the bitchy waiter

So I tempted fate a few days ago by writing about dropping trays. Thankfully, I made it through my next shift with my trays as steady as ever so I thought I would take another gamble and write about something else that can plague a server: falling on your ass. It's happened to most of us and if it hasn't happened to you yet, it will. It's inevitable. I've written about when customers fall but who really cares when they fall? As long as they didn't hurt their wallet or break their credit card, I'm good. But when it happens to one of our own, it's a true tragedy.

The last time I fell was when I worked at VYNL. Part of the kitchen and all of the storage was downstairs so it was ripe for accidents. Plus the stairs were made of metal, always greasy and they were so steep that we may as well have called them a ladder. Going down them once to fetch some ice, I slipped and ended up in the basement flat on my ass and in a pile of nasty stagnate water that no one wanted to fucking clean up. I guess since it was only stagnate water in the food prep area, everyone thought "meh, it's cool." It hurt though. And I have a skinny little bony ass without much padding. But worse than the physical pain was the humiliation of ending up on the floor in front of all the cooks. Most of them didn't speak English, but laughter is universal. They laughed at me in Spanish and I was mucho embarrassed.

The thing about falling at a restaurant is that when you fall, it's always onto the nasty ass floor that was slippery with salad dressing or fajita juice or whatever the fuck. And whatever made you slip is what you end up sitting in. And when you do fall you're usually in a hurry which contributed to the fall in the first place so you never have time to go clean up. You just pop right back up and carry on all the while having a big glob of 1000 Island dressing smeared all over your ass. Now don't misunderstand me. There is a time and place to have 1000 Island dressing smeared all over your ass but that time and place is not while you're at work.

Of course falling can be avoided. If you take yourself over to Payless, you can buy some skid-resistant shoes for $24.99 and they really help. Spending $24.99 on something crappy for a crappy job is not fun, but let me say this. Not falling at work is a good thing too. And not having 1000 Island dressing smeared all over your ass while at work is an even better thing. Save that for your private time.

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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 11:11 AM 16 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: FALLING, I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP, SLIPPING, VYNL

THURSDAY, JUNE 10, 2010

When I Was There, Was I Really Family?
This is a post from a while back, but I have a very busy day ahead of me and my lazy ass doesn't have time to write new shit. Understandable? Or totally lame? You decide.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been about a million fucking years since my last confession, but while I was in Texas I did something I am completely ashamed of. The guilt has been eating away at me like a fat lady eats an order of eggs benedict. The shame has completely consumed me so that I can barely function. Last night at work, I found it difficult to maintain focus and give my customers the attention they so rightly deserved. My mind kept wandering to a dreadful night eight days ago when I did what I swore I would never ever do. Something that makes me shudder with revulsion. I ate at The Olive Garden.

It was my last night with my parents and I wanted to take them out to dinner. They live in a small town and when you want to eat someplace nice, the options are limited. There, they think The Olive Garden is fancy. Real fancy. When people go there they do it without any hint of irony at all. So that's where we went. I must admit that I was looking forward to that never-ending bread stick/salad bowl thingy even though someone once told me that each bread stick was 310 calories. Our server was a young girl who was obviously new to the world of food service. Someone at our table asked her which wine she thought was better. I was pretty sure that all of the wines at The olive Garden would be equally mediocre but she had an answer. Her answer sounded like it was in the form of a question. "Uh...I dunno? You'll have to ask someone else because I'm not old enough to taste the wine yet?" Then she giggled. Okay, listen, new waitress. You never say you don't know; you just make shit up. You can always say. "Well, the chardonnay is much more popular than the pinot grigio" or some other vague ass answer like that. The table ordered three different glasses of wine so when she showed up she was holding three glasses in one hand and had three bottles of wine cradled in her arm and up against her chest. She squatted down to get them to the table and then gave a big sigh of relief. "Whew! I made it and I'm the captain of dropping things." And then she giggled. Ay ay, captain, just shut the fuck up and take my order.

