tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178371372024-03-07T13:14:21.834-07:00Worst Customer of the DayThis will be my venting zone. Here you will hear about the worst customers that I've had to serve during my most recent shift...or occaisionally, I'll throw in an old story or someone elses terrible experience. Um...Yeah.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1687102791774010902008-06-30T01:18:00.002-07:002008-06-30T01:43:13.792-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;"><strong>Table 3</strong></span><br /><br />I walked up to the table and did the usual, "Good afternoon, folks. How are you doing today?"<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him to Me</span>: "<span style="color:#ffffff;">We're hungry. Can't find anywhere to eat</span>."<br />"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?"<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Her to Me</span>: "<span style="color:#ffffff;">Do you serve half-portions?</span>"<br />"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."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him To Her</span>: "Well do you just want to go then? They don't have half-portions."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Her To Him</span>: "Do they have anything you like on the menu?"<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him To Her</span>: "Yeah, I see what I want. But they don't have half-orders. Let's just go."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Her To Him</span>: "If you found something you can order it. I will keep looking."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him To Her</span>: "I'm not going to order before you and look like an asshole."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Me to Them</span>: "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..."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him to Me</span>: "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."<br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">Me</span>: "Okay..."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Her to Him</span>: "Lets just order. I can take it home. It's okay."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him to Me</span>: "We'll take two Negro Modelos first off."<br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">Me</span>: "I'm sorry sir, we don't have that. We have Corona, Tecate and Pacifico for Mexican beers."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him to Me</span>: "Dos Equis Amber then."<br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">Me</span>: "Sir, I can go through our full list but if you want a Mexican beer, we only have Corona, Pacifico or Tecate."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him</span>: *slams menu on the table* "This is bullshit. BULL-SHIT. We are leaving."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Her</span>: "I don't mind the Tecate."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him</span>: "I do. I do mind. We are leaving!"<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Her</span>: "They have rellenos."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Him</span>: "It's bullshit! We are NOT staying here. We are leaving RIGHT NOW." *gets up and stomps, like a spoiled three year old, out*<br />She followed him out like a beaten dog, her head down, small quick steps and her purse dragging along the ground.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 4</span> 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?"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-56681622482016905292008-04-27T23:35:00.002-07:002008-04-28T00:05:09.132-07:00I wasn't slacking...the restaurant was closed for a week for renovations.<br /><br />But I don't really have a new story, so here are some bits and pieces from some old ones...<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 1</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">NachoMan</span>: Do you put lots of cheese on your nachos?<br />Moi: Yeah, we put quite a bit. But it's melted cheese, not cheese sauce.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">NachoMan</span>: That's cool. I want some nach-os.<br /><br />I bring out said Nachos.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">NachoMan</span>: Damn, that's a lot of cheese.<br />Moi: Cool<br /><br />*a few minutes pass*<br /><br />Moi: How is everything tasting?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">NachoMan</span>: 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.<br />Moi: Alright. Want to do something else instead?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">NachoMan</span>: 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.<br /><br /><br />Table 9<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">MilkshakeGuy</span>: You still make milkshakes in the tin here?<br />Me: We sure do.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">MilkshakeGuy</span>: They're not on the menu.<br />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.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">MilkshakeGuy</span> 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?<br />Me: Yes, sir on the other side there's a list. We have vanilla, chocolate, banana...<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">MilkshakeGuy</span>: 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?<br />Me: No, our prices stay the same no matter who orders. One flavor is $4 and each additional flavor is $ .50 extra.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">MilkshakeGuy</span>: 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.<br /><br />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 <span style="color:#ff0000;">no server in the world enjoys making milkshakes</span>...even if we do get to take the extra for ourselves.)<br /><br />I bring out their shakes and<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">MilkshakeGuy</span>: Did you make this?<br />Me: Yes, I did.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">MilkshakeGuy</span>: You know what you're doing, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect. An exemplary milkshake. Thank you.<br /><br />They left 15 minutes after we closed...but they made it worth my while with the $1 they left as a tip.<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">**NOTE TO NON-SERVERS**</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">VERBAL COMPLIMENTS ARE NOT A TIP!!</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-7277305846127923072008-04-06T00:17:00.002-07:002008-04-06T00:59:49.900-07:00Wow, where to start! It's been a big weekend in Diner Hell...<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 7</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: What's the difference between a Buffalo Fried Chicken Salad and Fried Chicken Salad?<br />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...<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: So, it's not really a salad?<br />Me: Yes, it's a salad.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: Okay, I'll have that.<br />Me: Blue Cheese or Ranch Dressing?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: For chicken salad?<br />Me: Ma'am, it's not chicken salad. It's A salad with a buffalo-style fried chicken breast on top.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: Oh, blue cheese then.<br /><br />Me: Here's your salad.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: Hm.<br />Me: Does everything look okay?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: I just wasn't expecting a buffalo chicken salad to have buffalo sauce on the chicken.<br /><br />*blink*<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 5</span><br /><br />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 <span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span> (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.<br /><br />Host: Just one tonight? (she asks the man standing alone at the host desk)<br />Him: No, there's two.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span>: Excuse me? Did you not see us come in together? I am with him. (She'd been standing by the special board)<br />Host: No, I hadn't seen you come in. Right this way.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span>: Don't forget, it's for TWO. I know it can be hard.<br /><br />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.<br />I get two new tables as I put in <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 5's</span> order.<br />I run to get drinks and ask my manager to take <span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span> 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)<br />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...<br />Me: Food should be up in just a couple of minutes. Do you need any more tea or anything right now?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span>: I wanted crackERS with my salad.<br />Me: Sorry, be right back with more crackers.<br /><br />I run around my section get back to the window and <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 5's</span> food is up. So I grab their food, a handful of crackers and run over to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 5</span>.<br /><br />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.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span>: No you're not.<br />Me: Excuse me?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span>: 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.<br />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?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span>: Stop. Saying. You're. Sorry. You're not sorry.<br />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.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(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.)</span><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Pennywise</span>: 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.