the bitchy waiter

Guest Post by Martha, the Patron Saint of Waiters

Posted on May 22, 2013 by The Bitchy Waiter • 6 Comments

Saint Martha

Hello, all. I am honored to have a guest post today that is written by Martha, the patron saint of waiters and waitresses. It is a very rare event to have a blog post by a patron saint so I hope you all realize how fortunate we are to have this, especially when you consider that she died over 2000 years ago. Please enjoy.

-BW

Hey bitches, this a guest blog post by me, Martha. I’m the Patron Saint of Waiters and Waitresses. Most people call me St. Martha, but you can just call me Martha, it’s cool. I mean, I’m a saint and everything but it’s not like I think I’m better than any of you. I bet a lot of you didn’t even know you had a patron saint, did you? Well, you do but I have a terrible publicist. It’s really not that big of a deal to be a saint. There’s even a patron saint for finding a damn parking spot, for Christ’s sake. You can read all about my life on my Wikipedia page or the page of saints, but most of that is the official story. I want to give you the real deal here.

So yes. I served Jesus. He used to come to my house with his disciples and I would serve him with my sister Mary. He was pretty cool and he taught me how to not worry about things or be distracted so that I could serve better. I guess what Jesus didn’t understand was that sometimes I welcomed those distractions because it took my mind off the fact that I was dirt poor and serving a 13-top in my own house. They used to come into the pub I worked in but then the owner kicked them out because they would just order water and then Jesus would turn it into wine. He would also ask for one basket of bread and then multiply it over and over again. They’d sit there for like four hours talking and then their bill would have 13 glasses of water on it and no food because the bread was free. Judas would always grab the check and say, “Oh, I’ll take care of it. I like to leave a 100% tip.” Then he’d look at the bill and see that it was for nothing and say, “Hmmm, let’s see… 100% of zero is…ZERO!” He thought he was so funny, that Judas. He was a real dick sometimes. The only time I got a decent tip was when Matthew the tax collector left me a Coin of Tiberius. Basically, it’s a penny and I think he left it by accident, but I was happy to find it on the table after they left. I took it home with me and we used it to buy a grain of rice that we ate for Christmas dinner.

So anyway, after my boss told them they couldn’t take up any more tables unless they were going to start ordering things, I told them they could use my place to meet in. I don’t know what I was thinking. I lived in a tiny hut that I shared with my sister, my parents, five brothers, two goats and a donkey, but they took me up on the offer. I think I mostly did it because I thought one of Jesus’ disciples was cute. His name was Thomas but I doubt he even noticed I was there. But I did it and it made me feel good to know I was helping out in some small way. They would meet once a week and talk about the future and the glory of God and blah blah blah. I tried to pay attention but I was always so busy, what with filling their water goblets so Jesus could make them some more wine. They could really drink once they got started. One time, I sat down at the table because I was interested in this story that Jesus was telling but Peter denied me that privilege and told me that women weren’t allowed to sit at the table of disciples. I told him that when they aren’t there, I sit at that table all the time, but he denied me again. He told me to get him some more water. I told him that his teeth were stained the color of red wine and I didn’t think he needed any more “water” and he denied me a third time by waving his hand and shooing me away from the table. He hurt my feelings but later on his brother Andrew apologized on his behalf.

I was with them all at their last supper. You can’t see me in the famous painting because of course I was busy working.

That last supper was held at a banquet hall they rented. I volunteered to work it because I knew that something big was about to go down and I wanted to see Jesus one more time. And Thomas too, but I doubt he remembers that I gave him an extra piece of bread. They were all sad that day. I’ll never forget what Jesus told me that last time I saw him. He leaned over to me, so close that I could smell the patchouli in his hair and he said, “Martha, I will pray for you that you might serve better. I will help you to overcome your distractions and worries and be present to become a better waitress.” I thanked him but didn’t have the heart to say that waiting tables was just my side job until I got my big break as an actress. That was the last time I ever saw Jesus.

I never did get my big break but I continued serving. I was the best waitress the land of Galilee ever did see and I owed it all to Jesus. His words did help me focus on my guests and make sure their needs were fulfilled. I eventually opened my own wine bar called Martha’s Vineyard and it was very successful. After I died, a local bishop suggested that I became canonized and the next thing I knew, I was Martha the patron saint of servants, including waiters and waitresses. I was very surprised and honored. Would I like to be the patron saint of actresses like that tramp Saint Pelagia? Sure I would, but at least I’m not the patron saint of mad cow disease.

