Saturday, December 22, 2012

Happy Holidays, y'all!

I don't care what you celebrate, or what you don't.
But your server appreciates your holiday thoughts - be it a big tip, a card, a candle, what have you.
I've gotten some pretty generous tips the past few days, candy, etc. Obviously I don't mind the extra money if that's what it is, but I honestly always feel honored when a customers thinks of me on their own time.

That said, enjoy this time with your family and friends! Blondie will be in Vegas with Mama Blondie, which I hear is beautifully decorated this time of year! I love all you, Dear Readers.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Rude 'tude.

Here on the East Coast, we're getting some chilly weather lately.
Of course, that means colds, flus, what have you. I myself have been a little sneezy and my mother (a teacher) says a lot of her kids are going home sick.

Our hostess/manager tonight got a sneezing fit tonight and walked out into the foyer (we have a set of doors, a foyer, then the doors that actually lead into the restaurant). As she did so, a customer came in and she ran back towards the end of the counter to wait it out. So I grab a menu and say to the lady, "Hi, one this evening?"
"Wow, she saw me coming and didn't even hold the door!"
"Uhm.... ma'am, she's currently sneezing."
"Well, THAT'S no excuse."
"....Oookay, I'm going to seat you right over here."

Isn't it? Isn't it though? You would rather have someone sneeze in your face in order to hold the door for your royal ass, than try and get away quickly? How self-entitled do you have to be?

All this after I had to spend five minutes explaining what chicken fingers were to someone... maybe a full moon?

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Happy Turkey Day!

Thank you so much, Dear Reader, for staying loyal.
I feel like I have stories, but I just do not have the time! Bear with your little Anthropology major, she'll be Indiana Jones soon enough!

I hope everyone had a lovely holiday, and I am truly thankful for all of you!

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

I hope you voted!

I know I'm a little late, but I was in class all day and had a lovely nostalgic moment while voting at my old middle school. The gym seemed smaller...
Last election, I was completely uninterested. But due too much urging and much research, YES, it is your duty as an American citizen to vote today and I'm so glad I did.
Whether you are Republican or Democrat (or just believe in parties), I hope you made your voice heard!

Friday, October 26, 2012

A conversation I unfortunately had tonight.

Blondie: "So, can I get you anything else tonight?"
Douchebag: "Well, don't we get... extras?" Said in a tone that implied a wink.
B: "Well, sir, yours comes with a dessert, but unfortunately, hers is not a dinner and doesn't come with it."
DB: "Well.. she could still get an.. extra, right?" He might have actually winked at that point. I knew where he was going with this.
B: "Well... if you.. pay for it..."
DB: "Well, do we... have to?"
B: "Yes. That's how we make our money in a restaurant. We give people food and we charge them for it."
DB: "What, you don't feel like being nice?"
B: "Very rarely, sir. I'll give you a few minutes to think about it."

Like, come on dude. You look desperate, cheap, and pathetic.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Sometimes you can't help yourself.

I don't like rednecks. I don't like their dirty clothes, dirty faces, dirty jokes, etc.
We have one group, three couples total I believe, that come in various combinations. They are all.. so special. They've been.. tolerable so far. They leave 18% usually, and as long as I'm in a good mood and don't take them too seriously I only get mildly annoyed.
However, for some reason, when three of them came in on Monday, I just was not having it. We were busy and already had my pissy pants on. So I grabbed their drinks and their food order with minimal interaction, and got it started. The woman (who honestly seemed a little drunk, she kept putting her head down on the table) ordered a roast half chicken, which takes ten minutes when we're not busy. After about five minutes, I noticed they were glaring at me every time I walked by. I smiled, I got refills without speaking to them, I carried on my merry way. About five minutes after THAT, (so we just hit ten minutes on a dinner that would take at least that long on a good night) my MOD says, "Blondie, you need set-ups for table 4."
The head redneck (headneck?) yells across the diner, "YEAH, and we need our dinner!"
MOD and I both looked over in shock, and I couldn't stop myself. "Well, do you want it now, or do you want it to be cooked?"
Luckily it was awesome MOD and she just bust out laughing and we went in the kitchen where I told her the whole story.
Her response? "Fuuuuuck them."

Saturday, September 15, 2012

I can't stop giggling.

We have this one couple, the guy is just some fat douche with a low IQ, and the woman is on.. something. Some sort of pills. She's always really slow and really loopy. But that's pretty much irrelevant. They came in the other night, and someone else was their server.
I overheard this: "What are your vadge-tables today?"

And now I can't stop thinking of a garden growing out of a lady's crotch and I'm crying laughing.

