Employee Mistreats Doughnuts, Gets Fired For It

Voodoo Doughnut

Voodoo Doughnut

Thank you to KWG in Portland, Oregon for this very important news story about someone who is wasting the precious commodity that is known as a Voodoo doughnut. I have been to Voodoo Doughnuts once and the doughnuts should be held in the greatest respect. They should be placed on a pedestal and worshipped and adored. However, an employee got angry at a customer and instead decided to put two doughnuts under the windshield wipers of a customer’s car. What kind of world do we live in where a food service employees thinks it’s a good idea to waste doughnuts?

The story goes that a customer named Luke Copeland had placed an order for $2000 worth of doughnuts. That is a lot of fucking doughnuts. No word on what he needed that many doughnuts for, but I can only assume it was for one of those massive pastry orgies that everyone in the Northwest goes to every other Wednesday night. While he was inside picking up his orgy supplies, an employee was pissed off that Luke had parked someplace that wasn’t an actual parking spot even though someone else in the store had told him it was okay to park there. This is when the angry employee grabbed a couple of spare doughnuts and placed them on the windshield.

For the love of God, think of the doughnuts! Think of the doughnuts, people. Doughnuts belong on plates and napkins and in some very unusual circumstances, a penis, but never on a car windshield.

Luke was upset. Now if it was me, I’d be like, “Cool, two free doughnuts!” but Luke isn’t me. He went in an complained and basically no one in the store cared. I think Luke could have just removed the doughnuts with his hands, brushed them off and had them as a snack, but based on the video, it looks like he turned on his windshield wipers instead. Umm, who the fuck thinks windshield wipers are going to do anything to doughnuts other than make a big bukkake mess on your windshield? The manager of the store, David Drexler, found about the doughnut smear and promptly fired the employee and gave Luke some compensation: a free dozen doughnuts every month for a year.

This is my cue to drive my ass to Portland, park in front of a Voodoo Doughnuts and stick a couple of Entenmann’s under my windshield wipers and hope that David will send me a box of free doughnuts every month. If that doesn’t work, I have this to say to Luke Copeland:

“Luke, I am your father. Please send me the doughnuts.”

 

How To Make More Money as a Waiter

"Want to make more money?"

“Want to make more money?”

“Do you want to make more money? Of course we all do.” Does that phrase ring a bell for anyone? It’s the opening line for the commercial that iconic actress Sally Struthers did in the early 90′s for International Correspondence Schools. That shit ran all the time usually when you were watching your stories to see if Luke and Laura were going to stay together on “General Hospital.” Sally offered all of us the opportunity to learn at home and get better jobs and promotions. If you called the 1-800 number you could be on your way to an exciting career in learning the personal computer, interior decorating, child day care, gun repair, or even catering! Luckily for me, I had an innate skill for catering and gun repair so I never had to call the number. Other people who are too afraid to make the call that will change their life have to come up with other ways to make more money and I came across one of those people while on vacation once.

I was sitting on the bus in San Francisco when I heard this dumb bitch behind me yapping on her cell phone. She was jib jabbing away about things that nobody cared about but we were all forced to listen to. And then things got interesting. She started to tell her friend how she had discovered a new way to make more money at her job. I thought that maybe she wasn’t as dumb as she sounded because she clearly seemed as of she wanted to move ahead in her career. My nosy ass started listening closer to see if I could glean some wisdom from this career-minded independent woman. And then I realized she was a fucking cocktail waitress. And her brilliant idea to make more money was basically stealing. She had realized that if she didn’t ring in all the drinks and just collected the money, she could then pocket that cash as her own. Bitch, please. Does she really think she is the first one to come up with that idea? Waiters have been skimming like that since the dawn of time. I think Benjamin Franklin was pocketing coins the same way when he was waiting tables at Ye Olde Tavern Inn back in 1750 right before he discovered electricity and invented bifocals. She was all proud of herself for discovering stealing. “Girl, I took a hundred dollars last night. If I could do that three times a week that would be like… (ridiculously long pause here as she tried to multiply) …$300 dollars a week!” Yes, honey or $1200 a month. And then two to three years in jail when they bust your ass for theft. She was clearly not the brightest bulb. Every smart thieving waiter knows that taking that much a week is just asking for trouble. Start small. Ten dollars here and ten dollars there. What a fucking amateur.

I don’t steal from my jobs. Not worth it. Sure maybe the occasional cocktail or a lunch that I eat that I don’t pay for, but cash? No way. Never. Well, except for that one summer I worked at a Putt-Putt miniature golf course and pilfered a few bucks a day to pay for my Dairy Queen blizzards and my lunch of chicken sandwich from the Burger King that shared the parking lot with me. But nothing since then. (Sorry, Putt-Putt. I was young and hungry and only making $5.00 an hour.) Word of advice: don’t steal.

If you want to make more money, take Sally’s advice and call this number: 1-800-228-3800. (That shit is probably disconnected by now.) And you can watch her commercial here and be on your way to financial freedom. Happy birthday, Sally Struthers!

