Waiter Pens Song About Mean Customer

screen-shot-2016-10-21-at-8-10-53-amAll of us who wait tables have to find ways to vent our frustrations. Whether it be by complaining to your best friend in the side stand, punching a slab of meat in the walk in cooler or writing a blog that you then put onto your Facebook page that has almost 500,000 followers, it is necessary. After all, when a table of five shows up two minutes before closing, stays for an hour after they pay the check and then leaves you a 5% tip, we have to find a way to release that anger or else our brains would explode and we’d have to pay the busser and extra five dollars to help clean up the mess. However you decide to vent, it’s okay. It helps us prepare for the next horrible person who will inevitably sit in our section.

Please meet musician and server Joel Tyler who used his musical talents to craft a song about a very rude woman who sat in his station. Says Joel, “You know what? I’m not gonna talk crap about her. I’m above it. But then I realized, no I’m not, no I’m not. I will.” He then proceeds to sing a song about all the things he hopes will happen to this mean, mean woman.

You see? Bitching about your customers creates art!

Waitress Receives Note With Ridiculous Advice Instead of a Tip

14702433_10207635092531776_6200157557141035776_nWhen you work at Cracker Barrel in South Carolina, I suppose you are prepared to serve all kinds of people who have injected cream gravy directly into their veins. It’s like heroin down there, right? Well this week, a couple of cream gravy addicts rolled their asses into Cracker Barrel for their daily allowance of sugar cured ham and hash brown casserole and decided that, instead of leaving a monetary tip for their waitress, they would bestow some 1950’s advice scrawled out onto a bev nap. The photo was sent to me by a few people and it needs to be addressed. It’s pretty surprising.

Dear Renee, thank you for your excelent service today. Your a good waitress.

Heres your tip:

The womans place is in the home. You’re place is in the home. It even says so in the Bible. You may think that your contributing to your household by coming into work, but your not. While your in here “working” this is the reason your husband must see another women on his way home from a long day at his work. Because you should be home taking care of the household duties. You may think what you are doing “working” is right, it is really essentially a disgrace to his manhood and to the American family. So instead of coming to your “job” and looking for hand out’s to feed your family, hows about going home and cleaning your house and cooking a hot meal for your husband and children, the way you’re husband and God intended, and help make America great again. Praying for families and our nation.

The Watley’s

I don’t even know where to begin, so I will just bullet post this:

  • Learn how to spell.
  • Enough with the Bible thumping.You can have your beliefs, but it does not mean everyone has to share them.
  • It’s 2016, Mr and Mrs. Watley. Women can do whatever they want, including working.
  • I bet Mrs. Watley has missionary sex once a week with her husband and she looks at it as a chore, just like doing laundry, scrubbing the floors and making a roasted chicken every Friday night.
  • Why are the words working and job in quotes? WAITING TABLES IS A REAL FREAKING JOB!
  • If God intended women to stay home and cook meals and clean house, then why did He give them brains enough to realize that is total bullshit?
  • Make America Great Again? It suddenly makes sense. Making America great again, for some people, means going backwards in time.

I wonder if this gets shared enough will the Watley’s ever see it? I bet Mrs. Watley will never see it because her husband thinks computers are only for men who do important things on them like spreadsheets and business analysis. She’s only allowed to watch her stories.

To the waitress who received this, I am sorry you had to serve these people. But thank you for sharing it so we can be reminded that no matter how far ahead we move as a civilization, there will always be a few people who are determined to keep us living in the past.

If you like this blog, I hope you will click here to buy my book, The Bitchy Waiter!


College Student Too Broke To Tip

14694752_10207527737140248_2025290532_nDear Poor, Broke College Student,

I know that tuition is expensive and so are books. I know that it can be hard to scrape together enough money to be able to afford a semester in college and still have enough money for other necessary things like rent, groceries, your phone bill and all that beer that you drink. I feel for you, I really do. But of you go out to eat at a restaurant, you need to make sure you have enough money to be able to pay your bill and tip your freaking waitress. Deducting $5.00 from your check and writing “sorry college” does not excuse you from the basic requirements of dining out.

Next time you register for classes, maybe you should skip signing up for a botany class because you think it will be an easy science credit. Don’t bother taking a theater class to fill your arts requirements. Delve deep into that course catalog and find this class:

Economics: Introductory Course

ECO 10000

Basic restaurant concepts and thought; issues and policy. How to treat your server, how to tip and how to be a decent fucking human being. Recommended as a first course for students with no prior courses in economics and have no idea what it’s like to wait tables.
Not open to students who have taken or are currently enrolled in ECO 20000 or 20100 or their equivalents. Also not open to students who have waited tables before, because they probably already fucking get that you tip your goddamn server, asshole.
3 hrs3 cr.

