These are true stories of my experiences as a waitress.
First of all, people that tip on the amount AFTER their meal has been discounted are shitheads. Point blank. I’m still having to tip out on the percentage of my SALES, meaning that I tip out 2.5% of your tab regardless of how much you’re actually tipping me.
Second of all, why do you INSIST on plucking your motherfucking coupons on the table the second you sit down? Are you trying to show that your cheapskates, because it’s working. I’m all about saving a dollar, but handing me the coupon before you’ve even ordered is extremely annoying. I can’t even apply it until it’s time to pay, so why are you handing it to me so quickly? It’s not going to burn if you don’t use it fast enough.
Third of all, please just hand me your form of payment and the coupon all at once. It makes it so much easier. You can’t tell me you don’t know how much it’s going to cost after the coupon if the coupon says $4 off two dinners. This means that your ticket will be FOUR DOLLARS LESS than the original amount. Rocket science? I think not. Come on people, you’re not THAT stupid.
Oh, and quit trying to use 100 fucking coupons at once. It clearly says that you can only use one per table per visit. Quit trying to cheat the system. You can’t do stuff like that in a retail store, so why are you doing it in a restaurant? This means, do not bring a $4 off two dinners, free appetizer, and a free dessert, and then get pissed when I can’t take all three. I know you can read.
There. I’m done.
*shaking my damn head*
The second you pick up a table after cuts are made, ya get put in the weeds. It’s almost become a cardinal rule at my restaurant. Unless you’re cut, you’re screwed for the next hour of transition. It fucking sucks.
Tonight I waited on a group of people probably in their late teens/early 20’s…. I got to add gratuity to their table, and I’m praising God that I was able to because as I walked away, I heard them all complaining about how much tip was added.
I could tell that they all came from money just from the way they acted towards me. Two of them were super decent, and left me an extra tip to make it 20%. The rest were real pieces of shit, though. It was extremely irritating to be at the beck and call of little rich bastards for two hours. Just sayin’.
Since the host now lives with one of the servers, he conveniently sits the best-known tippers with Half-pint…. JOY…..
This means I will probably never get to wait on the Austrians, Lady Cosmo and Sam Adams, ever again :(
Our DM is such a fucking mouthbreather…. whenever he comes by, he stays the whole day and just walks around breathing down everyone’s neck and talks in this child molester voice and asks a billion questions at once: “Hey gal! How’s it going today? All your food coming out alright? Everything going okay? Have you tried our new dish? Been personalizing drink orders? Been giving great service? Have you been PERSONALIZING YOUR SERVICE?”
personalize my service… how about I personalize your face?
He then asked me how I personalize my service for each guest every day.
Let’s see… When they piss me off, I don’t rip their fucking heads off like I’m tempted to! jk…. I’m not even sure what I told him.
Whenever he’s around, Unstable walks around with this look of dread on his face like any moment, a bomb will go off. The others freak out in the kitchen trying to make sure nothing goes wrong… And it just so happens that EVERYTHING goes wrong all at once.
Then he will stand behind you while you are greeting your tables. I was talking to this family of four yesterday, and I watched as their eyes lost contact with mine and started watching behind me. I turn, and Mouthbreather is standing right behind me staring at them and smiling with that creepy smile of his. FUCKING CREEPER.
Tonight I only had one table for about an hour and a half. Wanna know why?
BITCHES KEPT HOPPING TABLES!
Scarjo came up and asked if I could handle a sixtop, and I was like, fuck yes I can handle it I”m super bored. She proceeded to set me up with one, and she seats two ladies there. I do my standard greet and suggest some cocktails, to which one of them readily selects my favorite… I ring in the martini she selected and get bread and water for the other lady.
I grab the martini, come around the corner, and guess what? THEY’RE GONE.
Then, Scarjo comes up to me with this sad look on her face…and then I know what happened….
Scarjo: “They didn’t want to sit there and moved to the back corner…”
And the table that they’re at? A large booth that seats up to 6 or 7 people… and it’s most definitely NOT in my section…. even better, the server with that section is extremely selfish and would never offer to trade tables.
I approach the table where the ladies are and drop off the drinks and let them know that I’ll get the tabs transferred over, to which they give me these bullshit sad sighs and protests. Ahem.
THIS ISN’T MY TABLE, SO I CAN’T WAIT ON YOU, YOU IGNORANT DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES!
“We wanted somewhere more private because we all wanna talk.” one of them tells me and gives me a pouty, apologetic look.
What? Are you secret service agents? Are you planning a top secret bank heist? Because honestly, I doubt any other tables will give two fucks what you’re talking about. It’s not like your lives are THAT interesting. Give me a break…. *insert eye roll here*
OH, and I’m not even finished.