Monday, September 10, 2012

My second complaint in five years.

Was also a bunch of horseshit. So on Mondays, I'm all alone from 2-4. Last Monday was Labor Day, we weren't expecting to get busy, but we had a little hit. I wasn't worried, I ran my little tail off and got shit done.
I had one table of kinda trashy women. A mom and two daughters. They were a little annoying, a little needy, but by no means the worst I had seen. At one point, the mom asked me, "Are you all alone?" I told her, "Yes, until four! We usually don't expect this many customers at this time, so I appreciate your patience." Or some other crap I didn't mean. I appreciate your fat ass ordering and stop trying to make conversation because I know you see three other tables flagging me down.
The table next to them was also a couple dicks. Those geriatrics figure they did their waiting to get to 100 years of age, they shouldn't have to wait 5 more for their well done hamburger. I come over with their food, smiley and bubbly as usual.
"Here we go! Thanks for bearing with me, hopefully it will be worth the wait!"
"Oh... we thought you forgot about us!"
"No, ma'am, how could I forget you? But as you can see, we just have me and one cook so I have my hands full! Let me refill your water, I'll be right back!" It's amazing how serving can teach you to make your face and mouth do the exact opposite of the murderous thoughts in your brain.

So, I continue running around, but make sure everyone has as much attention as I can give them and never take the stupid goony fake-ass grin off my face. I check back with the three fatties, "oh, everything's fine, everything's fine." "Okay guys, if there's nothing else, I'll be right back with your check!"

After things had died down and the MOD and I are clearing up, she says, "That table on 6 complained about you. She said you had an attitude and snapped at the table next to them, charged them wrong, and that we should look into getting better help. She said she wouldn't be back." ..Well, that explains the lack of tip. But the promise of them not returning was a nice thought. I told her the real story and we giggled and thought nothing more of it.

Well, she came back today (liar!), and complained to her waitress, other customers, and finally the owner. She claimed I charged her wrong (I didn't, but the manager took the money off that day anyway so she would shut up and leave), and got nasty with her. In her story, she made an innocent and simple request - more ranch, I assume - and I barked at her, "Can't you see I'm all alone here?!"
The MOD from Labor Day tried to explain to the boss that is NOT what happened, but he's of the 'the customer is always right' camp and wouldn't listen. Luckily, he also hates confrontation with the parties involved and said nothing to me.

I was upset for about 2.5 seconds that there was a lie about me going around.. but then, I just couldn't make myself care more than that. I've been at the place five years, everyone knows I would never do anything like that to a customer. So fat bitch liar cuntsucking motherfucker, you can eat my dick.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Please don't store my body parts in jars.

I have missed you all!
If you are curious about my non-waitressing life, I'm starting school again in one week and I am nervous as hell to be back on campus. I've been spending way too much time at the pool and maybe too much time in the bars. I have a new love interest, I think this one is sticking around. Help me think of a nickname! I have one in mind, but it's extremely embarrassing.

Today, I'm going to write about the Navy Man. The Navy Man is a total creep, and all waitresses (and I'm sure waiters too) will recognize the picture I'm going to put in your head.
He's short-ish, maybe 5'7". Late 50's maybe. Average looking dude, might even be semi-attractive if he were taller and not so damn creepy. The kind of person that watches you as you perform your other tasks. The kind of person that wants to know your name and uses it excessively. The kind of person you can feel undressing you with their eyes.
Just a few examples of the weird things he has done to me personally:
  • I experimented with red lipstick one day, he told me I was beautiful when I got done up and said I looked like a 'true American girl.' Oh, okay.
  • Asked me if I had been on vacation after a few sessions in the tanning salon, when I asked, "oh, do I look tanner?" He just gave me a creepy smile and a weird laugh. Uhm...
  • Told me he dated a girl while in the Navy with the same name as I. Told me she used to write to him and drive him crazy, telling him about the short skirts she would wear and how all the guys would look at her, while eyeing up at my legs. 
  • Brought me in a picture of his ex-wife and told me she comes in the diner a lot, said he saw her there with the man she left him for. 
  • Countless uncomfortable eye contact and general staring.
I can't bring to mind the weird stuff the other girls have told me, but.. terrifying, right? Gives you the feeling he's going to take you home and wear your skin like Buffalo Bill. 

Friday, August 3, 2012

Have you ever been so drunk...

That you tried to stab someone?