Did you stop to think that maybe your waitress was also in college and planned on using the tip that she deserved to pay for the same things that you need your money for? And if she wasn’t in college, maybe she was planning to use that money to, you know, pay for life. No one wants to go to work for free. If the service was bad, then absolutely, your server does not deserve a 20% tip. But just because your broke ass already blew through this month’s allowance from Mommy and Daddy is no reason that the server should have to suffer. And deducting part of the bill is equivalent to stealing. I think if the police were called, it would be considered “theft of services” and you would have found that five extra dollars right quick.

People, if you can’t afford to tip, then you can’t afford to eat out. The bill was almost $80. That does not imply that you are struggling to get by by with Top Ramen and Pop-Tarts. That tells us that you went to a restaurant with $75 in your wallet and spent every last cent of it. The next time you want to go out to eat, skip the fucking appetizer or second cocktail and give that money to the person who is doing their job to make your dining experience a good one.

Mustard and Mayo,
The Bitchy Waiter

p.s. I hope you actually see this blog post so you will know how many people think you’re a cheap asshole.

p.p.s. BUY MY BOOK.

9 Times To Tell Your Customer “Bye Felicia”

  1. When you ask how your customer is and they answer with “Diet Coke.”635957645906985185-356156603_yearitch
  2. When two or more people are arguing over who is going to pay the check and you legit just want to swipe the damn credit card already and move on.635957312113531475-1309068995_byebye
  3. When someone tells you their coffee is ice cold but you know you made it about two damn minutes ago.et-bye-felicia
  4. When someone tells you they can’t have dairy, gluten, soy, sugar, carbs or salt and then complain that the food tastes bland.giphy
  5. When you close at 11:00 and you see someone tapping at the door at 11:01.6359574058290046551362147066_byefelicia
  6. When your customer asks for a cup of hot water to soak their silverware in even though the cup went through the same damn dishwasher the silverware did. raw
  7. When someone complains that it’s been 30 minutes since they ordered their food but you look at the computer and can see it’s only been 12. tumblr_o695e8mdfq1vst49wo1_500
  8. When your table tells you they know the owner and think that’s going to mean something.f21
  9. When a customer gets upset that you charged them a dollar extra for bacon and they get so pissed off and tell you they are never coming back.6359573059931419581434703904_byef

By the way, have you bought The Bitchy Waiter book? Full of more great stories and even more bitching. Click here!

Man Spends $20K a Year at BWW’s

screen-shot-2016-10-14-at-8-28-17-amA man named James S. recently made a shocking claim on a Yelp review for a Buffalo Wild Wings in San Diego. Actually, the review is full of surprising tidbits, none of which I can substantiate since I was not there on the night of this incident. As horrible as it is, I cannot say whether or not he and his wife were jumped by seven white supremacists. I do not know if his wife tried to help him and she was told my management that she was not allowed to help him until after the police arrived. I also cannot be sure that no matter which BWW’s one goes to, your life is in danger. Based on what our country is like right this moment, it would not surprise me that seven asshole white supremacists thought it was alright to jump a man and his family while they were trying to enjoy some Mango Habanero™ wings while watching a game. It is entirely possible and maybe even likely that something that horrible would happen, I do not know. What I do know is this: James spends 20K a year at Buffalo Fucking Wild Wings.

James. James, James…what the hell? That’s a lot of wing sauce and mini corn dogs, my man. If you go to BWW’s every week, that means you are spending $384.62 every week to fill your gut with chicken wings. I am worried for you. That cannot be good for your wallet, your social life or your colon. That is more that $1500 a month which you could be spending on other things like rent, car payments or Boneless Wings at Applebee’s. (Seriously, if you’re gonna spend that much money on chicken wings, share the fucking wealth.) I suppose if you really go four times a week with your family of four and and you each spend $24, that would be about $20K a year. But why the hell are you eating there that many times? Do you not know how to cook? Is your microwave broken? Are your children constantly coated with lemon pepper seasoning and wing sauce? For the love of God, step away from the Buffalo Wild Wings.

