Table 3

I walked up to the table and did the usual, "Good afternoon, folks. How are you doing today?"
Him to Me: "We're hungry. Can't find anywhere to eat."
"Well, sir. Looks like you finally found the right spot. We've got a little bit of everything on the menu and big enough portions to fill up just about anyone. Can I answer any questions about our menu for you or would you like to look it over while I get you some drinks? A coke or a margarita?"
Her to Me: "Do you serve half-portions?"
"No, ma'am, I'm sorry, we do not. But we have big to-go boxes if you can't finish it all. It's like two meals for the price of one."
Him To Her: "Well do you just want to go then? They don't have half-portions."
Her To Him: "Do they have anything you like on the menu?"
Him To Her: "Yeah, I see what I want. But they don't have half-orders. Let's just go."
Her To Him: "If you found something you can order it. I will keep looking."
Him To Her: "I'm not going to order before you and look like an asshole."
Me to Them: "If you need a few minutes I can come back. I have a water for you here if you'd like to start with that..."
Him to Me: "This is the third restaurant we've been to tonight. The first place smelled like shit and fuck all if I'm going to eat in a restaurant that smells like they cook their food in diarrhea. Then we went to this place that had their music so loud you couldn't hear a damn thing and the booth was so dark I couldn't see my own hand in front of me. Probably making sure you can't see all the damn cockroaches."
Me: "Okay..."
Her to Him: "Lets just order. I can take it home. It's okay."
Him to Me: "We'll take two Negro Modelos first off."
Me: "I'm sorry sir, we don't have that. We have Corona, Tecate and Pacifico for Mexican beers."
Him to Me: "Dos Equis Amber then."
Me: "Sir, I can go through our full list but if you want a Mexican beer, we only have Corona, Pacifico or Tecate."
Him: *slams menu on the table* "This is bullshit. BULL-SHIT. We are leaving."
Her: "I don't mind the Tecate."
Him: "I do. I do mind. We are leaving!"
Her: "They have rellenos."
Him: "It's bullshit! We are NOT staying here. We are leaving RIGHT NOW." *gets up and stomps, like a spoiled three year old, out*
She followed him out like a beaten dog, her head down, small quick steps and her purse dragging along the ground.
Table 4 was in hysterics and for the rest of their meal, everytime I went to their table they asked, "You didn't cook this in diarrhea did you?"


I wasn't slacking...the restaurant was closed for a week for renovations.

But I don't really have a new story, so here are some bits and pieces from some old ones...

Table 1

NachoMan: Do you put lots of cheese on your nachos?
Moi: Yeah, we put quite a bit. But it's melted cheese, not cheese sauce.
NachoMan: That's cool. I want some nach-os.

I bring out said Nachos.

NachoMan: Damn, that's a lot of cheese.
Moi: Cool

*a few minutes pass*

Moi: How is everything tasting?
NachoMan: This shit is terrible. It's just melted cheese, not nacho cheese. And there's chili on here. I can't eat this shit. It's shit. It tastes like cheesy shit, with shitty chili on it and soggy ass tortilla chips underneath it.
Moi: Alright. Want to do something else instead?
NachoMan: Nah, that'll probably just taste like shit too...Don't take them away. Bring me a box. My wife will like probaly like this. Tastes like some shit she'd make.

Table 9

MilkshakeGuy: You still make milkshakes in the tin here?
Me: We sure do.
MilkshakeGuy: They're not on the menu.
Me: They're on the dessert menu over there...the flavors are listed on the big milkshake picture in the middle on the yellow side.
MilkshakeGuy looks at blue side, points to the Martini picture and says: These are all alcoholic drinks. Don't you got milkshakes? You know, ice cream and milk in the tin. Milkshakes?
Me: Yes, sir on the other side there's a list. We have vanilla, chocolate, banana...
MilkshakeGuy: You don't got prices on here? Where are the prices? You change the prices so often you can't afford to print new drink menus everytime you change them up so you just leave them without prices? Or you just try to cheat your customers so you can charge them whatever you want?
Me: No, our prices stay the same no matter who orders. One flavor is $4 and each additional flavor is $ .50 extra.
MilkshakeGuy: I want a chocolate milkshake made with vanilla ice cream. Lumpy, so you can tell it's vanilla ice cream. If it's not lumpy, that ruins it. You can't taste the difference in the chocolate and vanilla.

I considered charging him for two flavors...since he was so specifically asking to taste both vanilla and chocolate, but I was nice and charged for one flavor...oh, did I mention this was about 10 minutes before close that this fuck ordered three milkshakes? (We scoop our own ice cream and have to make them on a trainwreck of a blender, it takes forever and no server in the world enjoys making milkshakes...even if we do get to take the extra for ourselves.)

