Monday, November 21, 2011

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.


Saturday, November 19, 2011


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.


Tuesday, November 8, 2011

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?

Thursday, November 3, 2011

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.