The next time you are at work and begin to feel stressed out, just take a second to think of me, Martha. I am your patron saint and I am here to help you feel better. I will not, however, help you buss your tables. I’m done with that shit.

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5 Obnoxious Things Customers Need to Stop Doing

Posted on May 21, 2013 by The Bitchy Waiter • 58 Comments

Let’s be honest; this list could be about ten times longer but I think this is a good beginning. In the comments section, I would love to hear what you would like obnoxious customers to stop doing.

Stop saying “it was horrible” and “I hated it.” Yes, we get that you are being ironic by saying you disliked your meal when your plate is licked cleaner than the balls of horny hound dog, but do you have any idea how many times servers hear that line? Every time you say it, we always have to force out a little laugh to make you feel like you should go on the road with your new stand-up routine and then as we clear the plate we will say our stupid stock answer which is something like. “Wow, I don’t even have to send that plate to the dishwasher. Ha, ha, ha.”
Stop expecting something free for your birthday. Here is a news flash for you: everyone in the world was born and most restaurants don’t care that it’s your birthday. It’s no great accomplishment to be birthed and it does not merit a free round of drinks. It’s not going to make a difference if your friend pulls us aside and mentions it or if you show us your driver’s license. And while we’re at it, stop asking us to sing “Happy Birthday.” Feel free to do it yourselves, but there is no reason for the entire restaurant staff to drop what they are doing and screech out a song just so you can feel important or embarrass your friend. If you want to feel important apply for a gold American Express card and if you want to embarrass your friend stand up in the restaurant, point to him and exclaim “That is the worst fart I have ever smelled.” There is no need to get your server involved. Besides, if you ask your server in New York City to sing, there is a good chance he’s a musical theater actor and his bitterness about singing to a stranger at Table 12 instead of a Broadway audience may take away any joy you were expecting from the song.
Stop making out in restaurants. If dinner is your foreplay, that’s great, but let’s not make it a threesome. Keep me out of it. No server wants to watch a game of tonsil hockey happening in his station. Public displays of affection are one thing but groping and fondling each other are another. What’s even nastier to see is when two people are making out after they have eaten. The thought of your girlfriend nibbling on all that New York Shell steak that was stuck in your teeth is enough to make me want to toss my cookies into your to-go bag. And just so you know, if you sit on the same side of the booth, I can guarantee you that someone is going to make fun of you.
Stop fighting over the check. Somebody just pay the damn thing. We really find it annoying when you come come to us in the side stand and then slide a credit card into our apron while telling us, “Do not let anyone else pay.” Too late, sir. Somebody at your table already gave me a credit card with the same instructions, so you lose. When we put the check down, we don’t want to see two people playing tug of war with it. It’s awkward for us to hear you each pleading the case of why you should be paying. “No, I’m a guest at his house and it’s the least I can do” does not concern me. Consequently, “I make more money than he does” is just a terrible thing to say. Whichever credit card touches my hand first is the one that will be used. End of story.
Stop with the cell phones. We know that you want to take a photo of your enchiladas and get them posted to Facebook and Instagram right away, but do you really need to do that? Can’t you put your cell phone away for half an hour so that servers can do their job without interrupting your phone call to your Great Aunt Fanny who wants to tell you all about her bunion surgery? Don’t give us dirty looks because you are trying to have a private conversation on your phone and I am standing there trying to take your order. Also, when four people leave their cell phones on the table, they take up space that I may need to, I dunno, put your food in? And every time we fill your water glass, there is the chance that a drop of H2O may fall upon your link to the outside world and Words With Friends. And we don’t want to take a picture of you, either. Put the phone in your purse, in your your bag or up your ass. Please.

I only write this list because of an article on Cracked.com called 5 Obnoxious Things Restaurants Need to Stop Doing. These anti-restaurant articles are getting popular and I feel it my duty to try to respond to as many as possible. Here is their list with my brief response:

Ask how the meal is mid-bite. I’ve been through this. Customers always have food in their mouths. It’s called eating and it’s why they are there.
Food that doesn’t belong in a restaurant. And maybe customers can stop bringing in their own Starbucks, tea bags and grocery store sheet cakes.
A ridiculous number of menu items. And the customer will still complain that they don’t like anything.
Happy birthday songs. So stop asking us to do it.
No substitutions. If you don’t like the menu, go somewhere else.

