I know, you've all been dying for updates...but my computer broke. We have a new one now, so there should be no delay in the asshole customer updates! Yay. I know you're all very excited.
A quick run-down on what's been going on in the restaurant.
Table 6. Three guys drunk at 8:30 p.m. on a Thursday night come in for some breakfast to soak up the booze. My pen has a spoon taped to it, which they find very amusing. I explain it's so customers don't take it when they use it for a credit card. They ask why I don't use a fork (that way if someone pisses me off I can poke them with it), I explain that if I used a fork and kept it in my apron every time I bend over, it pokes me. Yeah, that's not something to say to drunk guys. They start laughing about me getting "poked when I bend over". Then one of them orders, "Eggs Bend over" instead of eggs benedict. His friends think it's the funniest thing ever and I walk away, because seriously...it wasn't even that funny.
Table 8. They both order malts, hers with EXTRA malt. So, instead of the three scoops of malt we usually use, I give her five. More than enough for most malt lovers...Or so I thought. When I bring their food, she tells me, "This shake is clumpy and there's no malt whatsoever in it. I can't drink it." I offer to re-mix it and add more malt. "More malt? Are you trying to tell me you put malt in this the first time? It sure doesn't taste like it." I ask her again if this means she'd like it re-mixed, finally she answers me. "That would be great...and don't forget the malt this time."
I can't express it quite as well here, but seriously, she was such a condescending bitch.
Table 35. A guy walks into a bar...no wait, that's not what I meant to say. I guy walks into a restaurant, sits down and orders a drink (Jim Beam on the rocks) and then another ("This time make it a double") smokes three cigarettes and orders another drink ("Just bring me two right away"). With his last drinks, I bring the bill. "No, no schweety," he slurs, "I'm just getting started. I don't need a tab yet." I tell him four drinks is our limit, which is what my manager told me as I made his last two drinks. He puts down the cash to cover the tab, slams both of his drinks and walks out. A minute later, he comes back in and asks for a Jim Beam on the rocks. I tell him I can't serve him. He argues that he just walked in the door, I tell him I'm sorry, but there's nothing more I can do, he's more than welcome to talk to the manager. Instead, he just leaves, muttering swear words under his breath.
Okay, that's more than enough for now. Catch ya next week, I'm off this weekend.