So then Scarjo seats me with a four top, only theres only two people there. I get their drink orders, come back, and they tell me that they’ve had an emergency and need to go get the people they were supposed to meet, and run out the door.
By this time, I have no tables. FML
I’VE DECIDED I HAVE ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES THAT WILL NOT BE RESOLVED IF I CONTINUE WITH THIS JOB, BECAUSE IT IS CAUSING ME TO WRITE IN ALL CAPS TO DESCRIBE HOW MUCH I WANT TO SCREAM THESE STATEMENTS!!!!!!!!!!! I FUCKING HATE PEOPLE!
Oh, and by the way, here’s how “awesome” some of my coworkers are:
When that six-top moved, I went up to the server whose table they moved to and said, “T, you will need to get the tab from my table transferred to yours because they moved to your table after I’d already rung in their alcohol. Ask CC to——-“
And he interrupts and says, “WAIT! YOU CAN’T TAKE MY BIG TABLE. NO WAY!”
THE FUCK?! I’M TRYING TO BE A FUCKING DECENT PERSON AND TELL YOU THAT I’M GOING TO GET THE TAB TRANSFERRED TO YOU, AND THAT’S HOW YOU RESPOND?!!!!!
FUCK SELFISH COWORKERS! YOU’RE A BIG WASTE OF SPACE.
Women really are some of the shittiest tippers, and I don’t care which feminists that I offend with that statement, because being a woman myself, I don’t give a fuck. Yes, there are exceptions, as there are with every stereotype, but most of the exceptions are those that have had this job before, or who have kids that currently have the job.
They all order water with lemon, then say, “I just want a salad and a baked potato… but bring the salad out first (no shit, you dumb bitch… I’m not an idiot). Oh, and I want everything on the side. With extra onion… and no crouton.”
Or, they try to invent things on the menu, such as one of my precious women tonight: “I’ll have the soup and salad combo.”
…. “Maam…. we don’t have one of those….”
“Oh, well then I’ll just have the porkchops.” So did you REALLY want the soup and salad combo, or are you just trying to pretend you live a healthy lifestyle in front of your other friends? Because the difference in ordering porkchops and a soup/salad is pretty vast.
Then, they take up your table for hours just to talk about their shitty lives, and then each tip a dollar and think they’re being soooo generous.
GO TO STARBUCKS TO CHAT! GET OUT OF MY LIFE AND QUIT TAKING UP MY MONEY-MAKING BOOTH, YOU SNOBBY, MOTOR-MOUTH WASTES OF HUMAN AIR! Find something else to do other than analyzing how Dr. Phil has saved your life/marriage/baby/car/hair.
Mr. and Mrs. Cheapo and their clan came in today…. all five ordered water, and both parents wanted a side of lemons… lovely…
And they all proceeded to make ghetto lemonade right in front of my face. The entire table was covered in a plethora of little granules of sugar, splenda, and sweet and low. The apple does not fall far from the tree, does it?
Oh, and two of their kids that looked atleast 15 or 16 ordered off the kids menu…. and ordered the fruit juice that comes with it. Fruit juice? REALLY? ARE YOU FOUR?!
Back to the ghetto lemonade (bitch and moan of the day)… with all of the trouble that it takes me to constantly bring you lemons and have to refill my entire sugar caddy, I’d MUCH RATHER just bring you free lemonade. You people get on my fucking nerves!
If I was a real scheming bitch, I’d find a way to charge you for all those lemons so that it would’ve been cheaper to just get lemonade, but instead I choose to talk shit about you on an anonymous blog. Yay for having a pair, eh?
The table of 5 ate for 50 bucks…and they had a gift card… really, guys? Give me a fucking break.
The fucking bitch, Mrs. Talkative and her annoying husband Mr. Talkative…and they were ONE TABLE away from my section. THE DAY AFTER THEY KEPT ME AT WORK LATE. As I watched them walk through the door, my stomach fell because I watched the host lead them near my section…closer…closer….CLOSER….
SAVED. She went one table past my section. Another server waited on them while they watched me and gave me evil looks from afar…. assholes…. and they left within a reasonable amount of time for the other server. I hate people.
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!!!!!!
So I’ve been with a weightloss program since the beginning of January, and each month I meet with this doctor that asks me all types of questions to see how my progress is going. The last time I went, I had a brand new one that I’d never seen before.
She asked me what types of exercise I do daily, and my response was, “I wait tables.”
… blank stare…..
… minutes roll by….
… more blank staring….
Doctor Snobby: “So…. do you do anything when you get off of work as far as exercise goes?”
