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So yeah, my name is now officially misleading. I am no long a reformed waitress because I am, once again (sadly sometimes) a waitress. And it’s not bad. I had forgotten that I really do love it and it really is and can be fun. So I’ve been at the new restaurant here in paradise for two weeks now and, for the most part, people around here are cool and the customers have been good. But, like anywhere, we get our share of crazies and lunatics (and not the fun ones we like down in places like this, like the guy that rides around on his motorcycle with a parakeet on his head – we happily claim that one!). But no, these are the crazies and lunatics you wish they would lock away again so that they don’t infect the rest of us with their stupid. The kind that don’t realize that a drink with the word "rum" in the title is probably, well, alcoholic. I don’t drink, but if I get these guys any more regularly I might have to start again! 
It’s not my fault
Let’s start out with this. It is specifically NOT my fault that:
your boyfriend is really drunk and you don’t like all the attention he’s giving you in public;
an old couple gave you a dirty look as you walked by because you were making out at the table by the window,
the clouds decided they were too full of moisture and decided to rain while you were walking in downtown;
we are out of steak;
you forgot to tell me you are allergic to onions;
or tomatos;
or bread;
or anything else that you might not like which means you can’t eat, oh, anything on our menu;
it’s too hot outside;
the fresh catch is a fish you don’t like;
our saloon t-shirts only come in male sizes and are not tank tops;
you dropped your newly purchased glass because you forgot what was in your bag and threw it at someone else in your group;
all the booths are full and you have to sit at a table (no, we will NOT kick someone out of the table;
the only tables we have outside are, well, outside where it’s bright, sunny and hot;
your horse didn’t win the Kentucky Derby;
or any of the other crazy things people have fussed at me for.
I am not God. I do not control the weather, other people, prices, sports, you or anyone or thing but myself. Please do not fuss at me or complain at me for things I have no control over. And please do not take it out on me by stiffing me. I don’t appreciate it and I do remember faces.
Gift cards are NOT credit cards
I had one couple come in (the PDA couple from up above) and they were all around rude. No big deal, whatever, I can deal with that. But when it came time to pay, the girl gave me this Visa gift card (they’re used like debit cards) to pay. It was declined. I tried it again to be sure it wasn’t a phone line problem and it was declined again, so I went back, explained nicely it wasn’t going through and apologized. She gave me another one to try.
Same thing again.
So I go back again and, being as nice as I can, tell her they won’t go through and she might want to call her bank to be sure they are activated. She got REALLY mad and REALLY rude at that.
HER: Of course they’re activated! I’ve been using those two to buy things all day!!
…….These were not credit cards. Had she considered the fact that maybe, just maybe, they might not have enough on them to cover the bill? She huffed and puffed about it and told me I should do something about it and finally just threw down some cash and stormed out.
Again, not my fault.
Probably not the best idea
This wasn’t exactly an SC in the bar, but it was right outside and caused some drama. So a drunk guy, probably in his 50s, comes in one afternoon and we refuse him service cause, well, he’s really drunk. He apparently doesn’t like that. His wife makes him leave and as they’re walking away he apparently hits her.
Not cool.
So apparently a not-so-drunk guy on the street sees Drunk Guy (DG) hit his wife. Not-So-Drunk Guy (NG) tells DG not to do that and starts to ask the wife if she’s okay and if she needs anything. DG doesn’t like this, tells NG it’s none of his business and starts to go at NG like he’s going to hit him.
Now, like I said, DG is in his 50s I would guess and not in that great a shape. NG is probably 20something and very, very well built. He went to a gym.
Needless to say, DG didn’t stand a chance.
DG ended up bleeding (hit his head on the concrete when he fell after NG punched him) and my manager and one of the bartenders hurried out with rags and napkins. The cops and ambulance were called as a precaution and somewhere in the commotion NG and his girlfriend disappeared. It was a big drama thing and everyone in our restaurant was trying to see what was going on. One of my tables was right there by the incident, with an open window, and told me everything. It was the drama of the day. DG is an idiot, obviously.
I would hate to be the one dating you……
I had this one table the other night that I thought was the most high maintenance table ever (I was proven wrong tonight). Every time I walked by they needed something, usually something that we did not have and had no reason to have. Our catch of the day was tuna and we have good stuff, sushi grade, so they asked for it rare. And then started asking for things like wasabi (which we don’t have) and getting really upset and b*tchy when I told them that we, in fact, do not have wasabi, as we are not a sushi place. I started offering them anything else I could think of but nothing was good enough. Finally I found something that would please them (I don’t remember what) but every time I walked by it would be “Are you SURE you don’t have any wasabi back there?”
No. It just appears magically in our fridge every so often for ten seconds and then disappears. Let me go check and see if you’re special enough for this to be one of those moments.