I bring out their shakes and
MilkshakeGuy: Did you make this?
Me: Yes, I did.
MilkshakeGuy: You know what you're doing, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect. An exemplary milkshake. Thank you.

They left 15 minutes after we closed...but they made it worth my while with the $1 they left as a tip.

Wow, where to start! It's been a big weekend in Diner Hell...

Table 7

Lady: What's the difference between a Buffalo Fried Chicken Salad and Fried Chicken Salad?
Me: The Buffalo Fried Chicken is a fried chicken breast smothered in buffalo sauce, with celery, carrots and tomatoes on a bed of lettuce, and the Fried Chicken Salad is...
Lady: So, it's not really a salad?
Me: Yes, it's a salad.
Lady: Okay, I'll have that.
Me: Blue Cheese or Ranch Dressing?
Lady: For chicken salad?
Me: Ma'am, it's not chicken salad. It's A salad with a buffalo-style fried chicken breast on top.
Lady: Oh, blue cheese then.

Me: Here's your salad.
Lady: Hm.
Me: Does everything look okay?
Lady: I just wasn't expecting a buffalo chicken salad to have buffalo sauce on the chicken.


Table 5

An older-ish couple (early 50's) sat in my section on a pretty busy night...we won't give him a name because really he has nothing to do with this story but we'll call her Pennywise (because of the badly dyed red hair and scary make-up) BUT before they sat down (and which I found out later) they had an interaction with our inept host.

Host: Just one tonight? (she asks the man standing alone at the host desk)
Him: No, there's two.
Pennywise: Excuse me? Did you not see us come in together? I am with him. (She'd been standing by the special board)
Host: No, I hadn't seen you come in. Right this way.
Pennywise: Don't forget, it's for TWO. I know it can be hard.

So, they sit down, order iced teas and dinner. He's having a burger and she's having a Hot Turkey sandwich andsalad with crackers.
I get two new tables as I put in Table 5's order.
I run to get drinks and ask my manager to take Pennywise her salad with crackers. The manager makes the salad and puts a single packet of crackers on the plate. I get my drinks for my other tables, I run out another tables food, and I take an order (granted it was a few minutes before I got back to check on the salad, but I figured they'd be okay for five minutes with full drinks and their salad)
I stop on my way to take my other order, offer dessert and drop off a check, and take a drink order for my new table...
Me: Food should be up in just a couple of minutes. Do you need any more tea or anything right now?
Pennywise: I wanted crackERS with my salad.
Me: Sorry, be right back with more crackers.

I run around my section get back to the window and Table 5's food is up. So I grab their food, a handful of crackers and run over to Table 5.

Me: Alrighty folks, the food came up pretty quick so here's dinner and your crackers. I'm really sorry it took so long to get them to you.
Pennywise: No you're not.
Me: Excuse me?
Pennywise: You're NOT sorry. You don't care. You didn't even listen to me. I wanted to eat my salad BEFORE my food came out and I couldn't without my crackers. You're horribly rude. Horribly. Don't say you're sorry about something that obviously you care NOTH-ING about.
Me: I am very sorry you didn't get to eat your salad. Is there something I can do Now about it? Would you like a box for it and you can take it home instead? Would you like me to take your food back and bring it when you're done with your salad?
Pennywise: Stop. Saying. You're. Sorry. You're not sorry.
Me: Ma'am, I am. It seems there's nothing *I* can do for you. I'm going to get my manager and maybe she can do something.
(At this point I just need to get away from the table. I have other orders to take, checks to drop off, drinks to get...and worst of all her whole "You don't care" thing, really upset me and brought tears to my eyes. I may not specifically care about her, but I do care about my job.I may be *just* a waitress, but dammit I'm professional.)
Pennywise: She can't do anything. All that needs to be done is for you to change your attitude and you're the only one who can do that. You need to stop being so rude.
*I walk away with tears stinging my eyes*
I tell my managaer about the situation and she goes to talk to Table 5.
The manager comes back to me and says, "She had an almost entirely different story. She said you never stopped, she tried to get your attention repeatedly and you ignored her and when you dropped off the crackers, she thanked you and now everything is fine. I even offered to get another server to finish their meal and they said it wasn't a problem, everything was great."
I'm stunned. "Beth, she really did say that to me, she was so upset." "I believe you. Don't worry...but they're okay now. So just don't worry about it."
I go back to Table 5.
Me: How is everything.
Table 5: *silence*
Me: Okay. Here's your check. If you need anything else, Beth is the manager and you can go to her.
Table 5: *silence*


Table 12

A young couple and his mom (you could tell because they were black and the girlfriend was white) sat down for a lovely dinner and a chat...well less of a chat and more of a harangue from the mother about the young couples impending nuptials. She was of the mind that they should not get they're interracial.