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When Co-Workers Quit, Are They Still Your Friends?

Posted on May 20, 2013 by The Bitchy Waiter • 8 Comments

best friends?

Thursdays were always a good day for me at the restaurant because of who I worked with on that shift. Brendan and I had been shift partners for over a year and a half. For a long time, he was the bartender and I was the only server and that was it. No busser, no runner and no other servers. We pooled the tips and at the end of the night, we split them down the middle. We had a routine, Brendan and I did. We knew how to work together and we liked each other. We shared stories about our lives that had nothing to do with work. We both heard about the other’s wedding and we knew about each others families. That all changed last Thursday when I got to work and saw Brendan’s name had been scratched off the schedule.

“Nooooooo!” I silently screamed. “Noooo!!!! What happened??”

Minutes later another bartender showed up and started doing sidework. I knew this bartender but hadn’t seen him in months. “Hey, I thought you didn’t work here anymore,” I said. “What happened to Brendan?”

“I dunno. I was told he doesn’t work here anymore and now I’m back. Would you get me some lemons when you go downstairs?”

I had always gotten the lemons for Brendan but Brendan never had to ask me to do it. I just did it. As I stood in the walk-in, I pulled out my cell phone and sent Brendan a Facebook message.

“Where are you? What the hell?”

He responded almost immediately. “Yeah, I was going to tell you. I quit.”

I was stunned. Brendan explained to me what went down but I won’t go into it because that is not the point of this post. Let’s just say that someone was unhappy with his performance and rather than asking him to change, they thought it would be easier to cut his shifts from four to one so he would just quit. The restaurant business can be cut-throat. The point is that Brendan no longer works with me and despite how much I like hanging out with him, will I continue to see him? How often do we all enjoy the friendship of our co-workers but we never see them without their aprons on? All too often. If I want to continue my friendship with Brendan, I no longer can depend on a work schedule to maintain it. I will have to actually make plans and then follow through on them.

It’s odd when someone leaves a job. False promises are made.

“Let’s hang out real soon. Let’s do brunch or go out for cocktails.”

“Oh, totally. I’ll call you next week. Just because we don’t work together anymore doesn’t mean we won’t see each other, right?”

A week passes by and neither of you have reached out to the other. Weeks turn into months and the only interaction that has happened is when one of you “liked” a Facebook status and then the other person wrote”LOL.”

Brendan has been gone for less than a week, but the job doesn’t feel the same anymore. How am I supposed to take a picture of my shitty ass shift meal without him sitting across the table from me to let me know when it shows up on his Facebook feed? Who will appreciate my epic eye rolls when a certain customer plops down at the bar and starts talking about, basically, nothing. Who will crack funny jokes that I will steal as my own for this blog and my Twitter feed?

I will do my best to hang out with Brendan and his wife soon. The next time I see an Event from them, I will make more of an effort to go. But I wonder if Brendan will simply become another person on the long list of “really cool people I used to work with.” Could he go the way of Lauren and Bill who always made me laugh but I have not seen since I left VYNL four years ago? Or Mike from my catering days? Or maybe Jennifer Z. all the way back from my sentence at Houlihan’s in Times Square? I hope not.

We call the people we meet at work our friends but it’s not until you start seeing them outside of the restaurant that “friend” is the right word. Until then, we are simply co-workers, right? We have to try really hard to make that transition from co-worker to friend and it’s not easy. It is possible though. I met my friend Jane at that same Houlihan’s over 15 years ago and we still see each other. In fact, I hope she is coming to our place for dinner next week. Restaurant friendships can turn into actual friendships, they just take some cultivating. Who knows what will happen to me and Brendan. Hopefully I will see him soon at a bar and we can drink together without calling it a “tasting.” If not, at least we will always have our time together at that crappy job that we both kept for too long because it was so close to our apartments.

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Please Don’t Beg to Your Waiter

Posted on May 16, 2013 by The Bitchy Waiter • 12 Comments

Please don’t beg.