No. You aren’t. Your parents were wrong. You aren’t special. I’m sorry. Here’s an empty glass to cry in.
Not a toy!
Please, please, please for the love of puppies and penguins and your beloved Hurricanes football, if you take your children out to dinner with you make sure you have a way to keep them entertained. Sugar packets are not a toy. They are not meant to be used to entertain your children while you eat. They are not meant to be dumped on the table and then the papers thrown on the ground. They are not meant to be piled in a big pile and then drenched with coke. In fact, it makes a big sticky mess.
That I have to clean up.
I do not get paid enough to deal with your children. (Can you tell I didn’t like this family? Really. Those children – and the parents too – were pigs. Took me thirty minutes to clean their table. They CAN’T live that way at home!)
But I know the owner!
We’re owned by a famous man. Who, if you are from a certain city, has a very recognizable name. So, since we’re a tourist town, it’s not uncommon for people from said city to come in asking if he’s here, claiming to be “good friends” of his.
Whatever. That’s fine.
But I had a table tonight insisting they were great friends of his and that their meal should be comped, or at least discounted, because of it. I apologized and told them I couldn’t do that unless he specifically told me to. They hemmed and hawed and said if he was there he would know exactly who they were. They finally gave up though.
What made it the funniest?
Said owner was in the bar. About two tables over. And they didn’t even bat an eye.
Yeah…..they knew him real well.
The table from Hell (or why I hate nine specific people from New Jersey)
So part of this suckiness is my own fault and I will readily admit that when I come to it. But I had the table from hell tonight. And I have been given permission to tell them, if I see them, that they owe me money.
It was a nine top, which can be annoying, and they were just the most complicated people. They kept changing their minds and making me run to the bar yelling “Wait! Don’t make that!” cause they couldn’t settle one what to have. They were altering everything, complaining cause our special martini has vodka in it (you wouldn’t want it with gin – trust me), needing to taste this wine or that wine or this drink or that cause they didn’t know if they would like it. When ordering food they were all talking over each other and changing everything and needing this or that. When the food came out half of it “wasn’t right” – they didn’t like the dressing or they wanted more of this but less of that or the potatos weren’t warm enough or they didn’t like broccoli (even though I told them, and that person specifically, it was in the veggies) or the tuna was too cooked – he ordered it medium rare. It was. He raised a fuss, we sent it back, I told the kitchen to do it as rare as possible. They seared it JUST enough to get the outside white. My manager looked at it and said “I wouldn’t usually serve that at all!”. That fish was still swimming thankyouverymuch and I take it out and what do I get? "THAT’S medium rare!”. They were just all around being overly and needlessly complicated, fussy, needy and picky.
That’s okay. I’m a picky eater. I can deal with that. They ran me for an hour and didn’t give me a seconds rest (all this while I had other tables to tend to as well) and I didn’t like them, but they wouldn’t be the table from Hell just for that.
So when they ordered, they were altering and changing everything. So when I rang it in, I rang the food under a separate seat so I could check it and go over it easily without dealing with all the drink orders. I do this often, not a big deal, and just combine the checks when I print it. But when they asked for their check, I was doing about five things at once for four different tables. By the time I got back to the table, they were gone and the money was in the book for their tab. This was less than three minutes later – I did one circle of the restaurant and I was back. I thought it odd they left so quick, but figured they were trying to get somewhere.
Until I went to the terminal to cash out their check to free up the table in our system.
So this is where the oooops and partially my fault of the suckiness comes in. I will readily admit it. Like I said, when they asked for the bill, I was doing a number of things and just went to the terminal and printed the bill without looking at the total, dropped it in a book and dropped it at the table, telling them to take their time, then hurried off to deliver drinks and take orders. When I cashed out the check I realized that I had only printed the check for one seat.
Meaning they had only gotten the bill for their drinks and not ANY of their food.
These people, nine adults, all over 21, had gotten the bill, seen there was absolutely no food on it when they KNEW they all ordered food that was at least nine dollars, and hadn’t said a word. The hostess said later, when I told her what happened, that she had wondered why they were all looking for hurriedly for cash and then leaving so quickly.
They knew. They knew they had managed to get a bill for less than half their actual tab and they didn’t say a word.
So I was stuck with a food tab for $150. On a Tuesday night. That was kinda rainy and, by definition, was rather slow. And it was, technically, my fault and, like I said, I will admit that. But it’s still sucky of them to KNOW that and just leave! I actually ended up in the red tonight because I had to cover their bill (my manager did what he could, but he can only do so much). I walked in with $60 and walked out, before paying for my dinner, with $40. The other server working down with me told me he’d front me some if I needed it, and I know the boyfriend would have, but I would never EVER ask them to.