<br />*I walk away with tears stinging my eyes*<br />I tell my managaer about the situation and she goes to talk to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 5</span>.<br />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."<br />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."<br />I go back to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 5</span>.<br />Me: How is everything.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 5</span>: *silence*<br />Me: Okay. Here's your check. If you need anything else, Beth is the manager and you can go to her.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 5</span>: *silence*Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-15572460815692249992008-04-03T23:19:00.002-07:002008-04-03T23:27:12.846-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 12</span><br /><br />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 married...as they're interracial.<br /><br />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.)<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: 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.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Girlfriend</span>: He's not in my bed. He's on the couch.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: 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?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Girlfriend</span>: He sleeps with me sometimes.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: Well then how do you know he's into you for you and and not just for what you're giving him.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Girlfriend</span>: He's marrying me isn't he?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Boyfriend</span>: Can I have more orange soda?<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: And your children?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Girlfriend</span>: They'll be fine.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: Child, neither race really accepts interracial children. They'll be outcasts.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Girlfriend</span>: I have no idea what year you're living in.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: 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.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Boyfriend</span>: Do you have Tabasco sauce?<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: 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.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Girlfriend</span>: I'm not going to be his momma, I'm going to be his wife.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: You've only been dating four months. That's not even serious.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Girlfriend</span>: We've known each other for a year.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Boyfriend</span>: Can I get a box, that was such good food.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: Yes, the food was wonderful. Enjoy it son. She *points to Girlfriend* won't be able to cook you fried chicken like that.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Boyfriend</span>: Oh, can I get an orange soda to go too?<br /><br />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.<br />Which brings us to the moral of our story:<br />People of all colors like Mexican food.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-71244288703311671172008-03-30T02:07:00.002-07:002008-03-30T02:28:09.859-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 7</span><br /><br />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.)<br />I put down the water and say, "Good evening folks. How are you doing tonight?"<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dude</span>: We're ready to order.<br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">Me</span>: Good deal, what can I do for you ma'am? (I like to start with the ladies order, seems polite right?)<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dude</span>: 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.<br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">Me</span>: Yes, I got it. No onions. How do you like your burger cooked?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dude</span>: Did you hear the rest? Cheddar cheese and sourdough? And make sure there are No Onions anywhere on the plate.<br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">Me</span>: Yes, sir. *shows book where I write down orders* See, no onions, cheddar, sourdough. How do you like it cooked?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dude</span>: Medium rare. Not bloody. Med-I-Um RARE.<br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">Me</span>: Okay, what can I get for you ma'am.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dude</span>: She's going to have the Patty Melt, too.<br /><span style="color:#990000;">Me</span>: Okay, how do you like yours cooked ma'am?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dude</span>: Make sure there's no onions on hers either.<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: Well done and I'll have mine just like his, but on rye and with swiss cheese (<span style="color:#cc0000;">Which I'd like to point out is not just like his at all...unless you count the no onions</span>)<br /><span style="color:#990000;">Me</span>: Got it. And for you sir?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Old Dude</span>: Patty Melt. The way it comes. Medium.<br /><span style="color:#990000;">Me</span>: Awesome, does anyone need anything to drink with your burgers?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dude</span>: Just make sure there's no onions and I'll be okay.<br /><br />I bring out their food a few minutes later...<br /><br /><span style="color:#990000;">Me</span>: Can I get you folks any mustard or mayo for your burgers, ranch for your fries?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Dude</span>: I can smell onions. Are you sure this is cheddar? It looks like American cheese.<br /><span style="color:#990000;">Me</span>: 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?<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Old Dude</span>: This ketchup's empty. *squirts ketchup on my arm* Oh, I guess there was a little left.<br /><span style="color:#990000;">Me</span>: *stunned silence*<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Lady</span>: Well? Can we get a NEW ketchup?<br /><br />I didn't even answer, I just walked away.<br />I told the manager that the <span style="color:#ff6600;">Old Dude</span> at <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 7</span> 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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-67223142296940514422008-03-12T01:39:00.004-07:002011-05-10T00:05:55.768-07:00Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-2401801147734565142007-04-28T05:24:00.000-07:002007-04-28T05:28:03.825-07:00Hi Folks!<br /><br />Sorry about the lack of updates lately.<br />I had my shifts cut for a few weeks and as a result didn't run into quite as many jerks as I tend to and the ones I did come across just didn't seem as bad as the old ones. Sure, they still complain if there's too much ice in their water or if they have to wait more than five minutes for their steaks well-done but it just didn't seem worth it to bring something so petty to you.<br />I'm working on getting some server friends to share their stories with you at a later date...but as of now, the updates will stay on their about once every two weeks or so pace.<br /><br />I'll have something for you no later than May 1. Promise.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1172299579405900172007-02-23T23:03:00.000-07:002007-02-24T00:05:02.343-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span><br /><br />I saw the host seat <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span> and followed him with a carafe of water. I set it on the table as he gave them their menus. I greeted them with my standard, "Good evening, ladies. How are you today? *pause appropriately* Glad to hear it. Could I start you off with a coffee, coke, margarita or an iced tea?"<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother:</span> "We have only just walked in the door. We have no idea what we'll be drinking tonight. It's very rude for that to be the first question out of your mouth. We will need more time."<br />*smile* "I understand you'll need a few minutes. I'd just like to point out my first question was to ask how you were. I'll go ahead and give you a some time."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Daughter</span>: "Excuse me, miss? I'm sorry, could I have an iced tea? That sounds really good."<br />"Of course, I'll be right back." I took about 45 seconds to get an order from a single gentleman sitting at a counter seat, then I filled the iced tea and brought it to the table.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: "It doesn't look busy. There are a lot of empty tables"<br />"It's not quite dinner time yet; we'll fill up soon. Would you prefer a bigger booth?"<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: "No. I was just wondering why, if it's not busy it took you so long to get back to take our order?"<br />They hadn't even been in the restaurant a full five minutes yet and the bitch is complaining .<br />"I apologize for the wait. I'll go ahead and take your order now so you won't have to wait any longer, if you'd like."<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: "We'll share your chicken nachos. Chili on the side. No guacamole. A Large, did you get that, LARGE? salsa. I want the cheese melt-ed, not like it is sometimes where it's just shredded cheese tossed on there, MELT-ED. Jalepenos, so they're noticeable. I want to actually be able to taste them. Light on the lettuce and extra tomatoes. And a sour cream for each of us."<br />"Sounds great, I'll get that in right now and out to you as soon as possible. Did you decide if you'd like a drink?"<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: "Yes, I will need a coke. I'm surprised you remembered to ask."