a post about getting taught a lesson

well monday - we meet again you son of a bitch. i hope that everyone had like the best weekend ever because mine was total shit. but that's a tale for another time.
today i bring you a server story. which i think are the best because it's like you don't think people can actually be as asshole-ish as you think but then you have to wait on them and it turns out that some people are truly horrible.
so the story. it was friday night.  the restaurant was mildly busy when the manager decided to cut the floor (basic restaurant speak for going down to the closing servers and like me who is usually the last non-closing server to show up).  and typically when this happens the servers still on the floor end up with full sections and a late dinner push.  which is exactly what ended up happening.  it was nothing insanely busy but it was enough to keep you running around.
i had a table with a gentleman and his wife.  and at the beginning of service they had given me a movie ticket stub (the restaurant gives you five bucks off your meal if you go the movie theater across the street in the same day you come and eat at the restaurant) and i thanked them and put it in my pocket and went about my merry way.  suffice it to say that the man was unbearable from the get-go.  as in every time i checked on their table he went above and beyond to respond to make my questions with his obnoxious take on what my voice sounded like.  not to mention that the times i did go back to the table it was evident that he found me doing my job to be an annoying interruption of whatever lame story he was telling and couldn't possibly be bothered with me asking if he wanted another drink.  and it's exactly these people who are the kind who you can't ever win with.  my mere presence annoyed him but had i stayed away he would have been peeved that i wasn't attentive enough.
so the meal came to an end, i ran their credit card, and so very sweetly it would give you cavities told them that i hoped they had a "wonderful weekend," and then high-tailed it to the kitchen.  a few had minutes elapsed when a fellow server found me and told me that i had a table saying i had forgotten to take the five dollar discount off their bill.  and after a slew of expletives because i had forgotten and i knew which table it was i ventured out to speak with the gentleman.  i apologized profusely, told him i had completely forgot, and that i would void the transaction, take the five dollars off, and then re-run his credit card.  his response: "no.  that's ok.  i'll just take it off your tip."  and then he opened the check fold and in front of me furiously scribbled out the tip he had originally given me and wrote in the new tip.

in my head, while it was happening, i convinced myself i looked like this:

in reality i'm sure i looked like this:

the gentleman handed me back the book and i sweetly thanked him, once again, and hauled ass to the kitchen.  once i arrived back in the kitchen i couldn't stop laughing.  like at all.  the entire thing had given the kind of lolz that i couldn't control and just kept bubbling out.  i managed to get the story out to the manager and truly it felt like i had just been reprimanded by my father.  like the gentleman shorted me the five dollar discount that i had forgotten and then went above and beyond to dock my tip another three dollars.  almost as if to punish me further and perhaps teach me a lesson about forgetfulness. 

in all fairness - i had forgotten the discount and that's my bad.

but truly this gentleman was a prick.

shit happens.  restaurants get busy and things get forgotten.  but you bet your ass that i try and make up for it and go above and beyond to fix whatever mistake i made and be honest about it.

at the end of the day if that man feels way good about himself for shorting me on a tip because of a mistake i made that i offered to fix then so be it.  i'll take my ten doll hairz (that i had to tip out on to other people so really i only made eight doll hairz on that table) and i'll enjoy the taco bell it bought me and i hope, you sir, enjoy your miserable life. 