If you're our dishwasher from last night, raise your hand!
I left about an hour before close, and shortly after ten got a text from the manager to call her ASAP.
So, I'm obviously just sitting in bed on the internet because I have no life, and I call her.
Apparently, our perpetually drunk dishwasher - who's sometimes verbally argued with coworkers but is usually aware enough of what he's doing and does a pretty good job, at that - had a little too much.
The cook went over to his area to get a pan or something and the dishwasher went after him. The cook didn't fight with him or anything, just grabbed him enough to try and get him out of the diner.
Then the dishwasher grabbed a knife and started swinging it, catching the cook on the hand, unfortunately not too badly. Anyway, the owners were called and I'm not sure how, but between the couple men that were there, they managed to get him out.

I knew his drinking was getting a little worse lately, but I never imagined it would escalate to something like that. The dishwasher lives in the employee house and has been fired and brought back multiple times - I wonder what will happen now.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

You know you're a server when..

-You have an endless supply of ones, fives, etc. People always come to you to break twenties and if you're young enough, the bank assumes you're a stripper.

-Friends have a love/hate relationship with eating out in your company. Love because you can split the check and calculate the tip in the bink of an eye. Hate because you tend to say things like, 'Oh.. I wouldn't have done that." or, "No, see, she's just ringing in their food and then she's going to run get outs, don't worry!"

-Other servers/bartenders love you. If you're not an asshole, you tip well, stack the plates, and generally try to act the way you wish your customers did.

-You pretty consistently smell like onions and french fries. You attract very strange people of the opposite sex for that reason.

-Endless supply of pens. If you can't find one, you have another and you'll probably find the original later that night behind your ear or in your ponytail.

-If you've done it long enough, you develop a vice to deal with the total lack of faith you now have in humanity. Smoking, drinking, arts and crafts, what have you.

Random thoughts of the night, luckily I actually jotted them down tonight. Anything to add?

I live!

I am so, so sorry. I'm between a break-up, and school, and just general confusion.
The diner is... the same as it always is.
"What are the difference between the fried crab cakes and the broiled crab cakes?" etc.

I promise I will be a real person again soon!

Tuesday, July 10, 2012


I saw a guy scratch his back with his knife last night.
I don't know if this was before, after, or during use of said knife but... gross.

So, hi, I'm still alive!

Thursday, May 31, 2012

I am proud to be a Food Stories Nominee For Excellence in Storytelling over at Food Stories Blog! I was nominated by DTG at at lifeinthedrivethru!
Here are the requirements:
1. The nominee should visit the award site here and leave a comment indicating that they have been nominated and by whom. (This step is so important because it’s the only way our judges will know who is being considered for the monthly presentation).
2. The Nominee should thank the person that nominated them by posting & including a link to their blog.
3. Share one random thing about yourself in your blog post.
4. Select at least five other bloggers that you enjoy reading their stories and nominate them for the award.
5. Notify your nominees by leaving a comment on their blog, including a link to the award site (
Food Stories will put together a team of judges to review all nominees and to select a Food Stories Award Winner for each month. More information to come on what fabulous opportunities await for those lucky winners!
Something random about myself: I'm a true Jersey girl, and collect those silly t-shirts from the boardwalk. "gettin dirty in Jersey," "Jersey girls don't pump gas," etc. 
My nominees are (in no particular order):
The Bitchy Waiter - everything we think, but don't say. 
Do You Do That At Home? - one of the first food service blogs I came across, and still one of my favorites 
According to Sauce - another one of the first I've encountered. She's hot AND funny. 
The Slightly Cranky (Former) Waitress - I miss her waitress stories, but she still manages to make awesome posts. 
DTG - don't know if I can re-nominate, but I love all his posts!

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

"I know it may look like I was being like a bitch, but that's only because I was acting like a bitch."

I've become know as a little bit of a "mean girl" lately at the diner. I'm not taking shit from the cooks, and I'm I'm sure as heck not taking shit from new girls. As I'm sure all my readers know, turnover is very high at restaurants and it's not worth it to get to know anyone unless they last more than a week or so. We recently got a batch of maybe four or five new girls, and half of them I'm okay with. The other half...

One of them is on something, I'm convinced. Let's call her R. She's always moving her mouth, she's always moving her feet, she's always very loud. I thought it was alcohol, but other people are saying it seems more like crack.

