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!

A dream is a wish your heart makes?

I just woke up (with a start, I might add) from a work dream I've never had before.
The diner was short on cash and about to be closed down.
So the cooks all stripped for money.....

Now there's maybe one I wouldn't mind seeing in his birthday suit, but most of these guys are total trolls. Thank god my brain had the decency to blur out the naughty bits.

What is wrong with me?! Finals are getting to me.
What's your craziest restaurant dream?

Cooks are jerks, aka The Gods were smiling down on me last night.

We have one family that comes in. Mom, dad, son about 16-17. If just the dad and son come in, they are awful. Condescending, needy, subpar tippers. It drives all us servers nuts to be talked to like that by someone 5, 10, 20 years younger.
But if either of the two come in with the mom, they are quiet and respectful, if not even friendly. The mother is sweet as pie and they tip better. I had the mother and son last night, which is why I was the luckiest little waitress - the cooks screwed up their order beyond comprehension.
The son always orders "A bacon burger, just bacon, burger, and bun." No cheese, no tomato, no coleslaw, no pickle. French fries and bacon hamburger. I get the mom's order as well.

I take the order out to the table. As I'm setting down the burger, I realize with horror the cooks put cheese on the bun. I immediately say, "Oh my goodness, they put cheese on it, I should have checked, I'm so sorry!"
They both tell me, "Oh, it's not your fault, this happens all the time!"
I tell them they can just switch out the bun, I'll have it back out in two seconds.
"No," he tells me, "I need a whole new burger. I can't have any cheese."
Okay, that's fine, let's be on the safe side. I take it back and tell the cooks they need to READ my checks, and now I need a whole new burger. The one insane cook I've written about before scrapes off the cheese and throws the old burger back on the grill.
"No, no, no - I need a NEW PATTY. This guy cannot have cheese."
"It's fine, no cheese, it's fine."
"No, it's not fine. You made the order wrong, now you're going to make it right. I want a completely new order."
I stood there and watched until I was sure I was getting a new patty. It comes up pretty quickly for a medium burger, and I take it back out. They call me back almost immediately.
"Please don't hate us, but this burger is rare."
"Oh my god. I'm sorry. They were trying to get it out too quickly and didn't cook it enough. Let me take it back, I'm so sorry."
They tell me again it's not my fault, and I take the burger back a second time. The cooks curse and rant and rave, etc. etc., but they do it. I take the burger out again, and tell him to cut into it to make sure before I even leave the table. As he cuts into it, we see the bottom bun. It's soaked in blood from the raw burger, and he looks at me. "I'll get you a new bun."
I have to go back in the kitchen. I have them toast me a new bun. I take it out, apologize once more, and we're finally good to go.

So, by the time he can actually eat his meal, I've had to go back to the kitchen three times. His mom is halfway through her meal. I understand trying to get orders out quickly, but not at the cost of quality. They cost the restaurant three buns, two patties, and mine and the customers' time because they were trying to cut corners. And at the end of the meal, I got the burger taken off the check because it was just ridiculous. The table, again, was wonderful, told me it wasn't my fault, asked if I was sure, etc.

Sigh. I'm going to tell my boss today, because this cook is getting out of hand. He hates his job and just doesn't care. I can't imagine how much our food costs have gone up since he came in. If he can't read the ticket, he makes whatever the hell he feels like, which ends up being thrown away.

Increasingly bad blonde moments....

I keep saying 'ohemgee when I get home I'm totes going to blog about that' and I keep forgetting.

But allow me to elaborate on a tale that happened the day after my last post, and was eerily similar. For some reason, people seem to look at me and think, "hey, this 20-something looks like she makes all the business decisions for this restaurant. Let's berate her for the things we don't agree with."

So, at my diner, like most, we give rolls with dinners.
Side note: doesn't it seem like most of the people you give them to don't eat it, and then when you don't for some reason, they get really indignant and HAVE to have the damn bread?
Anyway. We give rolls/cornbread with the soups and salad. On our dinner menu, it states that you can replace that with garlic bread if you choose. I don't normally point this out, as many of our regulars know this and it's, you know, right there.
I have two ladies order lasagna with salads. I bring out their salads and rolls, and when dinner comes, they request more rolls. I happily oblige, so far they have been pleasant and normal.
When I do my check-back, one asks if we have any garlic bread. I say, "sure, I can bring you some!"
Check time comes. I charged them for the entrees, the drinks, and the garlic bread because they had ordered it separately.
When I cash them out, the one who ordered the garlic bread says to me, "You know, I have to complain about something. Garlic bread should come free with Italian dinners."
Uhm. "Well, ma'am, you can replace the original rolls and cornbread with the garlic bread if you'd like, but you two had extra rolls in addition to that, so I had to charge you for something."
"Well, it SHOULD come with it when you order lasagna and spaghetti and such."
"Okay, ma'am. You know for next time, you can order it in advance and not be charged."

WTF? They got rolls. They got EXTRA rolls. They didn't ask for garlic bread until halfway through their meal, expected it to be free, and scolded me for.. I don't know, doing my job and charging people appropriately?

At least they didn't stiff me.

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.

Cunts.

DIY

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.

Thoughts?

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?

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.