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.