So the owner comes in with her stepdaughter and a few grandsons, and R is waiting on them. I'm in the kitchen picking up food, and R storms in. She throws down her checkbook, hollering something about "that little bastard, that little bitch." I just widen my eyes and wait. Apparently the one grandson (about 9 or 10) ordered bacon when he meant sausage, or something silly like that. And she is furious. I make an offhand comment, something along the lines of, "Wow. If something like this will set you off, maybe you're in the wrong line of work!" and walk out of the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she beckons me over. "Honey, can I talk to you in the kitchen?"
Oh dear. I may be blonde, I may be young, but I can tell when people are being condescending, and that is one thing that really gets my goat. I'm thinking, 'only one of us will be coming out of this kitchen.'
"I've been in this business 25 years. I know what I'm doing. My mother is in the hospital and I'm really upset right now and I'm ripping on everything" etc, etc.
I can barely remember what my response was, I was so shaking mad.
"I don't give a fuck if you've been a waitress for 100 years, I don't give a fuck if you're the Pope's favorite server. When we come to work, we leave our personal life at the door and we fucking do our job. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, and don't fucking call a 10-year old a little bitch, especially the owner's grandson."
And I walked out.

She made one more snippy comment, "Honey, your table 2 needs his check."
And I responded, "Don't worry sweetie, I know how to do my job."
And didn't talk to me for the rest of the night.

She tried to run to the MOD to tell "her side" of the story before I got to her, but MOD took me outside and I told her the truth. She told me she would never disbelieve anything I told her. So I told the other owners and the cook (part-owner), who all took my side. I presume she'll be out by the end of this week.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Pay attention!

I think I've written about this before, but please pay attention to your server!
Last night, a table of two ladies (that weren't mine) were staring at me. I went over and asked if they needed something.
"Can you get our waitress?"
"Well, is it something I can do for you?"
They wanted me to heat up a dish. Fine, I did.
Later on, they were staring at me again. I go over.
"Are you our waitress?"
Uhm... no. Your waitress is a middle-aged brunette and I am a 20-something blonde.

How can you be so unaware of your surroundings, or put servers so low on the totem pole that you honestly think anyone in an apron is the same person?

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Do you really want me to answer that?

I feel like this could be a running series, but I don't know how this one would be topped.

A couple coworkers and I were commenting on the heat, and I said, "Thank god for the fans, I'm getting a little air right here."
A man was sitting at the counter waiting for his to-go, he was very difficult and VERY slow and VERYVERY confused about... well, everything.
He says, "Yeah, I love air. Do you.. love air?"
I look at my coworkers, and we are all trying to keep straight faces.
"Well... yeah, I like air."

We immediately ran into the kitchen to break into giggle fits and think of better responses.
"Yes, I need it to live, so I'm pretty dependent."
"No, I prefer to suffocate slowly until the sweet icy grip of death overtakes me."
or a simple, "Nope." said with the straightest face. That never would have passed because I canNOT keep a straight face, and everyone knows it. I don't get included in pranks because I blush uncontrollably and try not to laugh.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Am I overreacting?

I forgot to mention this in my post about the crazy shit going down yesterday, but something else strange happened. I waited on a regular customer, who has always been pleasant, kind, a good tipper, etc.
When I gave him his check, he asked me if I knew about the gym in the mall a little ways down the road. I thought he wanted directions, and I started telling him how to get there.
"No, no, no, my son is a personal trainer and he owns it. I wanted to give you his card, you look like you could use some time in the gym."
He must have seen the shock and confusion in my face.
"I mean, you're beautiful, but you could be extra beautiful! A lot of women today think they have to be skin and bones, but I think you could benefit from some muscle tone."
He kept going on about how he wasn't trying to be offensive, that he just thought I could use it!
The fuck? I was incredibly offended. I gained some weight after high school, and when I realized I wasn't happy with my body, I lost weight. The healthy way. Many people have commented on my small frame, but I'm happier with myself than I ever have been, and not once did I do anything but watch what I eat and work out. And yes, I may be tiny, but I can still lift trays with 10 plates on them and bus pans full of dishes.
All the girls were horrified too. "What? No! You look great!" One of them mentioned I should call the son and scold him for his father's tactics. So I did.
"Uhm, hi, I have your card here. I'm sure you're a lovely personal trainer, but your father just completely offended me with the way he went about offering your services."
I feel a little bad about it now, because I know the father is a nice guy, but I was really upset about it! I dwelled on it all night. I felt extremely self-conscious, until one of my regulars overheard me talking about it.
"Blondie, that guy is crazy. You are stunning. Women would kill to have your figure, not to mention your personality."
I know he meant it, and as shallow as it sounds, I think I needed to hear it from a man!

What do you guys think?

Big happenings.

First of all, I appreciate my readers' concern on my last post. I have started saying 'policia!' when he bothers me, and it stops all contact. At least until his drunk ass forgets three hours later, but whatever.

