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.

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!

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.

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!