I had a chicken parmigiana and I inhaled three breadsticks (930 calories...), had some salad and two glasses of wine. I enjoyed the food. It sorta remonded me of the chick parm you used to be able to get at Burger King and I loved that shit. It was 9:15 and we suddenly realized we were the only ones left in the restaurant. It being a Tuesday night in small town Texas, people headed home early I suppose. Maybe they had to get up early on Wednesday and till the farm or clean out the chicken coops. We asked if they were closed, but they informed us that they were open until 10:00 and there was no need to hurry. A few minutes later, Giggles the waitress came to our table and said, "So, I'm gonna go 'head and go home now? So...uhh..." We took that as our cue to pay the check. We left her a 22% tip which in that town was enough for her to go buy a two bedroom one bath house. I enjoyed my meal at The Olive Garden. When I was there, I really did feel like family. That may have been in part due to the fact that I was eating with my parents who are actually family, but regardless, it was nice.

I hope you can forgive me for eating at The Olive Garden. I hope Jesus can forgive me but most of all I hope I can forgive myself. I shall say 100 Hail Marys and clean the lids of twenty ketchup bottles in hopes that I can be resolved of this most monsterous of sins.

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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 9:06 AM 28 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: OLIVE GARDEN

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 9, 2010

Uno, Dos, Trays
All waiters occasionally drop a tray, but after years and years of practice it happens less and less often. Throughout my near upon two decades of experience (I started waiting tables at the age of two) I have gotten to where having a tray at the end of my arm is as natural as having a margarita at the end of it. I can maneuver my way through a crowd with a tray of glasses held over my head with grace and elegance. A few weeks ago I dropped my pen onto the floor and just bent down to pick it up while holding a tray of martinis. I didn't think anything about it but the lady at the table acted like I should go join Cirque du Soleil or something. When I worked at the Marriott, I entered this thing called "Marriott Olympics" and had to run through an obstacle course while holding a tray with glasses of water. Didn't spill a drop. I didn't win though because this lady named Nancy had been waiting tables since the invention of food and she had more experience than me. That bitch won a free night at a hotel and some luggage for that shit. I'm not bitter though. Much.

Some servers can do that really cool spinning trick with their trays and I have never been able to master it. I was never able to spin a basketball on my finger either so I'm pretty sure I have some kind of finger tip deficiency problem. I work with a guy now who's really good at it and every time he does it I get all jealous and have to leave the room. Some people aspire to write the next great American novel or find a cure for cancer. I just wanna fucking learn how to spin a goddamn tray on my finger. Damn this finger tip deficiency of mine!

I don't remember the last time I dropped a tray but of course since I just typed that, the next time will be tonight. About a hundred years ago I was a food runner at a Mexican restaurant in Denver called Juanita's. I worked there for about nine months and never once dropped a tray. And those trays were huge-like five and six platters worth of food. On my last night of employment there, I mentioned to someone that I had never dropped a tray. I jinxed myself. At the end of the shift, after I had punched out I went to say goodbye to the kitchen because I was moving the next week. The food runner who was still on was all of a sudden weeded so I said I would take the last tray out as I left. My swan song, you might say. Of course I dropped it. Fajitas, enchiladas, rice and beans all over the place. Seriously? My last tray is the one I dropped as I am doing them a favor? I cleaned that shit up and got the hell out of Juanita's.

When I worked at Houlians's, we played a game sometimes that involved dropping a tray on purpose. The point of the game was to drop a tray on purpose. All you would do was pick up a tray and then drop the tray on purpose. It's fun to break stuff. Ah, Houlihan's...good times.

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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 2:15 PM 26 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: HOULIHAN'S, JUANITA'S, TRAYS
TUESDAY, JUNE 8, 2010

Dear Lady at Table 32,






Here is a brief list of all things I wanted to say to Table 32 a few days ago:



Do you really need to be reseated that many times in order to find the perfect seat?
It's tacky to tip the host and then still complain about where you're sat.
The drink has Blue Curacao in it, so yes it is actually going to be blue.
The Real Housewives of New Jersey asked me to tell you to give them their accent back.
That blouse looks like it came from the $5 and under bin at Chico's.
Black is not slimming.
You have on way too many sequins. The only person wearing that many sequins should be on an episode of "Toddlers and Tiaras" or be named Liza Minnelli.
You don't need to call me over to hand me an empty glass. I will get it when I have a free hand.
I see that your reservation was for two but you are alone now. You don't have to tell me that you decided to take yourself out tonight. It's obvious that your husband bailed on you and is at home relishing the two hours of solitude and trying to recall what it's like to not have his ears bleed from the sound of your voice.
Your hair is scaring me. And scarring me. For life. Frosted is not pretty.
You don't need to call me over to hand me another empty glass. I will get it when I have a free hand.
Do you really need more napkins or are you just trying to think of something to ask for every time I walk by you?
Seriously bitch, stop calling me over to take empty shit from your fucking table.
Using the phrase "it's a delight" does not make you sophisticated. It makes me think you heard it on that episode of "The Three Stooges" when they were plumbers at that fancy party and that one snobby rich lady said it.
Using the phrase "it's a delight" more than six or seven times makes me think you are supremely dumb and a trifle desperate.
Yes, I can get you an order of hummus and chips.
Yes, I can get you more chips.
I see you waving me down again. Let me guess. Your plate is empty and you want me to take it. Stop it.
The people next to you are sick of hearing you talk. They don't know you and don't want to be your friend.
Yes, I will get your check for you. You don't have to ask me for that. It's on my list of things to give to you along with a dirty look and a fist up your puss.
Yes, we take American Express. Your American Express card does not impress me. It's a green one.
You looked stupid when you took a picture of the performer after her show and told her she was "a delight." Enough with that phrase already.
I hate you. You annoy me. Don't come back.
Things I actually said to Table 32 a few days ago:

Can I take your order?
Yes, ma'am.
Good bye.

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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 10:37 AM 49 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: BITCH, LIZA MINNELLI, NEW JERSEY, THREE STOOGES
MONDAY, JUNE 7, 2010

The Patio is a Pain in the Ass
This is a re-post of something I wrote last summer, but it being summer, its time has come again.

Let me tell you about waiting tables on a patio: it sucks. My restaurant has a patio in the summer and people knock themselves over to get one of those crappy little two-tops next to a busy Manhattan street. It's not relaxing out there, that's for sure. Sirens, buses, homeless people watching you eat french toast? Why bother? But people love it. But what really annoys the fuck out of me is when someone complains that it's too hot or too windy. Oh okay, let me stop the wind for you, lady.

Someone today waited twenty minutes for a table on the patio/dirty sidewalk. After they rearranged the tables to suit their needs they called me over and said the sun was too bright. I asked the sun to stop shining, but that bitch didn't want to cooperate so then they wanted to move. I reminded them that we are in fact outside which tends to have sun and told them that the entire inside of the restaurant was shaded if they wanted to move their gloober-globber asses inside. Of course they didn't. They wanted to move the table somewhere else making it almost impossible for me to walk around them, but sure. Whatever makes my customers happy is what I want. Uh huh. They also tipped me $7.00 on $62.00. Assholes. I hope they get a touch of melanoma from their three minutes in the bright sun.

Another time a lady freaked the fuck out because she saw a rat on the sidewalk. It's a sidewalk. In New York City. That's where rats live. Be thankful the rat didn't pull up a chair and order a Bloody Mary and ask for separate checks.

Another time a lady called me over because a gnat had flown into her mimosa and she wanted another glass. This very thing happened just a few days ago. I personally think that drowning in a mimosa is a pretty good way to go, but whatever. It's a gnat. Who cares? Fish it out and continue drinking. I read somewhere once that we eat about a pound of bugs a year and don't even know it because they get in our food all the time. I told her this, but she didn't like that factoid. I took her mimosa inside and pulled the bug out of her drink with my impeccably clean hands. I then poured her drink into a new glass and gave it back to her. She should have been more specific and asked for another drink and not just another glass.

I hate working on the patio.


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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 9:40 AM 44 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: INSECTS, PATIO, RATS
SUNDAY, JUNE 6, 2010

Must Be 21 to Read This Post
Every once in a while, someone will send me an email that will spark an idea of what I should write about so a big shout out to Leila for this blog post idea. Minors trying to order drinks are such a nuisance. In my day, I never even tried to order before I was of age because I had such a baby face that it was never gonna happen. I would just do what any sensible minor would do which was sit in my car and drink a couple of Bartles and Jaymes or California Coolers followed by a chaser of Boone's Berry Farm before going in somewhere. All of my friends had fake i.d.'s so I would just watch them drink or maybe if the circumstances were right, they would order for me.