Anyway, the past few days have been exciting at the diner. On Monday, I broke. All the aforementioned personal shit came to a head when the crazy cook (I believe I've mentioned Mumbles before) continuously fucked up my orders and kept blaming it on me. I started bawling. And I could not stop. The hostess and day girl who was casually eating her shift meal before leaving had to completely take over, because I was incoherent. I sat in the back station and cried and cried for what felt like hours. Finally, I went into the bathroom and composed myself as much as I could. I tried to discreetly grab the hostess, but at this point, I didn't care too much. I told her I was sorry, but I had to go home.
"Blondie, I think if you just calm down, you can get back on the floor."
I told her, "Honestly, I don't think I can. And even if I could, my makeup looks like Ozzy Osbourne did it while recovering from a bad acid trip."
They told me to get it together as much as I could before leaving, they didn't want me driving so upset, but they would figure it out.

I was a little bothered by the fact that they were more concerned about getting me back on the floor than they were about my little freak-out, but at least in the end they had my back. What bothered me more is that at the end of the day, the cook who triggered me suffered no consequences. He stayed, he got his paycheck, while I missed out on an entire shift and received no apology.

Then, the next day, everyone around me was walking on eggshells. I hate gossip. I hated every head-tilt, every pat on the back, every "are you okay?" It had been less than twenty-four hours and everyone thought I was a mental case. Lord knows what the end result was after it went through the grapevine. My only saving grace was the cook who is part-owner. He came to me, (in broken English, adorably) and told me it would be okay. If I ever had a problem again, I had his number. He would come whenever he could, or send someone else to fix it. He said "I know you five years, and this isn't you."
I really appreciated that.

Then, today, one of the new(ish) girls caused an issue. Ever since she started, we all thought she was a little off. Nice enough, but very slow in her movements and speech. Someone said it seemed like she was on sedatives. Then, rumors were going around that she smelled like alcohol, from both customers and coworkers. We noticed when she went for a cigarette break, she went to her car rather than out back where the other smokers go, possibly because she had a bottle in there. She was warned a few times, told that she was free to smoke, but had to stay close enough to grab if a table needed her or she was sat, etc.
She did it again tonight. More than once. Finally, our night manager went out and said, "I'm so sorry, honey, this isn't working. You can pick up your paycheck tomorrow, but you're done."
She left. She called three times and our manager told her, "We're in the middle of dinner right now, but I promise I will call you when I can." And I know she meant it.
A half hour later, this bitch shows up! Manager says, "Blondie, hold down the fort, I'm going to talk to her outside."
Comes in about 15 minutes later and runs to me while I'm picking up food.
"She threatened me."
"She did what?"
"She told me I better be careful leaving the diner at night from now on."
the fuck?

Of course this shit is on the night I close, and we have to watch our backs when we leave.
So manager files a report with the police (possible overkill), and we have one of the cooks stay with us until the minute we walk out and lock the doors in our cars. We were fine, thank gosh, but who does that?

Sorry if it's a bit of a TL;DR, but it felt good to get all that off my chest, dear readers. 

Saturday, April 14, 2012

The town drunk.

We have a Mexican dishwasher. He is always drunk, yet somehow never breaks a dish.
He also has a thing for the ladies. Depending on his level of intoxication, he will call you a beautiful princessita americana and that he loves you, all the way to ass-smacking. He has never touched me, I think he knows better after seeing me fight with the cooks and cause I'm 'the baby.'
However, Thursday night one of the ladies and I decided we had a rough night, and we wanted a shot of his vodka. Since then, it's non-stop.
"Oh, beautiful prencessita. I love you, te amo, you're beautiful."
He's grabbing on the other woman. It got to the point tonight that all the cooks and the busboy said he had had too much. We were afraid to go in the kitchen.
I'm pissed because everyone knows he's a drunk and terribly annoying when he takes it too far. But the owners won't do anything because he works for peanuts, under the table.

I'm going through a really rough patch right now in my personal life, and work is piling more and more shit on top of it. I feel I'm near my breaking point after five years. Le sigh.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

How does working in a restaurant affect your weight?

I've found in my diner it can go one of two ways.
You can't resist all the goodies that are right in front of you, and you gain weight by eating french fries and chicken fingers and rice pudding. It's so much easier and cheaper to grab a cheesesteak at work then wait till you get home and cook something healthier.
Or, you don't eat at work and all the running around takes a few pounds off.

Working in the restaurant hurt me so much a few years back, when I was going through some personal issues and cheered myself up by emotional over-eating.
It took me almost two years, but I've recently gotten to my goal weight through sheer willpower at work (and obviously the exercise). I'm afraid that I'm going to be complacent now that I am happy with my weight, and be a little lax about what I put in my body (food-wise, you perverts).