<br />*smile and walk away to do a million other things*<br /><br />About ten minutes later, I'm crazy busy putting in orders from the bar getting out food to people that ordered before <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span> and drinks and orders from people that have come in since <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span> arrived. My manager is helping out and runs my food to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span>. Everything came up exactly how they wanted. He said me, "They said no one ever got it right before. Hahaha. You're good girl." Which really did make me smile.<br /><br />Then *I* go to check on <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span> myself just to make sure they're happy.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span>: "The cheese was melted, but it was still somehow cold. And she got more sour cream than I did, so I'll need another one. And could you do me a favor and ask the cooks how old these chips are? They taste stale. Eventually, I'll need another coke, but could you ask your manager to get it for me? He's so nice and <em>he</em> actually seems to care about what we need."<br />"I'm sorry, was there something you needed that <em>I</em> didn't get for you?"<br />*<span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span> stuffs a handful of chips in her mouth instead of answering me*<br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Daughter</span>: "No, actually, you've been wonderful."<br />"Thank you very much. I'll have Anthony come back by with your sour cream and soda in a minute."<br /><br />I went to the manager and relayed the previous exchange to him. He agreed that <span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother</span> was a bitch and took her some sour cream and a coke.<br /><br />When they went to pay and the host asked how their dinner had been the <span style="color:#ff6600;">Mother </span>said, "Everything was perfect. You're lucky to work with a such a great manager. He got our order just right."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1171695845843394802007-02-16T23:03:00.000-07:002007-02-17T00:04:05.856-07:00At this rate I'm going to have to change this to worst customer of the month.<br />Though, it is actually a good thing I'm posting less often...It means that less people have been assholes to me recently. Either that or so many people are assholes, I'm just getting used to it.<br /><br />Anyway, lets get on with the show kids!<br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">For those of you who don't know, I work in a diner-style restaurant. Basically, a family-owned Denny's with good quality food. And some damned good green chili. I just wanted you to keep that in mind...</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 7</span> - A young blonde woman asked me, "Excuse me, do you have San Pellegrino water?"<br />"No, ma'am. I'm sorry, we don't carry bottled water." *pause* "Not even Fiji?" "Nope, sorry. We do have coca-cola products and Bud on tap though." *smile*<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Host Desk</span> - "Hi ladies, two this evening?" The shorter blonde lady responds, "Yes, non-smoking please." "The whole restaurant is non-smoking, so that should be easy enough. Follow me, please." The taller blonde lady stops me, "Is it really non-smoking, it smells like cigarettes." "Yes, ma'am. Colorado passed a law that prohibits smoking in restaurants, and we've been non-smoking for about seven or eight months now. Would you like a booth?" "Can we have a waitress that doesn't smoke cigarettes then. I don't want to have to smell their smoke while I'm trying to eat." It just so happened that evening that no one there, not even the manager, was a non-smoker. "Actually, I'm not sure there is a non-smoking server here tonight...would you like me to double check?" "No, we'll just go somewhere else." And they left.<br /><br />I can understand not wanting to eat in a restaurant that allows smoking and I can even understand that it can be gross when someone breeathes smoker breath on you but there's only been one time, ever that I can remember being able to smell the smoke on a server while I was a diner. And I don't cook, so I eat out a LOT.<br /><br />Yeah, that's all for now. Catch up with you later.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1169361775392370702007-01-20T22:46:00.000-07:002007-01-20T23:42:55.423-07:00Over a month since the last update?! My bad.<br /><br />Table 21<br /><br />A party of six <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Live_action_role-playing_game">LARP</a> players (including two elves, ears and all!) came in and took nearly five minutes to sit down (they had to figure out how the two enemy parties would be able to share a table, seriously I overheard them discussing it). When I asked about drinks, most ordered normally, but the fifth guy asked, "Have ye mead, wench?" I replied, "Sir, I understand if you're in a game, but don't call me wench. We do have beer if that's what you're referring to." "I'll just have a coke." They ordered and ate nearly without incident, though at one point the mead guy stood up and took out his "sword" (painted cardboard) and knelt beside a chubby elf and offered it to her. She declined and he took his seat. Their bill came out to $95 and I learned that though they ordered modern beverages and ate mexican food, tipping isn't allowed in their game. Yep, not even a shiny florin. Bastards.<br /><br />Table 6 (most annoying table in a LONG time)<br /><br />Two older black ladies sat down just as we were starting to get a little busy. <br />Me: "Good evening ladies, could I get you started with some drinks?"<br />Lady A: "Honey, we just sat ourselves down."<br />Lady B: "I know I want a decaf coffee."<br />Lady A: "You don't know what you're eating. How do you know you want a coffee?"<br />Lady B: "I don't need to know. Coffee goes with anything."<br />Lady A: "Oh, hell no it don't."<br />Me: "Okay, I'll get your coffee and just grab a water for you, until you decide what you'd like to eat."<br />Lady B: "Not coffee, decaf."<br />Lady A: "Oooh, girl don't try rushin me, bringing me water won't make me decide any faster."<br />Lady B: "DECAF."<br />Me: "Yes, decaf. Got it. Be right back."<br /><br />I get table 7's drink order, and come back to Table 6 with the decaf and drinks for table 7 (which is my next stop)<br />Lady A: "We didn't order all this!"<br />Lady B: "This don't taste like decaf."<br />Me: "I assure you it's decaf, and these are for another table."<br />Lady A: "I thought you said you was bringing us water?"<br />Me: "I thought you'd said you didn't want any water, I'm sorry. I'll bring you some just after I drop these off."<br />Lady A: Can't you get it now? Or are they more important than we are?"<br />Me: "Ma'am. It's not a matter or more important, it'd just be more conveinent. It will only take a minute. I will be right back"<br />Lady B: "And I need some decaf coffee. This ain't decaf."<br /><br />I drop off table 7's drinks and get their order. I go to the computer, put in their order, grab the pot of decaf, a clean cup, a carafe of water and make my way back to Table 6.<br /><br />I pour the decaf in the new cup for Lady B. She takes a drink and says, "This tastes just like that first cup."<br />"Yes, ma'am, that's because the first cup was decaf. Are you ladies ready to order?" (Table 8 and Table 22 get sat)<br />Lady A: "Do you use real eggs?"<br />Me. "Yes, unless you specifically ask for egg beaters we use real eggs."<br />Lady A: "How 'bout your bacon?"<br />Me: "Absolutely real bacon." (I've never heard of artificial bacon)<br />Lady A: "Hmm...I don't want breakfast."<br />Me: "If you're not ready, I can come back in just a minute."<br />Lady B: "No, it's not that we're not ready, your menu is just too big."<br />Me: "Okay, what can I get for you?"<br />Lady A: "Is your green chili hot?"<br />Me: "I don't think it's hot, but it's definitely spicy. Want me to go grab you a sample?"<br />Lady B: "No, that's okay. Are these hot dogs all beef?"<br />Me: "Yes"<br />Lady B: "Oh, I don't like that. You have so much but you don't have a monte cristo?"<br />Me: "No, we don't. Ladies, I'm sorry, I'll be back to answer more questions in a minute, but I was just paged that I have food up. I really do have to go. I'll be right back."<br /><br />(The above took nearly ten minutes...there were many, many more questions they'd asked)<br />I took out table 7's food, got drink orders, drinks and food orders for tables 8 and 22 then went back to Table6.<br /><br />Me: "Sorry about the wait ladies. Did that give you enough time to decide on dinner?"<br />Five more minutes of questions...Table 21 gets sat.<br />Finally, just as I was going to make up any excuse to get away, they order.<br />Lady A gets Chicken Fried Steak, salad with Ranch, A loaded Baked Potato and lady B gets a slice of chocolate cake.<br /><br />I put in their order, take food out to tables 8 and 22, drop off 7's check, drop off Table 6's salad, take 21's order, check on 8 & 22, table 7 gets sat again, I get their drinks and then I have to go back to Table 6.<br /><br />Lady A: "How come you just bringing out our food when these people *points to table 22* got here after us and they already been eating for 5 minutes?"<br />Me: "They were ready to order sooner. Do you need anything to go with this right now?"<br />Lady B: "I need a menu, I think I'm going to have dinner after all."<br /><br />Okay, I just really how much I've written but I think you get the point. It takes Lady B another 20 minutes to order. As soon as she does order, Lady A decideds she wants dessert, then their crazy Jamaican friend joins them, takes 20 minutes to order. Then they decide to get three dinners to go. All in all, they were there for just over two hours, they asked probably 150 questions, ordered six dinners, three desserts, two beverages, used seven silverware set-ups (that was mostly on the Jamaican guy) and tipped me $1.25.