It's funny to be a server and see some obviously underage kid trying to order a cocktail. It's always a dead giveaway when they order some stupid ass drink like a Long island Iced Tea or a Banana Daiquiri. Or they go in the other direction and try to be so cool and order a scotch on the rocks. If they would just order a Coors Light or some other nondescript drink, I probably wouldn't notice but if you ask me for a Sex on the Beach or a Bahama Mama, I'm gonna figure you are either a tourist, stupid or under age. Or all three. When I was first waiting tables I hated to ask for i.d. because I was barely 21 myself and still looked like I was 17 and was always so afraid that I was going to offend someone. Nowadays I don't give a shit. It's fun to bust a kid. And they always have the same excuse. "Err, uh..I must have left my license in my other purse" or "dude, my wallet was stolen but I am so 21. Seriously, I was born in 1989, dude, for real." Sorry. Not gonna fly with me. Like I really want to lose my (shitty ass lame) job for serving a minor just because he wants to see what a Mudslide tastes like. I was out once with a group of people and one kid was only 19. He was trying to be all cool and shit so he ordered a White Russian, but requested it to be "easy on the Kahlua." My friend looked at him and said, "you know that Kahlua is an alcohol, right?" He didn't. What a dumbass. If you're gonna order a White Russian while in a dive bar, the bartender will look at you and think you are a dumbass, dumbass. He didn't get served. He should have ordered a Budweiser and no one would have questioned it.

Kids, don't try to drink in my station. I will card you because I enjoy disappointing you. I may even let you order it, wait five minutes and then come and ask for i.d. just so you can get your hopes up that a Mai Tai is coming your way. Don't fuck with me, fellas. I ain't got time to waste. Get your self a fake i.d. or order a fucking apple juice.


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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 11:06 AM 48 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: BAHAMA MAMA, DRINKING AGE
SATURDAY, JUNE 5, 2010

The Menu is Your Friend


This an older post that I thought needed to be seen again since so many people are not familiar with the word "menu."

Sometimes people think that when they come into the restaurant they are in their own kitchen and I am their personal chef for the day. No bitch, that is not how it works. We have this thing called a menu. M-E-N-U. It is this really great idea that someone came up with that tells you what we have to offer. You should read it. Someone was paid to create it and make it and print it. And then that girl at the front who showed you to your table gave you one for you to look at it. It is not for your devil spawn children to draw in or for you to use to flag me down. It is for you to choose what you want to eat. Some ass came in the other day and threw himself into a booth without being seated. Then he complained the table was sticky with syrup. (He HOPES it was syrup.) So he didn't have a menu and he ordered a chicken parmesan. Seriously? Does this look Bella Italia or The Olive Garden? No, ass, we are a diner. Burgers, salads, meatloaf. I ain't got no fucking eggplant rollatini so don't ask for that shit either. So I told him we don't have it. "What, you out of that today?" I suggested that he order two fried eggs with hash browns and toast because that is what we do. Or maybe a burger with a side of pubic hair because that is what he was about to get. This other douche bag came in last week and started ordering all this ala carte crap without looking at the menu. He ordered two eggs just like his friends. Fine. That comes with hash browns and toast. Then he says he wants French Toast too. Okay, we have that. And then he wants sausage. And coffee. And orange juice. It all came out, he ate it and then got his bill and had a fucking pissy bitch fit. He wants to know how three orders of eggs can cost more than twenty dollars. I told him it was simple mathematics. One order is $6.95 and when you multiply that by three it comes out to more than twenty dollars. See? It's easy, douche! He thought there was a better way I could have rung up his food so he did not have to pay for everything. I took him a menu. MENU! I showed him each thing he ordered. I asked him, "Is that what you had? Did it come to your table? Did you eat it all?" He answered yes to all these things. Then here is your bill. End of story. Read the fucking menu people and make both our lives a little easier, but I will still want to drop pubes in your burger, just so you know.


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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 1:26 PM 23 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: MENU
A Travesty Has Occured
A terrible thing has happened and I can hardly live with myself. How have I made it through 24 years of life ( I was born in 1986, give or take a few years) and not known something of this magnitude? I feel like the rug has been pulled from under me and I don't know what's real anymore. Yesterday was National Doughnut Day and nobody fucking told me. And this is a holiday that has been happening since 19 freakin' 38? According to the vast amount of research I did on Wikipedia, this wonderful event was started to honor the ladies who served doughnuts to the soldiers in World War I. And on a side note, I think one of those soldiers was in my station a few weeks ago. National Doughnut Day happens on the first Friday of every June so I have placed this handy dandy countdown clock here to remind us that on June 3, 2011 we can all have donuts for breakfast, lunch and dinner and when someone gives us the judging evil eye we can say, "fuck off, it's for the troops." And then proceed to cram another glazed doughnut into our pie hole.