How has working in a restaurant affected your weight and eating habits? Did you put on any poundage, or lose any? How do you avoid binges?

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Working six days a week.

It wears on you. I no longer put up with the 'original jokesters,' and you know who I mean.
"Anything else for you today?"
"The winning lottery numbers?! HAHAHAHA."
They get a raised eyebrow and silence.

Today I had one of those, coupled with racism and inappropriate questioning.
"Are you in high school? College? Wow! What are you studying? what can you do with that?"

Deal breaker was when I mentioned something major related, and he brought up Indian reservations.
"No sir, not Native Americans, African-Americans."
"Is that the same as Negro?"
Ohhh. "Well, we prefer to use a term more up-to-date and politically correct."

So I was no longer even tolerating him.
He had ordered meatloaf with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes with gravy. For some reason, the cook had put brown gravy on the potatoes.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't even notice. Did you want mushroom gravy for the potatoes? I can run right back in."
"Oh, no, it's fine, it'll just come out your tip. Haha, hur hur."
"No problem.. I wasn't expecting much anyway."

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

You don't have to go home, but..

get the fuck ooooooouuuuutttttt.

What are your tricks for getting campers to leave?

We have a hostess who will turn the radio up for certain customers to scooch, or if it's late, we do the classic turn the radio and lights down.
My personal favorite is turning the wifi off for customers who treat the diner as an office, bringing a bunch of paperwork to sit for three hours and just order a cup of coffee. Come on guys, Dunkin Donut's is two doors down. I don't mind you doing computer work or watching porn or whatever the hell you're doing, if you order a meal and compensate me for the time you took up my booth. But to sit for hours, get endless coffee refills, and leave me a dollar? Heeeeeelllls no.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Don't argue with me.

I've got big attitude in a tiny package, and usually only those closest to me can tell when my chipper smile really means, "Go fuck yourself."

Last Tuesday, we got busy busy busy. It was starting to wind down, when I got sat with a party of five. As I had been saying to tables all night, I greeted them with a, "Hi! We're a little busier than expected this evening, so please bear with me. Can I get you some drinks to start?" They all ordered, and I returned promptly. They weren't ready. While at my other tables, I heard them arguing amongst themselves.
"You've had an attitude all night. It's not my fault you had to work all day!"
"I TOLD you I wasn't going to order anything!"
Their menus were closed, so I went over again. Still not ready. Nor the next time I went over, because of course the owner is there and it makes me look like I'm slacking. To make this a bigger issue, when they finally were ready, they CAME UP to the register looking for me! Now I look incompetent.

I go, everyone orders, not too difficult. The dad asks brain-cell-killingly dumb questions, many of which I don't remember now. The mom asks if I can replace the coleslaw that comes alongside the sandwiches with applesauce, and I tell her no.
"The coleslaw is a garnish, I can't replace it with a full vegetable. You can substitute the fries, though!"
No, they don't want that.

The food comes out, three of which have a few onion rings on top - again, as a garnish. They look at me like I just served live snakes on top of their fried chicken and said, "You can take those right back!
.... can we substitute applesauce?"
Again, "No, sorry, it's just a garnish and I can't replace it."
The dad - "What's a garnish?"
"The onion rings and the coleslaw are garnishes."
"No.. I mean what IS a garnish?"
Uhhhhmmm. I give him a quick explanation, hoping all will be well and I can scurry away to my tables with higher IQ's.
A summed up version of the conversation that followed:
Dad: "Boy, you guys don't substitute anything here!"
Me, starting to get annoyed because he is becoming very condescending: "That's not true, sir. We substitute vegetables, potatoes, french fries, most sides, really."
Dad: "Well, I don't know why they give coleslaw or onion rings anyway. Nooobody likes them."
Me, definitely annoyed: "Not true. Our coleslaw and onion rings are homemade, and most of the customers I've encountered really enjoy them."
Dad: "Well, I've never met anyone who likes either!"
Really, dude? Really?
Me: "Well, now you have. I happen to enjoy our coleslaw very much, and the onion rings are one of my favorite things on the menu. I know our hostess this evening and one of the other waitresses loves them too."
I was trying to outwardly sound friendly, but inside I was seething, and I think it was starting to show through. I walked away.

Rest of the meal was uneventful, until the son complained (at the end of dinner) that I hadn't given crackers with their soup. I lifted up the bread basket to show him a layer of crackers that was just under the rolls, all of which they had eaten, so I don't see how the crackers weren't obvious to them. He insisted I should have told him. Sorry, bro, didn't know you were blind and/or retarded.