Me: “Yes; I use my upper arm strength to open a bottle of wine, drink heavily, and then blog about shitty customers until I feel like all is right in the world… then I pass the fuck out.”
another blank stare
Doctor Snobby: “So you consider waiting tables exercise?”
“Nope… I consider it a vacation from the world… OF COURSE IT’S EXERCISE! I never stop moving around like a maniac until the night is over with.”
Doctor Snobby: “Oh… Well it’s obviously working for you since you’ve lost weight so far….”
no shit, Sherlock.
I’m tired of ghetto people ordering Strawberry Daiquiris and Strawberry Lemonades like they’re going out of style, and then thinking it’s acceptable to leave a dollar as a tip… Fuck you, too, you ignorant assholes.
Face hitting palm….
Tonight sucked. I got stiffed. However, there’s more to this story than just the fact that some asshole didn’t tip. I’ll start from the beginning….
I got sat with a couple, a white guy and maybe a latino woman? I’m not totally sure of her nationality, but I’m going to call him MC (will explain later) and her Silence.
The reason that I refer to the girl as Silence is because when they ordered their food, she would not speak directly to me. In fact, he did the majority of the ordering for her until I get to the salad.
“Which salad would you like?” I ask as I look directly at her. Instead of giving me the courtesy of her gaze, she instead stared at MC whispered to him that she wanted the house salad.
MC: “She wants the house salad.” (Thanks, captain obvious)
I then look at her again and ask which dressing she’d like. She mumbles something to MC again, and he says, “She’ll have thousand island.”
THE FUCK? WHY IN THE HELL DO PEOPLE DO THIS?!
I find this disrespectful for two reasons: 1. I’m a woman, and other women before these past generations fought their pretty asses off for us to have some semblance of equality so that we have a voice. 2. I’m not a servant, and I’m certainly not beneath you. Look me in the fucking eye and tell me what you want to order. That’s what you’re at a restaurant for.
Anyway, this REALLY ticked me off. Sometimes it’s cute when husbands order for their wives. However, the wives always look at me and smile, and when the husband forgets to say something, they look directly at me and tell me sweetly. They don’t whisper to their husband to tell me when I’m standing RIGHT THERE. What a crock of SHIT! (can you tell how heated this makes me?) There are women in other countries that aren’t even allowed to wear what they want in public, and this woman won’t even use her voice to tell me what she wants to eat? She didn’t have any type of accent, and it was quite obvious that she was FROM this country.
Throughout this couple’s dining experience, I give awesome service. They never had to ask for a refill, I brought ketchup with his fries, etc. I anticipated their needs and they ate every bite of their food. Basically, they seemed to have a nice dining experience.
Moving on… So they get the bill and I run MC’s credit card, then hand it off, thank them, and move on to my next table to take their order. While I’m finishing up that table’s order, the couple leaves, so I immediately walk over to the table to get my booklet and prebus so that I can get another table. I then look at my credit receipt, and low and behold: I have just been completely stiffed. MC drew a line through the tip area, and then wrote the original amount in the “total” blank, then signed his name.
WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT?! I’ve been stiffed before; hell, I’m a waitress. It comes with the territory, and unfortunately, it happens more than it should because some people are assholes. I did not give them bad service; why would I? The way that I get paid is by giving good service. I don’t get paid hourly.
In fact, I technically just PAID to wait on this couple because I have to tip out 2.5% of my total sales, whether I got tipped or not.
What makes me SO angry about this particular incident though, is the fact that it was so blatant. How can you be so blunt and shameless about not tipping? WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT! HIS NAME IS ON THE CREDIT RECEIPT! Which is why, his name is MC…because I know his REAL name. I will NEVER forget his name, and when I leave my restaurant one day and get into a career that uses my degree, I AM CALLING YOUR ASS OUT, MC!
I AM GOING TO EDIT THIS BLOG POST AND POST YOUR FULL NAME, AND ANYONE THAT KNOWS YOU WILL KNOW WHAT A TOTAL ASSHOLE YOU ARE! WANNA KNOW WHY? BECAUSE YOUR DUMB ASS STIFFED ME VIA A CREDIT RECEIPT!
ugh. seriously. I’ve had worse stiffs on higher tabs, but this one just pissed me off. Especially since it was on a weeknight. Weeknights are slower so it’s hard to make up for a table that stiffed me. MY BLOOD IS BOILING.
*UPDATE* HIS NAME IS MICHAEL CARVER AND HE’S FROM FRANKLIN, TN. HA. this made me feel better.
I know that most of my stories are about crazy customers or annoying coworkers with a small side of pleasant stories, but that’s because it’s the entertaining stuff. No one wants to know about my normal tables… “I waited on a family of four that didnt complain, didn’t say much, tipped 15%, and left”… boring, right?