Now, as customers, they were actually pretty nice. They ordered quickly, were happy with both their food and their service, and they tipped well. They're featured here because of their conversation. I'll fill you in on the bits I got to hear. (Please note, the boyfriend pretty much stayed silent with his head turned away from the two women arguing.)

Mother: How can you say you respect yourself if you let a man move into your house when he doesn't have a job? What kind of a woman not only supports a lazy man, but lets him sleep in her bed before they're married.
Girlfriend: He's not in my bed. He's on the couch.
Mother: Does that make it any better? If anything that's worse. You're supposed to be marrying him but you won't even let him sleep in the same room as you?
Girlfriend: He sleeps with me sometimes.
Mother: Well then how do you know he's into you for you and and not just for what you're giving him.
Girlfriend: He's marrying me isn't he?
Boyfriend: Can I have more orange soda?

Mother: And your children?
Girlfriend: They'll be fine.
Mother: Child, neither race really accepts interracial children. They'll be outcasts.
Girlfriend: I have no idea what year you're living in.
Mother: Don't give me, "Times have changed." I deal with racism as much today as I did twenty years ago. It would be better if you don't even have kids than to have half breeds.
Boyfriend: Do you have Tabasco sauce?

Mother: What can a white girl know about being with a black man? You can't cook like his momma and you sure don't clean like his momma.
Girlfriend: I'm not going to be his momma, I'm going to be his wife.

Mother: You've only been dating four months. That's not even serious.
Girlfriend: We've known each other for a year.
Boyfriend: Can I get a box, that was such good food.
Mother: Yes, the food was wonderful. Enjoy it son. She *points to Girlfriend* won't be able to cook you fried chicken like that.
Boyfriend: Oh, can I get an orange soda to go too?

I'm not being racist, he really did have fried chicken and orange soda...In case you're wondering the mom had chile rellenos and the girlfriend had a burrito.
Which brings us to the moral of our story:
People of all colors like Mexican food.


Table 7

A couple in their mid-40's and an old guy (I'm guessing he was the dude's father) have been waiting for approximately 45 seconds. (I was right behind the host that sat them and only stopped to pick up a water before getting to their table.)
I put down the water and say, "Good evening folks. How are you doing tonight?"
Dude: We're ready to order.
Me: Good deal, what can I do for you ma'am? (I like to start with the ladies order, seems polite right?)
Dude: I'll have the Patty Melt, no onions, on sourdough bread, with cheddar instead of american cheese and NO ONIONS. Okay? Can you do that? No Onions.
Me: Yes, I got it. No onions. How do you like your burger cooked?
Dude: Did you hear the rest? Cheddar cheese and sourdough? And make sure there are No Onions anywhere on the plate.
Me: Yes, sir. *shows book where I write down orders* See, no onions, cheddar, sourdough. How do you like it cooked?
Dude: Medium rare. Not bloody. Med-I-Um RARE.
Me: Okay, what can I get for you ma'am.
Dude: She's going to have the Patty Melt, too.
Me: Okay, how do you like yours cooked ma'am?
Dude: Make sure there's no onions on hers either.
Lady: Well done and I'll have mine just like his, but on rye and with swiss cheese (Which I'd like to point out is not just like his at all...unless you count the no onions)
Me: Got it. And for you sir?
Old Dude: Patty Melt. The way it comes. Medium.
Me: Awesome, does anyone need anything to drink with your burgers?
Dude: Just make sure there's no onions and I'll be okay.

I bring out their food a few minutes later...

Me: Can I get you folks any mustard or mayo for your burgers, ranch for your fries?
Dude: I can smell onions. Are you sure this is cheddar? It looks like American cheese.
Me: The onions are on his burger *points to Old Dude* and as far as I know it's cheddar. Do you need anything else to go with your dinner?
Old Dude: This ketchup's empty. *squirts ketchup on my arm* Oh, I guess there was a little left.
Me: *stunned silence*
Lady: Well? Can we get a NEW ketchup?

I didn't even answer, I just walked away.
I told the manager that the Old Dude at Table 7 had just squirted ketchup on my arm...and he laughed. I made him take them their ketchup and their check and I ate the rest of his onion rings.