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1165749387141077162006-12-10T03:48:00.000-07:002006-12-10T04:16:27.673-07:00On December 2 the Rocky Mountain News ran a feature article concerning server and diner complaints regarding each other.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/dining/article/0,2792,DRMN_24_5183153,00.html">The Diner POV</a><br /><a href="http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/dining/article/0,2792,DRMN_24_5183152,00.html">The Server POV</a><br /><br />My favorite diner complaint "I don't like waiters touching my napkin when I go to the restroom." How does the person know that their server has touched their napkin?<br /><br />After I'd read the article, there was an older gentleman sitting alone in my section. He'd left the table to use the restroom...and I walked over, placed his bill on the table and touched his napkin. He hadn't used it (that I could tell) and I just kinda poked it, but for the rest of the night I felt as if I'd done something wonderfully subversive and gotten away with it.<br /><br />Amusing moment from tonight: Table 10<br />Two horribly annoying women "reserved" a table in my section then sat at the bar to wait for their friend. My manager wouldn't let me give away their booth, even though they weren't sitting at it nor were they ordering anything at the bar. Effectively losing seats in my section and another servers section. But you know, we aren't there to make money or anything. Eventually their friend made it in and they all sat at Table 10.<br />The Nice One listened while I told her the choices that came with the sandwiches and ordered without incident.<br />The Bitchy One made me repeat everything I'd told the nice one, asked if I could make a Guac Burger with a chicken breast instead of a burger, rolled her eyes when i told her we actually already had that on the menu and I'd be more than happy to get it for her and ordered breakfast instead.<br />The Crazy One asked if we had avocados. I told her that we did. She asked if I could give her a whole one. I told her I could. Then she asked, "What would you expect me to do with a whole avocado?" I told her I wasn't quite sure, but I guessed she would eat it. She looked at me like I was crazy for saying such a thing...then she said nothing at all. I asked her if she'd like another minute with the menu and she said, "No. I was just waiting for you to take my order." I was starting to loose my patience...just a little and I replied, "I'm sorry, I can't take your order if you don't tell me what you'd like. It's been a long week and all of my psychic abilitlies are drained." I laughed when I said it and her friends laughed with me. She just stared. Then she ordered a chicken sandwich with avocado slices. Not wanting to repeat the sandwich sides a third time, I asked, "Did you want to do the fries with that?" And she asked, "What else can I get instead?" "Mashed potatoes, baked potato, cottage cheese, fresh fruit or a cup of soup." (An amended list, but covering all the basics.)<br /><br />She looked me right in the eye and said, "Is your fresh fruit from a can?"<br />I was stunned into silence.<br /><br /><br />"No, ma'am. Our fresh fruit is. Fresh. Fruit."<br /><br />When I was back in the servers line I laughed maniacally for about five minutes.<br />It was that funny to me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1160712953453633862006-10-12T21:01:00.000-07:002006-10-12T21:17:15.126-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 66</span> (not my table, but story told w/permission)<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 66</span> ordered hot tea (six bags), a carafe of water, a bowl of lemons and two cups with ice so that they could make thier own iced tea. A normal order of hot tea comes with two tea bags. Their server asked a manager how she should charge for this and the manager said, charge them for three hot teas. <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 66</span> then ordered two Ribeye and Eggs, well done steaks and over lite (super runny) eggs...and they asked for the cooks to cut their steaks for them. Let me repeat that one for you. Two healthy, grown people asked for the cooks, on a busy Sunday morning, to cut their steaks for them. They were both able to see, neither had casts on their hands.<br />Their server told them, "I don't think we can do that for you, but I'll check with the cooks." She rolled her eyes when they couldn't see her anymore...and told the manager what they'd just asked her...because she wanted to share the funniness. And the manager said, "Okay, I'll get the cooks to do it."<br />When their food came out, <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 66</span> complained that their steaks were over-cooked and that their eggs were too runny. When they got to the register, they complained that they were charged for three hot teas when they'd only ordered one. A different manager was up there than the manager who'd said to charge <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 66</span> for three teas, so she took off two off the hot teas and gave them a discount for their steaks being too tough and their eggs too runny.<br />Then they complained that their server had been "nothing but unhelpful. She didn't get us anything we asked her for. It was like we had to serve ourselves." I guess making up stuff about their server made them feel better for not tipping her.<br /><br />I was so happy they hadn't been my table.<br /><br />Today is also the one year anniversary of my bitching about being a waitress. Happy Birthday little blog!! :-)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1159943896846371902006-10-03T23:33:00.000-07:002006-10-03T23:38:16.863-07:00<span style="color:#ff0000;">ma vie sur le patio</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 73</span><br /><br />A couple in their late 40's decided to have their lunch on the patio. I was their server. And This Is Their Story. We'll call them <span style="color:#ff6600;">Jack</span> and <span style="color:#ff6600;">Diane</span> since I didn't have a chance to catch their real names. They sat down and ordered their drinks and food without incident. While not overly friendly, they were pleasant enough.<br /><br />Then <span style="color:#ff6600;">Jack</span> lit a cigarette. I informed him that we don't allow smoking on the patio and asked him if he'd please put it out. He asked, "Why can't I smoke out here? The smoke's not getting inside." I explained that our patio is too close to the front door and that makes it illegal to allow smoking on the patio. He took another drag of his cigarette and said, "Well, that's bullshit." I told him that, yes, it is kind of a bullshit law, but it IS THE LAW and if he continued to smoke on the patio I would have to talk to a manager and the manager would have to take action. I also told him he was welcome to hop the fence and smoke on the other side, where he'd still be able to talk to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Diane</span>. He glared at me and put his cigarette out, grinding it into the cement.<br /><br />I brought their food and checked on them. They ate every last bite of everything. After I left their check on <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 74</span> I went to another table to take their order. <span style="color:#ff6600;">Jack</span> got up quickly leaving the check on the table. I was worried he was still angry and was going to<span style="color:#990000;"> dine-and-dash*</span> but as I was taking an order I couldn't follow right away. When I got back into the restaurant, they were standing at the register talking with the manager. I walked up in time to hear <span style="color:#ff6600;">Jack</span> tell the manager that his food had been so horrible he couldn't eat it and his server (me) had never come back to check on him. I tried to talk to the manager at this point, but the manager decided to ignore me and instead just give <span style="color:#ff6600;">Jack</span> his meal for free and a discount on <span style="color:#ff6600;">Diane's</span> meal. And of course, like all people who get a free meal, they didn't tip.<br /><br />After they'd left I told the manager that that had been the "smoking guy" and he'd eaten all of his food, as well as told me it was good when I had checked on them. The managers only response, "Oh well. Guess he pulled the wool over my eyes."<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 71</span><br /><br />Let me preface this story by telling you EXACTLY what we tell every table that asks to be sat on the patio. "You're more than welcome to sit on the patio...BUT. There are sometimes bees out there. Would you still like to sit on the patio?" It's much easier than every other table having to come back inside because a bee flew by their table.<br /><br />After I greet the two young women at <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 71</span>, and before I even have a chance to get their drink order, one of them asks me, "So, are you guys just trying to make sure no one sits out here? Because the girl up front told us there were bees and I don't see any bees." (It's very hard to convey the amount of attitude in this question over the internet..if you'd like to call me, I can say it like she did for ya...and you can feel the snarkiness for yourself) We'd just changed the traps or I'd have pointed out the 5,000 dead bees hanging in green canisters all around. Instead, I explained that we do have a bee problem, it's not horrible, but some people have a phobia or are allergic and it's easier to tell them about it first. They had a few margaritas and everything was fine.<br /><br />As I was walking back inside (from taking <span style="color:#ff6600;">Jack</span> and <span style="color:#ff6600;">Diane's</span> order :-P) the girl who hadn't asked the question about the bees stopped me. "Um, miss. I just wanted to let you know, she (points at her friend) just got stung by a bee." I asked if they needed anything and the stung girl said she'd be fine...and they were. Normally, we don't give people free stuff if they're stung by a bee (as we have no control over the bees, and people are nearly always warned first) but I gave them a free margarita each.