Apparently Dunkin' Donuts was even giving away a free doughnut yesterday if you ordered a cup of coffee. This is not right. I could have spent all day yesterday hop, skipping and jumping from Dunkin' Donuts to Krispy Kreme and filling up on fried dough. My arteries are royally pissed off that they missed this wonderful opportunity. This will never happen again. It is now marked as permanent alarm in my phone, the date on the calendar is already circled, there is a string around my finger and I have a tattoo on my face that says "don't forget doughnut day." But don't worry. The tattoo is in a real fancy font so even though I have a tattoo about doughnuts on my face, I'm still classy.



This clock is set to New York City time, just so you know.


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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 9:23 AM 18 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: DUNKIN' DONUTS, KRISPY KREME, NATIONAL DOUGHNUT DAY
FRIDAY, JUNE 4, 2010

Just Say No to Gummi Bears
Anyone who has worked in a restaurant knows what a table tent is. They are the little menus that sit on a table that are more than likely sticky and covered with old crusted food because those little shits never get wiped down. Sure, it's in our sidework to wipe them down every day, but no one ever does it. The table tent will tell you the specials of the day or some other bullshit information. Personally, I like a table that's clutter free. It makes the restaurant look nicer and quite frankly it just means less crap for me to keep clean. When I worked at a diner, every table had a ketchup bottle, creamer, sugar caddie, jellies, table tent and a bowl of butters, not to mention the silverware and napkins. Too much crap. The place I work in now is more of a night club but it too has its own paraphernalia: table tent, candle, bev naps, an email sign up list and pen. It looks crowded.

The other day we had a performer who wanted to add some more shit to the table because I guess there was still a couple of square inches that weren't accounted for yet and she wanted to make sure I had absolutely no place to put down drinks. She added a program for her show, business cards, raffle tickets and Gummi Bears that were poured into old prescription bottles. Yeah, I don't get the significance either. But she didn't just leave the Gummi Bears in the bottles. She also thought it was beneficial to spread them out all over the tables- like people are really gonna eat a piece of candy right off a cocktail table. By the time she was done, it looked like a clown had puked all over the whole damn place. Or maybe Rainbow Brite just got her period. The club seats 120 people so she made sure that every seat had all that crap at it even though there were only reservations for 60 people. That means that she put out 100% more crap than was necessary. I hate overachievers.

After the show, do you think she helped remove all the stuff she had put on the tables? Of course not. And have you ever tried to wipe away hundreds of Gummie Bears off a table? I don't recommend it. They stick. Basically, each and every fucking Gummi Bear had to be picked up individually and it was a huge time suck. With no pay off. Maybe if she had a song called "Gummi Bears on the Tables" or "I Like Making Extra Work For Waiters" it would have made sense. But she didn't. Bitch just stuck Gummi Bears on my tables for no good reason. I was never a fan of the Gummi Bear. And now I really hate them. All in favor of a bare table say "aye." Aye.

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POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 1:26 PM 38 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: GUMMI BEARS, TABLE TENTS
THURSDAY, JUNE 3, 2010

You Wanna Piece of Me?

As I have previously noted, I am not only a bitchy waiter, I am also a shameless publicity seeking whore. Which is why you can go here to get a little piece of me. I know, it is totally cheesy and lame and stupid, but I don't care. Just go and see if there is something you can't live without. All items would also serve as (really lame-ass) gifts.


POSTED BY THE BITCHY WAITER AT 1:58 PM 13 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
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BLOG ARCHIVE

▼ 2010 (99)
▼ June (13)
Slip Sliding Away
When I Was There, Was I Really Family?
Uno, Dos, Trays
Dear Lady at Table 32,
The Patio is a Pain in the Ass
Must Be 21 to Read This Post
The Menu is Your Friend
A Travesty Has Occured
Just Say No to Gummi Bears
You Wanna Piece of Me?
My Child, My Pet
Please Drink Responsibly. But Only if You Really ...
Bloody Mary Secret Recipe
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NEW YORK, NY
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