soul crushers

one time i watched a bit from daniel tosh wherein he asked an audience "how many of you have never waited a table in your life?"  and a bunch of people cheered.  and daniel responded with something like "you people are assholes" and "everyone should wait tables at least once in their life.  then they'll realize that their side of ranch dressing isn't that fucking important."  and i was all "CAN I GET AN AMEN."  and for the most part, if you're a server, you're either good at it or you're not.  and it's almost always a server usually making just stupid, easy money for the amount of time you have to work.  but the little amount of time you have to work is often evenly balanced out with the ratio of dickbag customers to nice, normal customers.  and such is the life of a server.
because this last friday i had an epiphany.  like the kind of epiphany where i'm like "if i lose my shit at this customer and get fired will i really be all that upset about it?"  because this woman was the worst type of customer.  the customer that had been given a gift card to the restaurant, absolutely did not want to the at the restaurant, and had no qualms letting you know that she didn't want to be at the restaurant.  
i'll set the scene for you.  the woman is sat in my section.  i greet her and her husband.  she shivers and asks me why it's so cold.  i explain that the restaurant is littered with vents for both the air conditioning in the summer and the heat in the winter so it can be difficult to find a table not under a vent but that i would be glad to seat her at a different table if she would like.  she would like that.  so i scoop up all of her shit and move her.  turns out she thinks it's cold at that table and nastily declares "I WON'T BE UNCOMFORTABLY COLD WHILE I'M EATING" and i was all sugary sweet with my "of course you shouldn't be.  let's find you another table."
so i point out a third table in a section that isn't my own and recommend that we try that one (considering it's the only actual empty table in the place so she's SOL if she doesn't like that one either).  she refuses to move a third time without being guaranteed a warmer temperature so she sends her husband to test it out.  the husband returns and declares that "it is significantly warmer in that other room, dear."  she seems less than impressed but decides that she'll move again.  so i gather up all their shit and move them to a different table.  for the third time.  it's then she declares that they've never been to this restaurant before and the line of questions i endure for the next twenty minutes can only be likened to the spanish inquisition (or so i can imagine).  the couple had never had sushi before.  so i painstakingly explained the process in which the sushi rolls were made.  that there was seaweed paper, and then rice, and then a plethora of ingredients followed depending on the roll that you selected.  and that yes - some had components that were cooked.  that yes - tempura meant it was cooked.  and that yes - some rolls contained imitation crab meat (she was not pleased about this).  and that no - masago was not cheese, but fish eggs.  it was after this highly in depth interrogation that i tried to discreetly direct her to our rice and noodle options.  like a nice chicken fried rice or perhaps our delicious, and extremely popular, sesame shrimp.  but she wasn't having it and snaps at me that she needs more time to decide, because she then mutters under breath to her husband that, "this place is confusing, why did we come here, there are too many options, i don't think i like this place, we shouldn't have come here, etc. etc. etc. (i added the etc.  she didn't actually say etc. etc. etc.)."  and it was at the moment where i had to all but literally bite my tongue because the next thing out of my mouth was going to be "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU COME HERE YOU MISERABLE TWAT?"  but i refrained.  and sucked it up and made do with the constant eye rolls and the snippy little comments and i left her alone to decide on whatever the fuck she was going to end up hating later.  and when i came back she was still fixated on the sushi rolls and she was not about to be dissuaded.  and then she selected my least favorite roll on the menu.  and i died a little inside (and later, when i was telling shitler the story, he asked why i didn't suggest a different roll.  and i was like "i'll be damned if i end up responsible for suggesting a sushi roll that she ends up ordering and not liking because then that shit is on me and she clearly hates the world enough as is and i would rather not give her any more ammo).  and then i carefully repeated "ok then the sushi roll for you, ma'am?"  and she replied with "i guess."  and i quickly retreated back to the kitchen before she could complain about something else.
and at this point in the night, if i could give you a visual of what i probably looked like, it would be this.

so i brought her the sushi roll she ordered.  and she looked beyond dumbfounded and also pissed.  and she poked it.  like aggressively.  and said "this is what i ordered?"  and i said
"yes.  it is what you ordered.  i repeated it back to you, remember?"  and she says "i guess."  and then continues poking it.  i politely let them know that i will be back to check on them.  i wait a few beats and make my way back to the table that is literally hell on earth and ask them how everything is tasting.  she pokes her sushi roll again and at this point has started dismantling the poor roll.  she asks "where is the crab?"  and i point it out; that "it's inside the roll, ma'am."  and then she declares that she "doesn't think she likes this avocado."  and i asked "like you don't like avocado in general?"  and she says "no.  i love avocado.  but i don't like this avocado." and i say "oh.  i'm sorry."  and then says "there's too much rice."  and then i have to carefully remind her that i explained to her how the sushi rolls were made and that the rice helps hold everything together.  and she continued to mash her sushi roll, picking out the crab, and asking why we didn't remove the sushi paper.  she continued on with her rampage of destruction until the poor sushi roll looked something like this:

via

and then she wrinkled her nose, rolled her eyes, and says "i thought i was getting egg rolls." and i took a giant deep breath and carefully back tracked my way to the kitchen before i said something that was sure to get me fired.  because it was in that moment where i weighed out the options and the jumbled thoughts in my brain were like "i don't need the money.  the extra money is always nice for buying treasures but i don't need-need it.  plus i've never been fired for.  i wonder what that's liked.  it can't be that bad.  this woman is totally worth getting fired over."  and then, as if everyone i worked with didn't think i was nuttier than a squirrel turd, i reacted similar to this:

because here's the thing.  if you're going to be miserable, and in general a terrible human being, can you at least stay home?  crowds of people and strangers put me on edge enough when they're at least half-way nice.  but when you behave like you're suffering me water-boarding you is where i tend to draw the line.  and furthermore - if you so hated everything about your general dining experience here then i'm not sure why you insisted on ordering the turtle cheesecake and then in a very depressed manner tell me "it's fine."  