<br /><br />Now, these girls were actually very nice about it all. Great customers, aside from the opening bit of snarkiness...but I just had to share this because I found it so beautifully ironic that a girl that thought we were trying to scare people from sitting outside with imaginary bees was then stung by a bee.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="color:#990000;">*dine-and-dash</span> (a.k.a. chew and screw) - ducking out of a restaurant before paying for your meal</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1159506830266757502006-09-28T21:35:00.001-07:002006-09-28T22:18:44.860-07:00Today I walked up to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 2</span> and asked the woman sitting there if she was ready to order or needed a few more minutes. She said, while looking at our Mexican food page, "I could be ready if I could find your burritos on here." I pointed out the section in the middle of the page that has a heading in a 42 point font which reads "<strong><span style="font-size:180%;">BURRITOS & A WRAP</span></strong>". Then she looked up at me, like I was stupid and said, "Honey, I just a want a burrito, I don't need a burrito and a wrap." I explained that it said "& A WRAP" because we have seven burritos and A wrap...<br /><br />The other day I asked a table, "Do you guys need any Tabasco or Cholula?" to which the brains of the operation replied, "No...but do you think we can get some of that red hot sauce?"<br /><br />I get this one All The Time. "Can I get you folks something to drink? Water, coffee, iced tea?" "No, we don't need anything to drink. Just water." Water IS a drink people!!<br /><br />"Can I have cold iced tea?" I still don't know which other restaurants serve hot iced tea...but people seem to like that ours is cold.<br /><br />On our menu we have a Bowl of Oatmeal, Cream of Wheat or Grits listed. Right beneath the listing it reads, Served Mon-Fri 6 am to 11 am; Sat & Sun 6 am to 1 pm. At least twice a week, someone asks for oatmeal after 5 pm...more often than not pointing to item on the menu and then is shocked when I tell them we don't serve it after 11 am during the week.<br /><br />Think that's enough for now? No? Okay, one more.<br /><br />A while back a young man was sitting alone at <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 3</span> and ordered a red chili burger. I asked how he wanted it cooked and if he wanted fries with his burger. He told me well done and yes, he'd like fries.<br />When I brought his burger he looked up at me and said, "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong order. I ordered a chili burger."<br />"Yes, sir. This is our burger with chili on it, which we generally call the chili burger."<br />"No, in your menu it says that it's a bowl of chili with a burger, cheese and onions."<br />(What it actually says is "Smothered in red chili with American and diced onions. Served with a side of red chili, too." I'd also like to point out it's listed in the middle of the BURGER section of the menu...with all the other BURGERS.)<br />I ended up taking it back to the cooks and asking them to just put the patty in a bowl of chili and he was happy.<br />Still, it was one of the oddest misunderstandings I've ever had to deal with.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1157693871229392422006-09-07T21:55:00.000-07:002006-09-07T22:37:51.266-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 64</span><br /><br />Sunday mornings are always fun at the restaurant. Servers are running their asses off, cooks are slinging food into the window as fast as they can, hosts are seating tables faster than the bussers can clean them, we have a 45 minute wait...and customers wonder why it's taking more than four minutes for their well done steaks to come up. It's awesome...but this table wasn't quite one of "those tables".<br /><br />I went to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 64</span> to say hello and get their drink order. <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Mom</span> orders a screwdriver, Grandma gets a coffee, and the little girls order chocolate milk. I asked <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Dad</span> what he wanted and he said, "I need you to make me a Bloody Mary, but not with that crap mix you use. That stuff's disgusting. I need you to make it from scratch." "Okay sir, I can have our bartender make you one without the mix. Do you like it spicy?" "Yeah, I like it just the way you guys make the mix but you can't use the mix." "...Okay. I'll be right back." "Miss, I just want to make sure you heard me. Don't use the mix." "Yes. Sir. I did hear you and I'll have someone make that for you right away." So, I get another server to make it (since my manager who is supposed to be helping bartend is watching college football and too busy with that to help me) and I told her to make it like we do the mix, but don't use the mix. She looked at me like I was crazy...then with sympathy realizing I just had a crazy table.<br /><br />I bring out the drinks, he *looks* at his Bloody Mary and says, "You used the mix didn't you?" "No sir, I didn't. I had our bartender make it for you from scratch. Would you like to go ahead and taste it and then you can tell me if you need something added to it?" He sips and says, "It tastes like you used the mix." "Sir, I assure you, we did not use the mix. Because you asked for it just like we make the mix, I can see how it would taste similar, but it was made from scratch. Did you want me to have them make you another one?" He didn't look at me or make eye contact. His wife said, "It'll be okay. If it's not we'll just go get another from the bar." I took their order for food and walked away.<br /><br />I came back once before their food was ready to get them refills. The little girls both needed more milk. I explained that the milk didn't have free refills but I'd get them more if it was okay with <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Mom</span> and <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Dad</span>. <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Mom</span> said that was fine.<br /><br />I brought out their food and everything but the syrup for one of the little girls pancakes. After I put down the food I asked, "Does anyone need anything else? Tabasco, Cholula...I'll get syrup for the pancakes, but anything else right now? *pause* Okay, I'll be..." "Excuse me." "Yes, sir?" "Did you just interrupt me?" "I'm sorry?" "I was going to ask you something and you started talking right over me." "I hadn't realized I was talking over you, I'm sorry. What can I get for you?" "Do you know that I know the owners of this restaurant?" "Um. No, I didn't know that. Is there something else you need right now?" <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Mom</span> interrupts, "Will you please stop being so rude and interrupting every single time my husband tries to say something? We're trying to have a nice family breakfast and you're being nothing but rude at every turn!" I didn't even respond. Then <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Dad</span> said, "I don't see how the owners let such a snobby bitch like you wait tables on a Sunday morning when families are trying to have breakfast. I'm going to tell the owners about your rude service." I turned and walked away.<br /><br />Before they left, I made a copy of their receipt, circled my name, wrote down the owners schedule at our restaurant and the number to our downtown restaurant and told him to make sure to tell the owner about our crappy Bloody Mary mix too.<br /><br />They were walking past me to leave while I was putting in an order and I heard <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Mom</span> say, "On top of everything that little bitch charged us for the girls drinks when they're supposed to come with the meal."<br /><br />They didn't leave me a tip, but the GM said that she talked to the owner while they were finishing breakfast and it was agreed that for calling me a bitch, <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Dad</span> would be 86'd from both restaurants. The Owner said he'll tell him when he calls to complain. <span style="color:#ff6600;">The Dad</span> hadn't realized that I know the owners, too.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1154331073452850432006-07-30T23:41:00.000-07:002006-07-31T00:31:15.996-07:00Table 7<br /><br />They seemed entirely unremarkable. A young woman, a young man and a small baby in a carrier. The baby slept in the carrier in the booth all through their dinner. The young woman ordered a you-choose-two Mexican combo plate...and ordered a third item that was listed underneath the regularly included choices in a section that says, "These choices available for an extra $ .55 cents". Knowing this has caused confusion in the past, I told her, "I'm happy to get that for you, but I just want to make sure you understand, that will be considered a you-choose-three with an extra .55 cent charge." For just one second, she looked irritated. "Yes, I read about the extra .55 cents. That's what I'd like." And she smiled. I figured we were at an understanding. I placed their order, brought out their appetizer, checked on them and got them refills, brought out their dinners, checked on them, offered refills, checked and did my little dessert tempting thing. I was at their table often enough, if I'd sat down I could've been having dinner with them. Everytime I had checked on them, they'd said the food was "perfect".<br /><br />Then I dropped off their check.