These are true stories of my experiences as a waitress.

Stories of a Waitress Slowly Going Insane

Kick off those slip resistant shoes and relax

Threw a Temper Tantrum

So my night started off alright… no complaints… waited on a millionaire that gave me a nice tip and he was super funny…. then I get to my last table. 

du du duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu *pending doom noise*

I get sat with my last table of the night around 8:30 p.m. and they are waiting on two more people. They order 2 waters and say that sometimes their friends tend to run late, which I tell them is no problem. It’s only 8:30 after all….I ask if they’d like an appetizer while they wait, and Mr. and Mrs. Talkative decline. Mrs. Talkative then asks what time we close, and I tell her 10pm, to which she replies, “Oh great. We are fine then.”

a half hour later… 

Their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fathead come in, and I take everyone’s order. 

By 9:30, Mr. and Mrs. Fathead, and Mr. Talkative have finished eating, but Mrs. Talkative still has a half rack of ribs left on her plate. I go to the back and grab a to-go box, thinking she’ll probably ask me for one once I come back. As I bring it over and offer it to her, she looks me square in the eye and says in this really offended voice, “I’m not done yet,” and waves the box away. 

I definitely felt really stupid, but I had good intentions. 

So I finish up with everything else in the back; I have my silver rolled, my sidework is finished, and my other tables are clean. All I’m waiting on is this table, so I walk over and ask if anyone would like dessert, since Mrs. Talkative is just picking around her food and talking her mouth off. They decline, but then Mr. Talkative orders a decaf coffee… How delightful… it’s a half hour after close and he’s ordering coffee. I’m never getting out of here. 

I drop their checks after I deliver his coffee, and then it’s another half hour before they actually offer up their credit cards to pay. I run their credit cards and deliver them back, then it’s just another waiting game. 

At 11:30, Casanova (one of the hosts) walks back into the kitchen and tells me that my table wants a to-go box.

I AM LIVID. WHAT A DUMB FUCKING CUNT. WHY WOULD SHE NOT HAVE JUST TAKEN THE MOTHERFUCKING TO GO BOX WHEN I OFFERED IT INSTEAD OF BEING A TOTAL BITCH?! AND THEN SITTING THERE FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF AFTER CLOSE.

I HATE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After they finally leave, I throw the biggest tempter tantrum that a 22 year old has ever been known to throw. I”m embarrassed even thinking about it now. As Golden Girl watched (and laughed), I stomped around cleaning that last table while yelling obscenities over and over again. 

I then say, “HOW DO YOU PEOPLE DO THIS FIVE NIGHTS A WEEK?! I’M ONLY HERE THREE NIGHTS A WEEK AND I WANT TO COMMIT A MURDER!!!!!”

As I continue yelling and screaming, I look up and catch Unstable standing in the corner of the dining room with this amused expression on his face. 

OF ALL THE PEOPLE TO CATCH ME DOING THIS AND MAKE FUN OF MY TEMPER, IT HAD TO BE THE BIPOLAR MANAGER?! THE FUCK?!

And he continued to laugh and smile as he watched me in my rage. seriously. I’m kind of laughing at it now. He hasn’t been bad lately, but it amuses me that he thought I was so hilarious… Definitely the “pot calling the kettle black” type of situation. 

So there. There’s my rant of the night. OH, AND I HAVE A FINAL WORTH 150 POINTS IN THE MORNING AND I JUST GOT HOME. TO MY TABLE TONIGHT, SUCK MY NONEXISTENT DICK YOU ASSHOLES!!!!!!