At the club I work, there is a two-drink minimum. That’s just how it is at certain music venues in New York City and ours is no different. We tell the customer when they make the reservation, the hostess tells them when they arrive, it’s written on their seating pass and I tell them again when I take their order. It should be pretty clear. I can tell Table 31 is going to be a problem just by the way he doesn’t want to sit where we have seated him. When a customer gets to the club two minutes before showtime, their seat might not be good as someone who arrived at the recommended 30 minutes before showtime. As I take the drink order for him and his friend, I remind them that at some point during the show they can let me know if they want another round or something else entirely. They order a coffee and a seltzer.

“And I guess we will just have to figure out what else we want to order since there is this two drink minimum thing.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Throughout the show, I notice they are barely drinking their beverages. After passing by their table several times I decide that since they aren’t drinking alcohol I am going to let the two drink minimum slide. Five minutes later, Mr. Coffee wants my attention. I can tell he wants it by the way he is waving his arms overhead as if he is stranded on a desert island and he sees a plane flying overhead. I make eye contact with him and head across the room to see what he needs. He continues to wave his arms until I am within six inches of him.

“Another coffee,” he says as he holds up two fingers.

“Two coffees?” I ask looking at his two fingers.

“No, just one’” he tells me as he continues to wave two fingers at me. Maybe he is giving me the peace sign, I dunno.

I add the second coffee to the check and when the show is over I give them their bill, which has two coffees, one seltzer but no cover charges because they are guests of the performer. Remember, I could have forced a fourth beverage or rang in a minimum charge but out of the goodness of my bloated black heart, I do not.

He gives me his credit card but then comes to find me a few minutes later to question his bill.

‘Why are there two coffees on here?”

“Because you had two coffees.”

“Can’t you count that as a refill?”

“No, I have to ring in each coffee.”

Suddenly he gets desperate.

“I’m begging ya, please. Please, my brother, I got a hundred dollar parking ticket today. I’m in a rough spot. I’m practically on the streets. C’mon, take one of the coffees off the check.” He points at the two coffee charges, tapping them repeatedly with his finger as if doing so will magically void them off. “Right there.” Tap, tap, tap. “Right there. Take it from $11 to $5.50 and then I’ll just pay you that in a tip instead.”

(Yes, our coffee is $5.50 a cup. Why? Because it is hand roasted by Peruvian children who grow each bean and take care of it as if it’s their own child. The coffee is brewed using water that comes from a glacier and we don’t use just any old coffee filter. Our coffee filters are made by specially trained Black Widow spiders who weave them out of fibers of organic cotton that we grow in Central Park. We then serve the coffee in golden goblets from the Renaissance period that are on loan to us from the Metropolitan Art Museum. Naaa, not really. It’s a New York City cabaret room. Shit’s expensive.)

“C’mon, my brother. Take off one of the coffees and let me tip you extra big instead. I’m begging you.”

I cannot understand how giving the $5.50 to me instead of the club is going to make his financial situation any better.

“I already swiped your card, sir, it’s done.”

“I’m begging you man, I can’t afford the three drinks. Take a coffee off and I’ll tip you real big. Cut me a deal. I’m in a rough spot. I’m practically living in my car.”

“I already did cut you a deal. We have a two-drink minimum so you guys should be paying for four drinks, but I only charged you for three.”

He finally relents and pays the check which has a grand total of $17.87. He leaves me a $3.00 tip, which I am totally satisfied with.

“Thank you, my brother. You have a great night.”

I watch as he heads over to his friend the musician and they make plans to go out for a cocktail.

My thought is this: if you are in such a jam and you are almost living on the streets or in your car because you can’t afford rent, then maybe you shouldn’t be going out to music venues to hear jazz. Maybe you shouldn’t be making plans to go out for cocktails. Maybe you should sit your ass at home and eat some Ramen Noodles that you make in a hot pot. Or maybe you should go to McDonald’s and lift some ketchup packets and mix them with hot water for some cheap-ass tomato soup. What you should not be doing is begging your server to give you free shit. It’s pathetic.

The bartender hears the whole story. “Was he for real?” he asks. “What a dick.”

“I know, right?” I say. “But it’s cool. I didn’t know what I was going to blog about tomorrow but now I do.”

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Another Article About Servers Written by Someone Who Has No Clue

Posted on May 15, 2013 by The Bitchy Waiter • 8 Comments

If your waiter is rude, you made him that way.

So many people out there in the world of the Interwebs keep writing articles about servers when it is blatantly obvious that the writers have never worked in a restaurant. “Oh, but I worked at a Dairy Queen for three weeks in high school,” they say or, “But I eat out all the time so I kinda know how it works.” No. No, you don’t.