<br /><br />I'm near the register, about half way across the restaurant from Table 7, and the young woman starts waving the check in the air and shouting, "MISS, COME HERE" which woke her baby, who started to wail at the top of its lungs. After a minute of pretending to be busy at the register (I had to give her time to take in all the dirty looks the near-by tables were giving her) I went to Table 7 and asked if there was a problem. "There most definitely is. I ordered a you-choose-two and you charged me for a you-choose-three. PLUS .55 cents." I looked at her for just a second, trying to will her to remember the conversation we'd had 30 minutes ago concerning this very topic. "Yes, ma'am. As I'd explained when you ordered, by getting the mini steak fajita burrito as well as your other options, you were ordering a you-choose-three, since you did get three items, one of which has an additional .55 cent charge." "Well, it wasn't even good." She pointed to her nearly empty plate then to her husband, "He had to finish it for me...*pause*...and the calamari was like rubber...*pause*...and I'm sure the margarita was watered down." "I'm sorry, if you'd told me any of this while you were eating, I'd've been happy to fix it for you. Since there's nothing *I* can do for I'll be happy to get the manager to come over and we'll see if there's anything that he can do for you."<br /><br />I started to walk away, and she said, "No, I don't want to talk to your manager. I'll just pay for your mistake and never eat here again." She smiled smugly, her husband shook his head and the baby who'd been quietly crying for about five minutes started to wail again.<br /><br />I told my manager about the exchange and asked that he take their check and try to calm her down. (I really don't need someone leaving angry and e-mailing the owners of the restaurant with exaggerated complaints, which has been happening quite often lately...though not directed at me, yet)<br /><br />He listened to her complain how her food had been terrible and asked her, "Did you tell your server that you weren't enjoying your food?" "No." "Well, I'm sorry, she could've brought you something else but now that you're done the most we can do is take off 10%." "If you really were sorry, you'd just take it off entirely, but I guess if there's *nothing* else you can do, I'll take it."<br />And he did give her 10% off.<br /><br />After she paid she walked back to Table 7 and put two shiny quarters down.<br />Luckily for me, while she was trying to get free food, her husband slipped me $8 and a piece of paper that said, "Sorry. It's the baby." Which, while sad, is still no excuse for such rudeness.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1154238633098637782006-07-29T22:44:00.000-07:002006-07-29T22:50:33.110-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;">Tables 52 & 53</span><br /><br />Here's another classic that I never got around to putting up...<br /><br />There was a party of 8 that came in around lunchtime on a Sunday afternoon, one of the restaurants busiest times of the week, and expected to be sat immediately. People who'd been waiting patiently, and had had their names on the list before our party of eight, were called and sat. And after every table that was sat, the <span style="color:#ff6600;">Matron</span> would come up to the hostess and ask why they weren't getting a table ready for them yet. It was repeatedly explained, that they had to wait. When, finally, their name was called they were sat in two booths, since there were no table to put together at the moment. The <span style="color:#ff6600;">Matron</span> complained that the booth was uncomfortable and she was "sinking" into it (which was most likely caused by her gigantically fat ass) but when asked if they'd rather continue waiting for a table, they declined. Which meant I was stuck with them.<br /><br />The party was made up of six kids (ranging from about two years old to about 15) and two adults. The <span style="color:#ff6600;">Matron</span> ordered waters for all of the kids and a Coke for her and water for her...husband? Not one of the kids looked remotely like either of them. Before ordering, The Matron asked if the kids meals came with a free drink (like it says on the menu) I told her they did...and then she let the kids have milk. I told her I could do kids meals for the little kids but the older kids, if getting a kids meal had to purchase a full priced drink. (It's the restaurants policy) Then she told me, none of her kids were over 11.<br />I have to say, that's the first time I've met a 5'7 eleven year old wearing a JV soccer jersey.<br />I wasn't about to sit around arguing with her...so I went ahead and put five of the kids down for kids meals. There was a little blonde girl (about six?) sitting at the parents table who ordered a dozen buffalo wings and onion rings appetizer. Each of the parents ordered steak and eggs.<br /><br />Remember now, it's Sunday brunch time. Five minutes after I put in their order, the <span style="color:#ff6600;">Matron</span> came up to the front of the restaurant and said Very Loudly, "Those kids are so hungry back there, they're eating jellies. How much longer are you going to make us wait for our food?!?" I told her that it was a busy time of day and it was going to take some time. There were other orders ahead of theirs, but as soon as it was ready I would bring it out. That just pissed her off. It seems her order should be cooked before anyone elses, no matter how long and patiently others had been waiting. A manager talked to her and said, exactly what I did...which while not calming her much, did get her to go back to her table. Though once she was back, she yelled at the kids (four of which were sitting at a different booth with no adult) across the booths, threw creamer at them and yelled, "Shut your mouths." "Can't you be quiet?". I had to have a manager come back and ask her to stop yelling and throwing things at her children.<br /><br />After I'd brought out their food, the <span style="color:#ff6600;">Matron</span> complained that her husbands eggs were too dry. After he'd eaten them, and I'd already checked on them once and no one had mentioned it. I talked to the manager, and he said, "Just get him some new eggs". So I did. When I brought them, she complained that her steak was overcooked and she couldn't eat it...there were about four bites left from the 10 oz. Ribeye I'd brought her. Again, I talked to my manager, this time he said, "Hell no, we're not making her a new steak. Give her this $2 off coupon for next time." I explained to her, since she'd already eaten most of her steak there was nothing I could do for her (which totally contradicted the whole egg situation) other than giving her the coupon. I brought boxes for the little girl with the wings and onion rings and gave them their check.<br /><br />The <span style="color:#ff6600;">Matron</span> asked why I hadn't discounted the little girls buffalo wings. I stopped because I had no answer and didn't want to just ask, "Why would I?" which gave her time to tell me, "She's a little girl you can't charge her full price. She didn't even eat all of it." I told her that she'd ordered off of the adult menu, the price clearly stated next to the item ordered and they were taking the left-overs home. There was no reason for a discount. Then she asked why I'd charged them for a kids drink if the kids got free drinks with their meals. I explained to her that a free drink for kids comes with a "kids meal" not any meal a kid orders. Since the little girl had ordered off of the regular menu, I had to charge her for her drink. (Plus, since these people were horribly rude I was going to charge them for everything I could) She took it upon herself to talk to the manager about the ticket. They backed me up and didn't take off the kids drink or discount buffalo wings.<br />Then the <span style="color:#ff6600;">Matron</span> asked I could split the tickets so each adult had three kids on their ticket.<br />I did.<br />When I dropped off the new checks, as I walked away, The <span style="color:#ff6600;">Matron</span> told her husband, "There menu says 'gratuity may be added to parties of five or more' and hell if I'm going to have them add a gratuity."<br /><br />They took up two tables for almost two hours, complained about everything, had me running getting refills for the kids and the parents, bothering nearby customers (some of whom even moved to other tables to get away) and they left me a $1.50 tip.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1148721841085309192006-05-27T02:09:00.000-07:002006-05-27T02:26:54.300-07:00This is an old one...before the days when I had a blog to vent.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 7</span> (or somewhere over there by the windows; like I said, it's an old story)<br /><br />A young couple in their early 20's were having a late breakfast. The girl ordered a vegetarian burrito with vegetarian green chili. The young man then ordered,<span style="color:#ffcccc;">*</span><br />"I'd like the two egg breakfast."<br />"How'd you like your eggs?"<br />"Scrambled"<br />"Homefries and toast, french toast, pancakes or biscuits and gravy?"<br />"Does your gravy have pork in it?"<br />"Yes, sir. It does have sausage in it."<br />*makes face* "Pancakes."<br />"Okay, would you like any meat with that?"<br />"What kind of meat?"<br />"Bacon, ham, sausage links or patties."<br />"Do you have anything that isn't pork?"<br />"We do, we also have..."<br />"Because I don't eat pork."<br />"Okay...well you could have...."<br />"I'd rather not go to hell."<br />"Well sir, you don't have to eat anything with pork in it...like I was trying to say, we do have other meats."<br />"I'm muslim. I believe seriously that if you eat pork you will go to hell. Do you eat pork?"<br />"Yes sir, but I'm not muslim."<br />"That doesn't matter you're going to hell in my eyes."<br />"I'll take that to mean you'd rather not do meat with your eggs?"<br /><br />His pancakes were grilled on the same grill as other peoples sausage and bacon...I wonder if by not telling him this I damned him to an enternity of hellfire?<br /><br />I sure hope so.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;">*I've tried to recreate the conversation as faithfully as possible, but a word or two may be off.