broken crackers. She couldn't STAND to have those broken crackers on her table for one more second, they were so freaking offensive. And a request for more water, "but can you put some ice in it this time?"
Their entrees come out, and surprisingly enough, the sweet potato isn't big enough. I put down the baked potato the other woman ordered and give her a look that says 'they're the same size you fat, greedy bitch.' I'm sure you can imagine how it looked. I think she received my telepathic messages of hate because the rest of the meal seemed uneventful, and I actually got a 15% tip, when I was expecting 10% at the most.

The rest of the night was filled with bad tippers (a stiff and $1 on $30, really guys?) and coworkers who either didn't pay attention, didn't know what they were doing, or were on something and didn't care. Possibly all three.

I plan to start today with the intention to sincerely smile and greet all my tables, and not to inwardly (or outwardly) groan and roll my eyes when sat with a horrible regular. I give myself fifteen minutes. Twenty if we're slow.

A short break.

A) This bitch is going to Vegas on Monday
B) This DUMB bitch broke her laptop.
So I will be gone for about a week.

I leave you with this question: why do people get so tense over who pays the check?
One time, a man, his mother-in-law, and about six other people at this table had their hands practically in my mouth, they were so close to my face trying to grab this check. I gave it to the hand directly in front of my eyeballs, which turned out to be the son-in-law. I seriously thought the mother-in-law was going to pop me one.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I just gave it to whoever was closest."
I was thinking, "Thank god it wasn't this old bitch, I would have gotten ten percent if I was lucky."

She looked desperately put out.
"But I was sitting RIGHT HERE," she snapped.

I giggled and walked away. Not my problem anymore.

I always want to ask "Well, who leaves bigger tips?" when people fight over the check, but I don't think I would get an honest answer. Or a tip.