This was my charity shift for the year.
And I have been told by my manager that if I see any of them again, even in the bar we work at, that I’m allowed to tell them they owe me $150. We can’t make them pay or do much about it, but I can tell them they owe me money and try to get it.
So yeah, that was my night. How was yours?
It’s not my fault
Let’s start out with this. It is specifically NOT my fault that:
your boyfriend is really drunk and you don’t like all the attention he’s giving you in public;
an old couple gave you a dirty look as you walked by because you were making out at the table by the window,
the clouds decided they were too full of moisture and decided to rain while you were walking in downtown;
we are out of steak;
you forgot to tell me you are allergic to onions;
or tomatos;
or bread;
or anything else that you might not like which means you can’t eat, oh, anything on our menu;
it’s too hot outside;
the fresh catch is a fish you don’t like;
our saloon t-shirts only come in male sizes and are not tank tops;
you dropped your newly purchased glass because you forgot what was in your bag and threw it at someone else in your group;
all the booths are full and you have to sit at a table (no, we will NOT kick someone out of the table;
the only tables we have outside are, well, outside where it’s bright, sunny and hot;
your horse didn’t win the Kentucky Derby;
or any of the other crazy things people have fussed at me for.
I am not God. I do not control the weather, other people, prices, sports, you or anyone or thing but myself. Please do not fuss at me or complain at me for things I have no control over. And please do not take it out on me by stiffing me. I don’t appreciate it and I do remember faces.
Gift cards are NOT credit cards
I had one couple come in (the PDA couple from up above) and they were all around rude. No big deal, whatever, I can deal with that. But when it came time to pay, the girl gave me this Visa gift card (they’re used like debit cards) to pay. It was declined. I tried it again to be sure it wasn’t a phone line problem and it was declined again, so I went back, explained nicely it wasn’t going through and apologized. She gave me another one to try.
Same thing again.
So I go back again and, being as nice as I can, tell her they won’t go through and she might want to call her bank to be sure they are activated. She got REALLY mad and REALLY rude at that.
HER: Of course they’re activated! I’ve been using those two to buy things all day!!
…….These were not credit cards. Had she considered the fact that maybe, just maybe, they might not have enough on them to cover the bill? She huffed and puffed about it and told me I should do something about it and finally just threw down some cash and stormed out.
Again, not my fault.
Probably not the best idea
This wasn’t exactly an SC in the bar, but it was right outside and caused some drama. So a drunk guy, probably in his 50s, comes in one afternoon and we refuse him service cause, well, he’s really drunk. He apparently doesn’t like that. His wife makes him leave and as they’re walking away he apparently hits her.
Not cool.
So apparently a not-so-drunk guy on the street sees Drunk Guy (DG) hit his wife. Not-So-Drunk Guy (NG) tells DG not to do that and starts to ask the wife if she’s okay and if she needs anything. DG doesn’t like this, tells NG it’s none of his business and starts to go at NG like he’s going to hit him.
Now, like I said, DG is in his 50s I would guess and not in that great a shape. NG is probably 20something and very, very well built. He went to a gym.
Needless to say, DG didn’t stand a chance.
DG ended up bleeding (hit his head on the concrete when he fell after NG punched him) and my manager and one of the bartenders hurried out with rags and napkins. The cops and ambulance were called as a precaution and somewhere in the commotion NG and his girlfriend disappeared. It was a big drama thing and everyone in our restaurant was trying to see what was going on. One of my tables was right there by the incident, with an open window, and told me everything. It was the drama of the day. DG is an idiot, obviously.
I would hate to be the one dating you……
I had this one table the other night that I thought was the most high maintenance table ever (I was proven wrong tonight). Every time I walked by they needed something, usually something that we did not have and had no reason to have. Our catch of the day was tuna and we have good stuff, sushi grade, so they asked for it rare. And then started asking for things like wasabi (which we don’t have) and getting really upset and b*tchy when I told them that we, in fact, do not have wasabi, as we are not a sushi place. I started offering them anything else I could think of but nothing was good enough. Finally I found something that would please them (I don’t remember what) but every time I walked by it would be “Are you SURE you don’t have any wasabi back there?”
No. It just appears magically in our fridge every so often for ten seconds and then disappears. Let me go check and see if you’re special enough for this to be one of those moments.
No. You aren’t. Your parents were wrong. You aren’t special. I’m sorry. Here’s an empty glass to cry in.
Not a toy!
Please, please, please for the love of puppies and penguins and your beloved Hurricanes football, if you take your children out to dinner with you make sure you have a way to keep them entertained. Sugar packets are not a toy. They are not meant to be used to entertain your children while you eat. They are not meant to be dumped on the table and then the papers thrown on the ground. They are not meant to be piled in a big pile and then drenched with coke. In fact, it makes a big sticky mess.