They got desserts, after I had to repeat the ice cream choices three times and check what brand we carried (?!). As they left, they asked my name. Unfortunately, I couldn't lie as our place is so small with so many regulars, and a fairly small staff. However, when I saw the tip, I was surprised! Ten dollars on a 45-ish tab, which is way more than I expected. It didn't quite make up for the aggravation, but it helped.

Friday, March 2, 2012

"Duuuude" update.

Four of the six stoners came in again last night, and sat in another server's section.
Two came in first that I didn't recognize. Then the two guys, one of which had paid came in to meet them. I raised my eyebrow and waited for them to say something.
"Uh.. we're... uh... meeting someone."
Good, they looked guilty. I pointed to where the other two were.

I chased the server down. "M, those are the ones that left me 2 on 50 last week, so don't bust your ass."
"Oh, I know, two of them ordered appetizers and two aren't ordering because they just came from McDonald's."

Good Lord.
Lucky for her, one of the girls paid and gave her four bucks, which was maybe 20%.
I know it wasn't the service - M and I have been there the same amount of time, have a very similar sense of humor and service, and her regulars and my regulars are interchangeable. So, yes, that guy was just an asshole. Or, as M would say, a dickwrinkle.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

I had to call out sick tonight..

For the second time in my five years at the diner.
The first was strep about three years ago, when I literally had no voice.

Today, it's some sort of stomach bug. I thought I would make it, but had to pull over on the way in. Although I've often considered it, I don't think vomiting on a customer would be good for business.

It got me thinking about how sucky it is to get sick when you're in the service industry. Many people will slug through a shift, contagious or not, because they can't afford to lose the money. People have to come in last-minute to cover you, and then you owe a favor. I just hope to Saint Martha I can make it in tomorrow.

Monday, February 27, 2012


I had a very bad table last night. Very bad. First time at my diner I've waited on the stereotypical drunk/high/otherwise fucked up table of teens.

They were nice, seemingly polite... ordered a LOT of food. Double orders of french toast, cheese steaks with honey mustard and barbecue, etc. One kid couldn't figure out how to use a menu.
Choice quotes I heard while ordering:
"You've already had enough to drink today."
"Duuuuuude. You are so fucking lit right now." (Apparently that means high. I am a bad young person because I had to urban dictionary it.)

They didn't seem too goofy. No red eyes, no stumbling. Maybe a little excessive giggling, but what do you expect from a table of teens?

Anyway, fifty dollar check. I'm hoping for ten bucks, expecting five. They pay and basically run out the door. I would have too if I were them - two dollars.

Monday, February 20, 2012

If you can live with it, I can live without it.

Two weeks in a row, I had a horrible family of regulars. The embodiment of every stereotype about white trash. They are loud, have horrible table manners and misbehaved children, and are an assault on the eyes.
The same table of regulars I saw out at another restaurant and told their waitress not to break her back because she would get ten percent, if she's lucky.

Last week and this week they have gotten ten percent service. I don't smile, I don't check back more than necessary, I ignored eye contact. I won't waste my time on proven assholes when I have perfectly nice customers at other tables.

This did not please them. When I come by to drop off their food and the little girl is hanging off the edge of the booth kicking her feet, I scold, "Food's here, don't trip me!" The middle-aged son (?) says something with a scowl - "I was about to trip you a few times!" I ignore it. I'm obligated to acknowledge their empty glasses, and he says "FINALLY." I shrug.

Monday nights, we have no busboy. So after they had gotten up to pay, but before I had a chance to bus the table, I saw my seven percent on the table. After bussing it and seeing no three dollars, I asked around. Did anyone pick it up by accident? Did anyone see anything?

Our hostess was convinced one of them went back and took it. I can live without the tip, I probably didn't deserve it for the service you received. But you should be ashamed of yourselves,  for so many reasons.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

In other news..

So, reading my local paper today, I found an item in the police blotter that interested me.
I won't link it, because it would give away my location. But a restaurant on the same highway as my diner, within ten minutes walking distance from my home, where I had a lovely dinner just three days before, was featured.

Apparently, a trio of young women (late teens) were dining at the establishment. They attempted to beat feet without footing the bill. Their server ran out to the parking lot to catch them. In their hasty retreat, they struck the waitress with their car. I hear she was fairly okay - except for the trauma of being hit by a fucking car and stiffed on the tip. Luckily, she was able to get a partial license plate and the ladies were arrested. Unluckily, they have already been let out on probation pending the court date.

I don't know the lengths I would go to avoid a dine-and-dash, but if I get hit by a car, I'm out.

My first thought was, "these girls are younger than me! I'd love to meet their parents!"

Sunday, February 5, 2012

I know times are hard...