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1147409527099470522006-05-11T21:36:00.000-07:002006-05-11T21:52:07.110-07:00Table 43<br /><br /><br />I deliver a young couple their food. After I put it down and ask if they need anything else, the guy asks if he can see my wrist (I have a tattoo there...so it wasn't all that weird) and I hold it out to him so he can take a better look. He asks the standard questions about font and where I got it done that I get from everyone. Then he says, "That is by far the sweetest fucking tattoo I've seen in a long time. Simple, but awesome." I tell him thanks and tell them both to enjoy their meal and I'll be back to check on them in a little while.<br /><br />As I'm walking away I can hear the girl saying, "I can't believe you were flirting with her in front of me...and how is her tattoo better than mine? I have way better tattoos than her..." She kept saying stuff, but I was out of earshot, so I missed the rest.<br /><br />I came back after a few minutes to check in on them, the guy wouldn't look at me or answer when I asked if everything was okay and if they needed anything else. The girl asked for more soda, though hers was more than halfway full. When I brought that, she asked for Tabasco. When I brought that she needed more napkins. When I brought those she'd dropped her fork on the floor and needed a new one. I had someone else take it to her and didn't go back to the table until they were both obviously done eating to take them their check. It came to $19.85 and the girl handed me a twenty and said, "Keep the change...for your next tattoo."<br /><br />The guy had forgotten his sunglasses and ran back in a couple minutes after they'd left and gave me a ten and apologized for his girlfriend being a bitch. I thought it was hilarious.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1146378999150113112006-04-29T23:08:00.000-07:002006-04-29T23:36:39.163-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 210</span><br /><br />This story starts long before I started working a The Restaurant. Table 210 (who we'll call <span style="color:#ff6600;">Hank</span>, since that's his name) had been <span style="color:#cc0000;">86'd* </span>before...for spitting on the floor. Yeah, why they let him back in I'll never know. He'd started coming in again about three months ago, he complained about every server in the restaurant, about the food, the prices, the management, etc. Then one day, he sat in my section and decided that I was the perfect server. From then on, he wouldn't sit in anyone elses section. He was actually upset when I took a week off. When I came back, he asked for an explantion to why I hadn't told him I'd be gone. (He's kinda crazy.)<br /><br />Enough back story, lets jump to the fun stuff.<br /><br />Last Saturday,<span style="color:#ff6600;"> Hank</span> came in about 2:30 and sat at the bar. He ordered his usual; a beer, a rum and coke and some green chili. About 10 minutes into eating his chili, he flags me down.<br /><br />"Look at this! There's a chunk of plastic in my chili! I was taking a bite and I bit into this...this plastic. It's a good thing I have my own teeth...because I was chewing on plastic!"<br /><br />I look at what he's holding up to me and it's very distinctly an onion peel. Granted, it still shouldn't have been in his chili, but it's not plastic. So I say, "That looks like an onion peel to me. I'm sorry that was in there. Would you like me to get you a new bowl of chili?"<br /><br />He looks at me as if I've asked, 'Would you like another bowl of warm vomit?'. "I don't even have an appetite anymore. I won't be able to eat all day. Can you blame me? There was plastic in my damn chili! Fucking Plastic! It's a good thing I have my own teeth. I was chewing on fucking plastic. I shouldn't have to pay for this."<br /><br />"I'll take it off the bill, <span style="color:#ff6600;">Hank</span>. You won't pay for it."<br /><br />"I shouldn't have to pay for it." "You won't, I'll take it off." "I should not have to pay for chili that has plastic in it. I've lost my appetite. Can you blame me? There was fucking plastic in my chili. Can you blame me for not wanting to eat? I lost my appetite for the whole day. I won't eat again. It's a good thing I have my own teeth. Fucking plastic in the god damn green chili!"<br /><br />Did I mention that he was getting progressively louder during this madness and was nearly shouting when he said, "Fucking plastic in my god damn green chili!"?<br /><br />I went over to explaing to my manager what was going on, showed her the "plastic" in question...which before I said a word about my theory on what the "plastic" really was said, "That's not plastic. That's an onion peel." While this was going on <span style="color:#ff6600;">Hank</span> found another manager and was complaining to him. Manager Two came over to Manager One and myself and related that <span style="color:#ff6600;">Hank</span> now wanted his drinks free as well. Manager One said, "Hell, no. He drank them, he can pay for them. Go take him the ticket." I asked Manager One if she'd rather deal with it since he was so upset...to which she replied, "You can handle it." Awesome.<br /><br />I go over to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Hank</span>, who is now more upset after finding out he still has to pay for his drinks, and begins anew. "I should sue. This is no way to run a business. Charging people after they find Fucking Plastic in their green chili. If I didn't have my own teeth I could've died. I was fucking chewing on plastic. I should FUCKING SUE THIS RESTAURANT! I could. And could you blame me if I did? Could you blame me? I was chewing on plastic. It's a good thing I have my own teeth. I won't eat again all day. I'm so sick that I was chewing on FUCKING plastic that I've lost my appettite. Can you blame me? I mean, I was chewing on plastic. That SHIT, that...that, FUCKING PLASTIC was in my chili. I should go home and call my lawyer."<br />Manager One makes her way over, apparently the expletives being shouted across the restaurant were enough to distract her from her American Idol conversation.<br />"<span style="color:#ff6600;">Hank</span>, I'm going to have to ask you to lower your voice, pay for your check and leave. We've taken the chili off but you have to pay for the drinks. You drank them."<br />"This is no way to run a business. There was fucking plastic in my chili. I'm never coming back here again. I could sue you and could you blame me? I was chewing on fucking plastic."<br />"It wasn't plastic. It was an onion peel." Manager One walks away. <span style="color:#ff6600;">Hank</span> pays and right before he walks out the door, he turns and comes back.<br />He walks up to me, hands me a dollar and says, "I'm never coming in this fucking restaurant again. This is no way to run a business. I'll never come in here again. Never." He waits, I think waiting for me to be upset or something. But really I'm not upset at all...quite relived to hear this news actually, so I tell him, "<span style="color:#ff6600;">Hank</span>, I'm really sorry there was an onion peel in your chili but I'm not going to miss you." I did try to hand him back his dollar, but he didn't take it.<br /><br />I really hope that was his last visit.<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">*86'd No longer allowed(in an area or premisis).</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1141718484376414032006-03-07T00:16:00.000-07:002006-03-07T01:01:24.396-07:00It's been awhile...lets jump right in.<br /><br />Friday, <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 10</span><br /><br />A party of four middle aged (45-ish) folks stopped by to have some dinner. First, I offered them drinks...they all ordered something different, but nothing terribly complicated (a bloody mary, a house margarita, an electric lemonade and a peach cooler) as I was walking away I overheard one of the guys say, "We should've made her write that down. You know she's going to fuck them all up." And right then, I knew this was only going to get better.<br /><br />I made their drinks and got them back to them in a timely fashion and they weren't ready to order yet, so I wandered off and did some other fun waitressy stuff and when I get back to the dining room 80's Hair Guy (think Ted McGinley, Married with Children) from my table is talking to my manager/bartender who is making a new bloody mary for him. I walk over to the table when he gets back and ask if there'd been a problem. (I mean, obviously there had been but I like to know what the problem was and apologize properly if it was my fault or make sure the customer knows why it happened...it makes me feel better) 80's Hair says, "Yeah, in that bloody mary <em>you</em> made the celery was moldy and it was disgusting. But your <em>manager</em> took care of it for me." "O-kay. Sorry about that, I hadn't noticed mold but glad it's all taken care of now. Are you guys ready to order?"<br />They order and just to prove to them how very cool I am, I write nothing down. I walk away to make their salads and in the two minutes it takes for me to get back, 80's Hair is back at the bar talking to my manager. I drop off the salads and go check with the manager to see what his deal was this time. He said that when he told me about the moldy celery, I called him a liar and pointed out that he was going to have to pay for it anyway. I started to tell the manager that no such conversation had happened and he told me not to worry, he'd seen the celery, he knew the guy was full of it. So, we left it at that.<br /><br />I bring out their food, everyone seems quite pleased. I'd made no mistakes and couldn't help but smirk at 80's Hair Guy. (I'd since decided he made the first rude comment, considering he'd been the only one starting any trouble.) I come back to check on them, for the second time, about 15 minutes into their meal to suggest dessert and clear plates...and 80's Hair Guy says, "Well, the steak is excellent. Really above par. Far more than I would've expected from this restaurant. But. Oh, nevermind. Wait. I really should tell you. But. No, don't worry about anything. It's all fine." Now, as curious as this is making me I have a new table and I really would just love it if he'd stop blabbering, "Sir, if something is wrong, tell me. I'll do my best to fix it, but I can't do anything if you don't say anything."