I honestly am super grateful for my job; I make more than in any other part-time job, it’s flexible enough for me to still be a full-time student and be able to focus on school, and I work with some awesome people. The good does outway the bad most of the time. I’ve also formed so many friendships, not just with coworkers, but also with guests that I’ve been able to talk to for more than a few minutes.
However, this is a question for all my fellow servers: How do you balance your social life? Do you even have one?
I literally work every single friday or saturday night unless I have something EXTREMELY important going on. Fridays and Saturdays are when I make the big bucks, OBVIOUSLY. Having those shifts means having probably $200 more, whereas a monday and tuesday night would probably bring in about half that or more. Fridays and Saturdays are also when ALL of my friends have the night off to go out and have fun. Taking off a friday or saturday means I have atleast a hundred dollars less than normal, which a lot of people don’t understand. Most of my friends have normal jobs with normal hours. It’s rare that I get to partake in this. I also work extremely late because I’m one of the few people that doesn’t want to be cut first at work. I try to milk out as much as I can out of each shift…. It’s not like there’s much to do once I’ve gotten out “early”… meaning like 11pm… I might as well stay as much as I can and try to make any extra cash possible.
I also have NO time for dating, much less time to even meet anyone to date. Any spare time I have outside of work and school is probably spent with family. How does everyone else find a balance? I don’t want my last year in school to float away with only memories of work and homework… Once I graduate, I plan on finding a job in my career field, so there won’t be play time then either :(
What do all of you do to relax or unwind? Because as this blog’s name suggests, I’m starting to go insane.
“The fuck?….Why the fuck are you ordering a steak? You’re a child!”
The story I’m about to tell you involves the type of customer that we have all had at some point…. the kind that run your ass to the ground. These people are needy, take up all of your time and energy, ask for something every time you come by, and never understand the concept that they aren’t your only table. Not only do they monopolize you, but they are usually the worst tippers as well….. so you’re working your tail off for a small fraction of what you really should be getting.
Anyway, I got sat with a three-top; one woman, her daughter, and her husband. I will refer to the woman as Nightmare, because whenever I have nightmares about work, she is in them! We will call her daughter NIT (nightmare in training), and the husband as Passive…because aside from giving me his order, he never said a word the entire time that this event was transpiring.
I won’t bore you with the details, but this lady literally had a hideous glint in her eye, as if she was purposely making my night a living hell out of pure pleasure. I really think she was taking out every one of her frustrations on me. EVERY time that I even got near her, she needed something. I brought Nightmare 8 loaves of bread…… …… …… She asked for bread every ten minutes. When I brought bread, she asked for extra butter; when i bring the butter, she asks for a side of honey. When I bring the honey, she asks for extra napkins. When I bring the napkins, she asks for a fresh sprite (even though she still had 2/3 left of the current one). Seriously…I must have really pissed someone off that week for the bowels of Hell to spit this creature into the restaurant to torment me.
She was also creating things to order…. “I want this salad, but I want a different lettuce, different dressing, I want to substitute the feta for the bleu cheese, and I want the dressing on the side” Basically I’m wanting to create my own salad, but I”m telling you in the most complicated way possible to drive you insane!
Anyway, apparently she kept talking about me whenever I left the table because all the other servers would come to the kitchen and tell me the things she was saying…. things like, “If she thinks I’m going to eat my salad now, she has another thing coming… I’m taking this to-go”…As if I give two shits whether or not she eats this salad that the poor cook was crying over because he couldn’t understand the instructions on what the hell she wanted in it…..
She also said the following:
Nightmare: Why is our waitress so happy? I’d hate my life if I had her job…..
I’m not making this shit up. I would LOVE my job ALL THE TIME if it weren’t for people like her that make it nearly impossible.
Anyway, one of my coworkers ran their food for me and when I went to check on it, she said that the steak was underdone on the inside, but burned on the outside, and pointed at the crust on the outside of the steak…. I’m speechless at this point…Not even sure how to respond to the ignorance of Nightmare’s statement… first of all, she ordered it medium rare…and told me she liked a warm red center….the steak is definitely medium rare…. Second of all, it’s not burned you ignorant weirdo. A crust forms when you GRILL A STEAK!
Anyway, long story short, my other tables were watching this lady run me ragged, my manager had to comp her meal, her little pansie of a husband sat there embarrassed the entire time and left me a 15% tip off the total after the comp, and Nightmare dominated me better than a dirty porno for the later half of the night with her constant demands.
One thing did comfort me though…. One of my favorite coworkers and dearest friends, Golden Girl, said something that made me feel ten times better, and it was this: “Think about how terrible you’d feel if you were married to THAT.”
Thank GOD I don’t actually know anyone like this. I’d probably strangle them.