Someone named Tiara wrote an article called 10 Rude Things Waiters Do To You on the website Seriously Facts. I am going to ignore the fact that her name is Tiara because I imagine she has gotten enough grief for that name already. Her sisters, Bedazzle and Sequinista, probably made fun of her all the time. Out of the list of ten things that we are so rudely doing, I agree with a few but they all deserve a response. And here we go:

Complain or bring up the topic of not getting enough tip from you. That is not rude, that is called educating a dumb ass customer. Maybe they know that tipping is not the law but they don’t know that tipping is the expected norm. And if someone is going to leave me $3.00 on a $50.00 check after I give then great service, I have every right to question what the problem is. I don’t do that often, but sometimes it just has to be done.
Not help you with your food questions or order if they are not your assigned waiter, but pick up your credit card or cash for payment when you put down your payment on your table. I agree that a server should be more than willing to answer any questions about the menu (Yes, there are mushrooms in the mushroom quesadilla) but on the other hand it’s quite rude of the customer to just grab any server that walks by and start telling them things about their order. Wouldn’t you want to tell your server first hand? Anyway, a lot of computer systems at restaurants won’t let a server go into another server’s orders. So if you tell Bob to tell Alice to tell Susie to tell your server that you want cheddar instead of American, that information might not make it all the way back to your server. So you want any server to answer your food questions but only your particular server to handle your payment? And Tiara, your English is not good, is it?
Pour water into your glass by tilting the jug on its side, resulting in water splashes all over you or your table. Only the most skilled of us can do this trick without spilling but there is a reason we do it that way. The ice in the pitcher ( I don’t use jugs…) won’t come out of the spout but if we pour the water from the side it will. And you know if your server gives you water without another bunch of ice cubes floating around in it, you’re going to complain. And then leave 10%.
Bring you the check very quickly, and repeatedly asking about the payment in different forms just to get you to leave so that a new customer can sit in your place. What’s wrong with that? It sounds to me like you only want service when you want it. If the server let the check sit on the table for ten minutes, you would be whining about how servers never let you pay quickly enough to leave in time to get to the 7:00 showing of Jennifer Aniston’s new romantic comedy that’s playing at the mall. And yes, we do want to turn that table over. It’s how we make money, Tiara.
Not pay attention to you when you need help, like when you need a refill of your water glass after you eat something spicy. Same thing as before. If the server is there to ask about your check, you don’t like it but when he’s not there to fill your water for the tenth time, you’re ready to complain. It sounds like you want a server to stand ten feet away from you and be ready to do your bidding as soon as you ring a little silver bell. And if you can’t handle your spicy wings, just ask for a pitcher of water.
Touch your plate, glass or spoons and forks all over with bare hands. I agree, that is not cool. This is why I always make sure to levitate my plates, glasses and silverware directly to my customers so that they can remain as clean as they were when Juan pulled them from the dishwasher and placed everything on the shelf using his bare hands that he just emptied the trash can with.
Touch a lot to try to get more tips. Touching strangers for pleasure or for money, by trying to make the stranger feel good unconsciously, is unacceptable. Define “a lot.” Also, it goes both ways, Tiara. Servers don’t want to be touched by you, either. When we walk by, don’t poke us in the back or tap us on the shoulder. But what if you touch a stranger for pleasure and for money, is that okay?
Take away your plate if your friend or someone else in your party is still eating, or vice versa. I agree, this should not happen. Unless the one who has finished intentionally pushes the plate to the side of the table, it should remain until everyone is finished eating.
Ask questions while food is in our mouth. This is another tactic used by waiters. When your mouth is full, you may say anything to tell the waiter to get lost so you can chomp down your food, including “Yes, it’s good.” Yes, this is another one of our “tactics” we use to find out if you everything is okay for you. It’s called communication. How are we supposed to know when you don’t have food in your mouth? If you are eating in a restaurant and never have food in your mouth, you’re doing it wrong.
Giving you way too much attention, including asking you about the food or service or your needs and talking to you a lot while you try to focus on eating or while you try to talk to the people you came with. Okay, that sentence is too long and rather confusing making me think that English may not be your first language, but make up your mind, girl. Do want us to be there for you or not? So yes, be there for water refills, but don’t be there to pick up the check unless you are ready to go, but don’t be there to touch you, but do be there to answer questions about the menu, but don’t be there to take away a plate, but do be there to ask how things are but only if your mouth is food-free. Honestly, I can’t keep up.

