Monday, February 28, 2011

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.


Post a Comment