But for the past couple months, I've gotten stiffed once at least every other shift. And it's ALWAYS the people who you don't expect!
I had two young girls, maybe a few years younger than me, and I talked, laughed, and joked with them. No tip.
Last night, it was an older couple. I gave them menu recommendations and lots of attention. They seemed happy with their meal, although they were a little... apathetic, or lethargic, or something. No tip.

Is anyone else experiencing a higher instance of stiffs lately?

Monday, January 23, 2012

Ah, something blogworthy.

So Satan graced me with his presence tonight, and the only thing that got me through the hour he was in my station was the fact that I finally had something to write about... and the bottle of vodka in my pantry.

A "gentleman" came in this afternoon when I was the only one on the floor, with his girlfriend and her son (who I originally thought was a girl thanks to his long long locks and feminine features).
I knew I was in for a good time when I greeted the table.
"Hi, how are you guys today? What can I get you to drink?"
"HA! What I want is another waitress! I hate blondes... especially dumb ones."

Obviously thought he was just busting my chops, but... oh hell no.
"Well, sir, you'll have to wait in the car while your family has dinner, because I'm the only one here."
His dining companions continually laughed at my comebacks, but I was amazed she would let him talk to me like that. Especially after she commented that she used to work in a diner for 18 years!
I let them sit for ten minutes.
"Are you ready to behave, or do you want to wait another ten minutes for the brunette waitress' shift to start?"

As I'm taking his family's order, he starts toying with the bottom of my apron.
"Uhm.. there's nothing under there for you!"
"Clearly nothing for anybody, you're too skinny!"

Fine. I continue taking the order. He asks if I have a boyfriend. I relish this opportunity to tell him yes, I have a 250 lb. boyfriend fresh out of the Army. He was unfazed.

As I'm waiting for their food, checking on my other customers, talking to my coworkers, etc. He continually hollers across the restaurant to comment on the things I'm saying. I ignore him.

I bring his girlfriend the coffee she requested. He commented on the wait time and asked where his was.
"Well, sir, you were too busy calling me a dumb blonde to request anything other than water."
He threatened to throw ICE down my SHIRT. If this were a more corporate restaurant, I believe I could have had him kicked out for the harassment I was enduring. Unfortunately, they "know the owner" and we must bend for regulars.

As I'm bringing the food, he decides it's time to tell me that for Christmas, I should have asked my boyfriend to bring me a butt. Another "too skinny" reference.

Many more comments and inappropriate questions ensue, too much to even remember at this point (again, thank you, vodka). Finally, they leave my station, with a 25% tip... they would have had to double that to even begin to make up for his behavior.

When people act like this, I used to be so taken aback I couldn't say a word. At this point, I've come up with quicker reflexes and better comebacks, which are probably only feeding into the sick pleasure they get from torturing poor waitresses.

Fortunately, the rest of my night went very smoothly. Le sigh.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Fool me once..

I have a system with bad tippers. I get ten percent the first time around, I will remember your smelly hillbilly face. The next time you come in and I wait on you, you will get the best service your redneck ass has ever gotten. Refills of "pessi"and "swate tay" will flow like rain. You will get mounds and mounds of your sacred mayonnaise and ranch dressing. But when you give me another five dollar bill on your forty-nine dollar check, I will remember your face again.
I will remember your face so next time you grace my station with your stench, you will go thirsty. You will have to come up and find me for more napkins. You will get ten percent or less of my service to go with your terrible tip. I gave you a second chance.

So, work kind of sucked tonight!

Monday, January 2, 2012

Sometimes, you joke with the wrong people.

I made a funny tonight. I made myself and the other servers laugh immensely, but crazy cook I've written about before (We'll call him, "Mumbles") apparently lacks a sense of humour as well as a sense of personal hygiene or normal social interaction.

I ordered a grilled cheese with bacon. Simple, right? I wrote "grill chs, bacon, on wheat." (We use handwritten checks/dupes if I haven't mentioned it before)
My grilled cheese came up sans bake-on, (That 70s Show, anyone?) and I gave it back, asking for the meat to be added. When it came back up, I said, "Wait a minute! Is this bacon? I don't want bacon!!" and immediately we all started giggling, except Mumbles.
"NO BACON?! YOU SAID BACON!" loud enough to be heard in the restaurant.
We continued to giggle as he mumbled to himself for about five minutes. The only phrases I caught were "fucking bacon" and "everybody order different."

I'm still giggling, he's probably still bitching.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Happy New Year!!

Sorry I've been MIA, y'all. Work has been the usual, nothing standing out at the moment.

Hopefully I'll see all your hung over faces this evening and have something to write about!