Thank you, Tiara, for the article. It was a good read and thoroughly entertaining. I hope the next time you go to a restaurant you have a nice time, but I suspect you are a pain in the ass to wait tables on.

Everyone please go to the original article and leave your opinion and please tell them that The Bitchy Waiter sent you. I want them to know that if they are going to publish an article about waiters, then they will have me to deal with soon after it’s comes out.

UPDATE: The original article has been taken down for unknown reasons. My guess is that someone couldn’t take constructive criticism. -BW

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The Danger of Too Many Pickles

Posted on May 14, 2013 by The Bitchy Waiter • 3 Comments

Pickle me this

We servers have a dangerous job. Yes, firefighters and police officers have their fleeting moments of danger and I’m sure that being a coal miner is not the easiest, safest job in America, but when a restaurant worker has to deal with a type-1 crazy bitch from hell, it can get downright perilous. Have you ever seen the wrath of someone who showed up with an expired coupon? Or how about when the kitchen is out of mashed potatoes? Knives are drawn, words fly and punches can be thrown. There is a woman in Quincy, Massachusetts who knows exactly what I am talking about.

According to television station WHDH, a woman punched a sandwich shop worker for- brace yourselves, cause it’s real good: putting too many pickles on her sandwich. You can see the news story here but all they do is give you pickle jokes mixed in with the facts while a blind lady wanders around in the background. Basically, the story is this:

Some crazy bitch named Tina Drouin ordered a steak and cheese sandwich from Nathan’s and the worker put too many pickles on it. Tina got pissed off, threw a punch and then tossed two giant bottles of pickles onto the ground shattering them. Then, the lady ran away, but the restaurant worker, Carmen Bolton (no relation to Michael) did some boltin’ of her own and chased Tina down the street. She held the attacker down until cops arrived and arrested her and charged her with assault with a dangerous weapon. Yes, a pickle bottle is considered a dangerous weapon in Quincy, Massachusetts.

Let’s break this down. First off, you do NOT mess with Carmen Bolton. Second of all, why on God’s green earth did Tina ask for pickles on a steak and cheese sandwich? Everybody knows that a steak and cheese sandwich is perfect as it is with steak and cheese on it. If it was meant to have pickles on it, it would be called a “steak and cheese and pickle,” okay? If I was Carmen, I would have questioned the lady’s sanity right there.

“You want what on your steak and cheese? A pickle? Umm, I don’t think so. I can’t serve you because you sound like you have a case of the crazies. I can give you a pickle spear on the side but I can’t put pickles on a steak and cheese. That’s as unnatural as putting pickles in a margarita or Chardonnay in something other than a coffee cup, okay?”

But Carmen obliged because she is a dutiful employee. Carmen slipped in the pickle juice and got some minor cuts but she refused medical attention because she needed to get back to Nathan’s post haste because it was her turn to change the hot dog water and, as we already know, she is a dutiful employee. She cares about her employer which is why she chased down Tina “Too Many Pickles” Drouin. Had it been me who was assaulted by a fist and a jar of pickles, I would have pulled out my workman’s comp form before I landed on the floor writhing in pain. As soon as I saw the broken glass next to my skin, I’d have my finger on my Life Alert button that is programmed to dial 1-800- SUE-THEM. Let the cops find Tina, because I’d be too busy finding a big pay day. Way to go, Carmen!

In closing, I just want to tell all you restaurant folks to be careful out there. The world is full of people who want to do us servers harm. Whether it’s because we didn’t bring them coffee that was hot enough, we put too many pickles on a sandwich or maybe we just wrote a blog post about an ice queen bitch named Holly Hobbie who had a piece of fruit up her ass, there are people out there who don’t like us. (Okay, maybe I am the only one who has someone hate him because he wrote a blog post about an ice queen bitch named Holly Hobbie…) The point is, be safe, folks. If you sense someone wants to assault you, we can’t all be Carmen Bolton. Ask yourself, “What would Bitchy Waiter do?” And I will tell you the answer: Bitchy Waiter would take off his apron and run out of the back door grabbing his coat, his bag and a bottle of Grey Goose on the way.

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