dear woman who is disappointed in literally everything,

if cheesecake is simply "fine" then there is no hope for you.

fuck you very much,

shan

mercifully they left after eating their mediocre cheesecake.  and i had to tell my manager that that table had crushed my soul.  and i told him that he either had to let me go without doing any sidework or i wasn't showing up for my shift at all the following night.  mercifully he let me leave.  same manager i talked about here.  so bless his soul.

and to the person that bought that woman a gift card to my restaurant.   next time - get her an arch card.  hell - i'll even pay for it. p.s. i wrote another post about waiter-ing.  you can read it here. p.s. i can't get out of work this weekend.  here's to hoping that lady doesn't decide to come back. or anyone like her.

waiting in real life

things you should know about your server and what they're probably thinking.

1. the less we have to talk to you the better.

if i had a dollar for every time i had to stand at a table with an armload full of dishes listening to people talk about their lives i would have at least $100.  i'm sorry sir/ma'am - but you are virtually a stranger to me and i could not give less fucks about what's going on in your life.  i'm here to drop off your food and then maybe check on you one more time.  do you want more booze?  i can make that happen.  otherwise - let's keep the chatter to a minimum.

2. you are not a pig and this is not a trough.

it's absolutely atrocious the way some adults eat.  you could not have MADE a bigger mess.  there could not be MORE soy sauce soaking the tablecloth.  and i'm sorry but how did so much of your meal end up on the floor.  this makes zero sense.  seriously - did you eat anything?  i would also rather you not acknowledge the mess.  i don't know what's worse.  that you somehow think it's appropriate to eat in this manner or to joke about it afterwards.

3. your jokes don't pay my bills.  nor do your coupons.

fun fact: the people that are jokey mcjokerson with you and the ones that you think you have a great repoire with are the ones that leave the shittiest of tips.  it's like they magically think that in a matter of an hour you've forged a meaningful relationship and that either that killer joke they just dropped on you or the fact that you should just really like them by now means they don't have to leave you a decent tip.  fun fact: my pal john mayer once waited on a table of regulars.  and when all was said and done they left him a $5 tip on a $100 bill and some BOGO coupons to culvers.  really you cheap skanks?

4. order dessert and i will go ballistic in the back.

it never fails that people decide to order dessert at the most inopportune time during service.  i might be the only server that doesn't care that it will up the bill and maybe get me more of a tip.  i just want you gone.  because in the middle of having to bring you a piece of fucking triple chocolate cake i probably have to drop off six drink orders, split a check, and pretend to enjoy a joke.

via

5. referring to yourself in the third person is not cute.

any server will tell you that the worst season to be a server is high school dance season.  it's the most horrifying time of the year and it happen three times a year; homecoming, the girls ask the guys dance, and prom.  it usually means you get a giant group of high school kids that all order waters, MAYBE an appetizer, and then ask for thirty-seven split checks.  it's a nightmare.  even worse when high school students think it's cute to refer to themselves in the third person.
just recently i had the joy of waiting on a young lady who insisted on referring to herself as michelle obama in the third person.  things like "uhhhh michelle obama would like another diet coke!" as she so helpfully held her glass in the air and jingled it around so the clinking of the ice cubes would get my attention.  or "michelle obama needs her check now!"  i can honestly say that it's the first time i ever came so close to punching the first lady in the face.

6.  just because you bring your child to a restaurant doesn't automatically mean this is a daycare.

control your child.  teach them how to behave in a public place.  this restaurant isn't a jungle gym.  they shouldn't be sitting at the bar because it takes up a seat for someone who will buy drinks and tip the bartender.  i don't want to run back and forth to get your child cherries on a tiny sword.  if your child is underfoot and i'm carrying a large, extremely heavy tray of food containing knives and also bowls of hot curry i won't even feel bad if it falls on them.  and don't test me.  i will hang your child on the coat rack.  if i had a bucket list that exact thing would be on there.

7. don't be a dick.

if you've ever served then you're with me on this.  limit the amount of trips i have to make back to your large table by maybe taking stock of your cocktail when someone else is ordering their new one. having to make ten separate trips for each person after they've ordered their drinks is a pain in my ass.  less trips = i don't have to talk to you = shannon is a happy-ish camper.  also remember to be patient.  if i'm running around like a lunatic it's obviously for a reason.  you are not the only person i'm waiting on in this restaurant.  and please know that the faster you eat, drink, pay, tip, and the GTFO the better for everyone involved.

know that i will like you if you leave me things like this:

and know that this is what i would rather do than wait on tables.

just dick around with my friends.