<br /><br />"I've picked six hairs out of my mashed potatoes. Everytime I took a bite there was another hair in my mouth. I threw them on the floor so I can't show them to you. Can you bring me new mashed potatoes?" And he hands me a plate with maybe three bites of potatoes left. I get him new potatoes and tell my manager about the six invisible hairs. My manager replied, "Fuck that weirdo. Don't give him no discounts. He's trying to get free shit. He better go to Wendy's and cut off his finger. *maniacal laughter*" Yeah, and the customer's the weirdo.<br /><br />Anyway. After I dropped off their check, 80's Hair Guy comes up to me and says, "Excuse me, my meal's still on the ticket." "Yes, sir. I talked to my manager and since we replaced the food considering how much you'd already eaten, he felt a discount wasn't warranted. Have a great night."<br /><br />After they'd left, the manager came over and said that 80's Hair Guy had threatened to call the Health Department for the moldy celery and the hair in his potatoes if his meal and drink weren't removed from the bill.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1139733699276620152006-02-12T01:08:00.000-07:002006-02-12T01:41:39.290-07:00Table 44<br /><br />I'm not sure how far these people had to walk from their trailer park to get to get to the restaurant, but I sure hope next time they make the trek they find somewhere else to stop and eat. <br /><br />As soon as they sat down, all four of them (yes, including the 13 year old girl) lit up their Camel unfiltered cigarettes. They smoked while they ordered and while they ate. It was all really gross to me.<br /><br />But let's start a little before the puff-puff-take a bite portion of the meal. I walk up to the table and ask if they'd like to start with something to drink. "Well, hell yeah little missy, I say we'd like some drinks." "Okay...what can I get for you?" "Drinks, isn't that what you said you were going to get us?" *all laugh* *I stand there waiting for someone to actually order something, no one does* "Okay, well, if you're not ready I'll just get you some water." and I start to walk away, because seriously, I have no patience. The lady says, "Ignore them. I'll have a coke" The 13-year old chain smoker says, "I'll have Mountain Dew." I tell her we don't have Mountain Dew and she starts crying. Crying, over no Mountain Dew. The Lady says, "Just bring her a Sprite. That'll be okay" The little girl lights another cigarette and wipes her eyes. The guy on the left says, "I wanna beer." I ask what kind of beer. "The only kind of beer there should be. A cold one." I tell him what we have on tap...and he says, "Honey, if it's cold that's all I care about. Bring this son-of-a-bitch one, too." (the son-of-a-bitch being the guy on the right). <br /><br />I start to walk away to get their drinks and guy on the left says, "Hold on, Missy. Ain't cha gonna take our order? We ain't here for our health ya know. We want some food, dammit." I come back and take their order which is all the same thing, "We need four of them roast beefs on bread. With smashed taters and so much gravy if my head fell into the plate I'd drown. Ya got that? Enough gravy to drown me in." Seriously, that's exactly what he said.<br /><br />I bring out the drinks and hand the ladies straws for their soft drinks. Guy on the Right says, "Hows about some straws for our beers? We ain't good enough for straws? hahaha" I don't laugh, instead, I just walk away...and as I do Guy on the Left says, "Too bad she ain't got no damn sense of humor. I hate them stuck-up Mexicans think they're smart 'cause they know English."<br /><br />I just ignored him.<br /><br />When I brough out their food, the Guy on the Right says to the 13 year old chainsmoker, "And you better eat every fuckin' bite of that too. Ya hear me, every last fuckin' bite."<br /><br />I come back half-way through their meal to see if they're okay...and they're having a burping contest.<br /><br />I come back to drop off their check...and the young girl isn't done eating...she's the only one. I offer to take their plates and the Guy on the Right says to the young girl, "Are you eatin' anymore?" She starts crying again, and says, "I can't." The Lady tells me, "Just leave the plate, she'll finish it." So, I walk away...and from the bar I watch as the guy gets food on a fork and tries to make the young girl eat it, dropping it on her clothes and smearing gravy all over her face. I asked my manager to go over there and talk to them, and all he said is, "It's family business. I'm just gonna stay out of it. Just don't look if it bothers you."<br /><br />And I'm really sad to say, that's what I did. I ignored it...but I didn't know what to say to them, they scared me a little. Though, I should've taken a chance to tell them off...considering they left a fifty cent tip.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1137911560174811342006-01-21T23:27:00.000-07:002006-01-21T23:32:40.176-07:00<span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 11</span><br /><br />Tonight was "Open-Mike Night". Which means people come in, hang out in the back room, sing and get drunk. It's a pretty good time. The whole point of my mentioning that is, the open-mic people were singing Secret Agent Man. Which is wonderfully fun song to sing. And I was singing it as I brought <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 11</span> their drinks.<br /><br />I stopped singing, put their drinks down and was just opening my mouth to ask if they were ready to order when the girl said to me, "Whenever you're done singing I'd like a chocolate milkshake."<br /><br />I really wanted to spit in her shake. Bitch.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1137304683725721772006-01-14T22:27:00.000-07:002006-01-14T22:58:03.756-07:00Table 44<br /><br />When I asked them what they wanted to drink, she replied, "Vater, vith ice. Lemon on ze side. Not. On ze rim. On. Ze. Side." Okay...<br />When I came back, I asked if they were ready to order and she said, "First I have question. You have turkey burger?" I replied, "No, but we do have a black-bean patty that you can substitute at no extra charge." "So, all you have iz meat?" "No, like I said, while we don't have a turkey burger, but we do have the vegetarian black-bean patty." " ' like you said' Tha'z not vat I asked. Get for me, the pork sandvich. He'll have chicken club. And two salads, a light dressing. On. The. Zide."<br />I bring the salads, with dressing on the side to the table and she says, "Vy, ven you are not busy does it take almost three minutes for just a salad? I'm practically starved."<br />When I bring out their food, she laughed. Literally, laughed. "Oh, such plate presentation. Colorado iz so <em>quaint</em>."<br /><br />It took all of my strength not to hit that bitch. Maybe I was over-sensitive or something, but she really pissed me off.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17837137.post-1137144912979677782006-01-13T01:54:00.000-07:002006-01-14T03:09:56.660-07:00I must have been very annoying in a past life...because I have the most annoying customers ever.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span>.<br /><br />Two guys are eating, drinking iced tea and water...I'm kinda busy, so I'm not right there when they needed refills. I'm taking out food (<span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span> is by the window kinda) and the guys see me, with my hands full, and decide that's just the right time to YELL (though I'm about seven feet away) "EXCUSE ME, MISS?! MISS?!" *starts waving hands* "Yes, sir, what can I do for you?" "GET ME MORE TEA!" I hold the food up in his direction, "In a minute, I'll be right back." I drop off the food, pick up an iced tea pitcher and go over to <span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 41</span>. Yelling Guy says, "I was waving my hands trying to get your attention for ten minutes. I even whistled." I'd heard him whistle, and ignored it because I'm a waitress, not his fucking dog. "I'm sorry sir, I must have missed it while I was helping other customers. And just for future reference, when I'm standing right there, a simple 'excuse me' will work as well as shouting to get my attention." I started to walk away and his friend stops me by saying, "Stop." I turn and ask what I can do for him. In response, he holds up his water glass. I ask again, "Is there something I can do for you sir?" And he says nothing. Instead, he shakes his empty water glass. "Would you like some more water?" I finally ask. "Yeah." I wanted to tell him "When grown-ups want something they ask for it, they don't just point."...but I controlled myself for once.<br /><br />Next...<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;">Table 21</span><br />A young couple...very Abercrombie & Fitch, very cutesy, sit down and seem so nice. Then she asks for a new soda because the one I brought her is "too cold". I get her one with less ice. Then she wants a small cup with ice, because she likes a lot of ice in her soda. Yeah. Whatever. They both do the low-carb thing (no bread, cottage cheese instead of a potato) and then when I bring their food, he asks for a side of fries. When I bring those out she asks for a new soda because hers is "all watered down from all the ice". When I bring the soda, she asks if I could put her cottage cheese in a freezer until she's done with her burger because she likes her cottage cheese, "frosty cold". The beer cooler is close by, so I actually do it. Then she asks for new lettuce because hers is "all hot and yucky"...the hot tomato is okay though.<br /><br />She was seriously obsessed with temperature. It was weird.<br /><br />There were two more annoying tables I was going to share, but it seems I've worn myself out, yet again.<br /><br />Until next time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1