Regarding the attack, I’m sorry. The management failed you, the restaurant failed you and society failed you. For your safety, don’t go back there. Shout from the rooftops how you were treated. Ask your friends to not patronize that establishment. Get an attorney and demand your rights be protected. If there is one good thing that can come out of that awful night, it’s that you will be saving $20K a year. Please do something wise with the money like put it in a ROTH IRA or a college fund for your kids. Just promise me you won’t go to Chili’s and blow it all on Southwestern Egg rolls. At least spend some of that money on my book.


Read James S.‘s review of Buffalo Wild Wings on Yelp

Yet Another Server Nightmare

sleep-disorder-100212-465It happened again: I had a server nightmare and now my sheets are damp with cold sweat that smells like tequila, disappointment and bedroom funk. Why? Why must my subconscious treat me this way when I have the utmost respect for it by never paying it any attention? When I lay my addled head on my pillow, all I ask is for six or seven hours of moderately uninterrupted sleep, but last night my brain went all bitch on me and gave me one of those nightmares that only servers have. The worst part is that I am told the dreams keep coming even after you hang up your apron for good. The humanity!!!

In my dream, I arrive to work at my new job. It’s maybe my second day and everything is still new. The place looks like a Outback Steakhouse made a baby with a neighborhood dive bar; it is musty inside with lots of wood paneling and a big long bar. I get there at 4:00 thinking that I have at least a half hour to do sidework and get my bearings straight. As I am waiting at the computer to clock in, a server comes up to me.

“Hey, I need two Aringolds.”

“What are Aringolds?” I ask.

“Beers? I need two beers and you’re bartending tonight. You’re supposed to be ready to go at 4:00. Hurry up.”

I look at my watch and see that it is 4:01. Panic hits because I am not a bartender. I was not hired as a bartender and I was not expecting to be bartending.

“I just started yesterday, I thought I was trailing again. Are you sure?”

“Dude, I dunno, I just need two Aringolds and you’re on the schedule as bartender. Chop chop.”

Never mind the fact that in my dream I created a whole new kind of beer called Aringold. How did I do that? It’s like this one time I dreamed I watched this amazing Broadway musical and when I woke up I realized I had written the music and lyrics, designed the set and costumes and directed it. In my sleep, I’m a fucking genius.

I rush behind the bar and see that Aringold is on draft. “Okay, I can do this,” I think, so Igrab two pint glasses and pour them, putting them at the end of the bar. When the server comes over to pick them up he looks at the beers, clearly upset.

“These need to be in Aringold glasses, man! C’mon, get your shit together! Fuck!”

I search the shelves for an Aringold glass, but find none, so I call out to a busser to see if he knows where the Aringold glasses are.

‘We don’t have that many of them. I think we only have two. Lemme go look.”

The server waits for the two beer glasses instead of just taking the two that are fucking sitting there sweating with perspiration. After what feels like an eternity, the busser returns with the two glasses.

“I found them.”

He sets the two glasses onto the bar. It is obvious that he removed them from a bus tub because both of them are dirty, one with beer foam and the other is half full of ice with some guacamole on the side of it.

“Can I get these washed?” I ask, but it’s too late. He is already walking away from me. Meanwhile the server is still standing there.

“What is the fucking problem? Just fucking wash them and pour my beers. Who the fuck hired you as a bartender?”

This is when I wake up. It is 4:20 AM. In the corner of the room, I hear the breathing of my dog Parker. My husband is sound asleep and all I want to do is go back to sleep and dream about something nice like cheese fondue or chocolate waterslides. When I close my eyes again, I am immediately back at Outback FuckHouse or whatever the name is of this hell place I am working.

I grab the two glasses and start running them under water and using hand soap to wash them. Suddenly, I see a familiar face: my friend Abbie who, it seems, is managing this restaurant now.

“Oh my God, Abbie, I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t think I’m supposed to be bartending tonight. Shouldn’t I be trailing to wait tables? There’s been some mistake!”

“Hello?? My Aringolds!”

I pour the drafts into the oh-so-important fucking Aringold glasses and give them to the server. Abbie comes up to me, her face serious and stern, and says, “You didn’t punch in. I’m gonna have to write you up because you’re not supposed to be on the floor if you’re not on the clock. Sorry.” She then made that “wamp wamp.”

This is when the printer spits out an order for 10 more Aringolds.

“But I don’t have any Aringold glasses!!!” I scream.

Again, I am jolted wake. It is now 5:16. Parker jumps into bed with us, snuggling between our legs and I slowly fall asleep again. The dream does not return this night, but it’s only a matter of time before another server nightmare makes me afraid of going to sleep.

Hey, I wrote a book. Please buy it. Click here.