That I have to clean up.
I do not get paid enough to deal with your children. (Can you tell I didn’t like this family? Really. Those children – and the parents too – were pigs. Took me thirty minutes to clean their table. They CAN’T live that way at home!)
But I know the owner!
We’re owned by a famous man. Who, if you are from a certain city, has a very recognizable name. So, since we’re a tourist town, it’s not uncommon for people from said city to come in asking if he’s here, claiming to be “good friends” of his.
Whatever. That’s fine.
But I had a table tonight insisting they were great friends of his and that their meal should be comped, or at least discounted, because of it. I apologized and told them I couldn’t do that unless he specifically told me to. They hemmed and hawed and said if he was there he would know exactly who they were. They finally gave up though.
What made it the funniest?
Said owner was in the bar. About two tables over. And they didn’t even bat an eye.
Yeah…..they knew him real well.
The table from Hell (or why I hate nine specific people from New Jersey)
So part of this suckiness is my own fault and I will readily admit that when I come to it. But I had the table from hell tonight. And I have been given permission to tell them, if I see them, that they owe me money.
It was a nine top, which can be annoying, and they were just the most complicated people. They kept changing their minds and making me run to the bar yelling “Wait! Don’t make that!” cause they couldn’t settle one what to have. They were altering everything, complaining cause our special martini has vodka in it (you wouldn’t want it with gin – trust me), needing to taste this wine or that wine or this drink or that cause they didn’t know if they would like it. When ordering food they were all talking over each other and changing everything and needing this or that. When the food came out half of it “wasn’t right” – they didn’t like the dressing or they wanted more of this but less of that or the potatos weren’t warm enough or they didn’t like broccoli (even though I told them, and that person specifically, it was in the veggies) or the tuna was too cooked – he ordered it medium rare. It was. He raised a fuss, we sent it back, I told the kitchen to do it as rare as possible. They seared it JUST enough to get the outside white. My manager looked at it and said “I wouldn’t usually serve that at all!”. That fish was still swimming thankyouverymuch and I take it out and what do I get? "THAT’S medium rare!”. They were just all around being overly and needlessly complicated, fussy, needy and picky.
That’s okay. I’m a picky eater. I can deal with that. They ran me for an hour and didn’t give me a seconds rest (all this while I had other tables to tend to as well) and I didn’t like them, but they wouldn’t be the table from Hell just for that.
So when they ordered, they were altering and changing everything. So when I rang it in, I rang the food under a separate seat so I could check it and go over it easily without dealing with all the drink orders. I do this often, not a big deal, and just combine the checks when I print it. But when they asked for their check, I was doing about five things at once for four different tables. By the time I got back to the table, they were gone and the money was in the book for their tab. This was less than three minutes later – I did one circle of the restaurant and I was back. I thought it odd they left so quick, but figured they were trying to get somewhere.
Until I went to the terminal to cash out their check to free up the table in our system.
So this is where the oooops and partially my fault of the suckiness comes in. I will readily admit it. Like I said, when they asked for the bill, I was doing a number of things and just went to the terminal and printed the bill without looking at the total, dropped it in a book and dropped it at the table, telling them to take their time, then hurried off to deliver drinks and take orders. When I cashed out the check I realized that I had only printed the check for one seat.
Meaning they had only gotten the bill for their drinks and not ANY of their food.
These people, nine adults, all over 21, had gotten the bill, seen there was absolutely no food on it when they KNEW they all ordered food that was at least nine dollars, and hadn’t said a word. The hostess said later, when I told her what happened, that she had wondered why they were all looking for hurriedly for cash and then leaving so quickly.
They knew. They knew they had managed to get a bill for less than half their actual tab and they didn’t say a word.
So I was stuck with a food tab for $150. On a Tuesday night. That was kinda rainy and, by definition, was rather slow. And it was, technically, my fault and, like I said, I will admit that. But it’s still sucky of them to KNOW that and just leave! I actually ended up in the red tonight because I had to cover their bill (my manager did what he could, but he can only do so much). I walked in with $60 and walked out, before paying for my dinner, with $40. The other server working down with me told me he’d front me some if I needed it, and I know the boyfriend would have, but I would never EVER ask them to.
This was my charity shift for the year.
And I have been told by my manager that if I see any of them again, even in the bar we work at, that I’m allowed to tell them they owe me $150. We can’t make them pay or do much about it, but I can tell them they owe me money and try to get it.
So yeah, that was my night. How was yours?
I don't even work in restaurants! But I've certainly eaten in them and seen (and heard) those kinds of things.
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