Definitive Proof That People Lie About Food Allergies

Lying Food Babe

Lying Food Babe

You know how we servers know that so many times our customers tell us they are allergic to something but we know they are lying? We know because they tell us they are allergic to gluten and then we watch them order a piece of cake for dessert claiming, “well, it’s just a little bit of gluten.” It’s annoying and it does a disservice to those who are actually allergic to something because it makes servers think that allergies aren’t really that big of a deal. Allergies are a big deal, but you know what isn’t a big deal? Not liking something. It only becomes a big deal when you don’t like something and then you tell your server you’re allergic to it when you’re not. A recent article written by some chick who calls herself “Food Babe” offers tips on how to eat healthy when you eat out and one of her suggestions is to lie to your server about allergies. I need to discuss this.

First off, what kind of name is “Food Babe” anyway? Really? What a ridiculous moniker to give oneself and only someone with a deep seated need for approval would choose to call him or herself something so immature. Wait, I’m The Bitchy Waiter. Never mind.

In her article called “Food Babe Travel Essentials-Eating Outside Your Home,” Food Babe offers 11 suggestions on how to eat healthy when dining out. The fourth suggestion on the list advises that if you don’t want butter, soy or corn in your food, you should “go as far as telling the server you (sic) allergic” to these items. In other words, lie, lie, lie. Lie your ass off and just tell the server you’re allergic to butter so he can waste his time typing in all the modifications and then go to the chef to alert the kitchen so they can make sure to not cross-contaminate any of the pans. The kitchen will go through all the trouble to make sure no butter gets near your precious digestive system. Later on, on when the server sees you putting some butter on your roll, the server will know you made that shit up and you’re a big fat liar. When someone comes in to the restaurant who has a true severe allergy to nuts, maybe the server won’t take it as seriously because he saw Food Babe lying about the fucking butter allergy. It’s annoying and I’m surprised that someone who has such a popular website and huge following is alright with telling her readers to lie.

Sure, just lie about it.

Sure, just lie about it.

Overall, Food Babe’s suggestions indicate she is a huge pain in the ass to wait on. If you ever see Food Babe heading to your section, you better order your shift drink early because you’re gonna need it. Here are a few more of her handy-dandy tips for dining out:

2. “Order a salad for the first course with dressing & cheese on the side” and find out if there is any iceberg in the salad. If there is, “tell them to leave it out! There are no nutrients in iceberg.” I can just see some server standing in the kitchen window picking iceberg lettuce out of a salad with their “clean” hands because some cook was like, “Fuck that, do it yourself.”

3. She wants you to “quiz the server to see which dish they think is the most healthy.” You wanna know what the healthiest is, Food Babe? The iceberg wedge with blue cheese dressing on the side. Eat up, liar, eat it up.

6. “Before you order the soup – ask if it’s homemade or if it contains additives.” She also wants you to ask to see an ingredient list. If you’re a server, you will have to find that crappy Xeroxed sheet of paper that you got on your first day of work that had that information on it. It’s probably wrinkled up in your locker, your bag or your car right next to the rules and regulations of your new job and the dress code. If you can’t find the ingredient list, just tell her its got MSG in it and she’ll immediately choose something else.

7. “Drink hot water with lemon during your meal or hot decaf green or ginger tea,” because you haven’t already been enough of an annoying stereotype yet, so why not go all the way?

8. “Mix and match. Check out the specifics of each dish and ask the waiter to create you a plate.” Yeah, do that, Food Babe. Servers love to tell the kitchen that Table 19 wants the cod, but they want it prepared the way the salmon is and then to put it on the plate with the set up for the grilled chicken. The kitchen loves it when we ask for that shit.

9. “Order off the menu-ask the chef to create something for you.” If you eat at some hoity -toity restaurant, I suppose the chef would be eager for this challenge, but I would think that many people who read her column are eating at Outback Steakhouse and Olive Garden. Their “chefs” will not appreciate the request. Asking to change the menu might make their heads explode and no one wants to have their food cooked in a kitchen where there has just been a head explosion.

10. “ Create an old standby and build a relationship with the staff – I have my favorite standby restaurant when I am too busy to cook but still want to eat healthy. I’ve gotten to know the staff and they make everything perfect for me every time.” And I’m sure they just love when you come in, Food Babe.

You should go visit her Facebook page and tell her what you think of her advice to lie to servers about allergies. C’mon, tell her how you feel. Let’s blow up her Facebook page, you want? Tell her I said hello.

And here is her Twitter page if you want to tell her how you feel via a Tweet. If you do, make sure you add @BitchyWaiter so she she’ll know I care.

 

TGI Fridays Just Got Even Worse to Work At

"It's always Friday and always shitty."

“It’s always Friday and always shitty.”

That deafening roar you heard across the land on Monday afternoon was the sound of every TGI Fridays server bemoaning the new promotion that started at their jobs: Endless Appetizers. Yes, that’s right, someone who works in the corporate office of TGI Fridays probably got a two million dollar bonus when they sharted up this idea. Beginning on July 7th and running until August 24th, customers can pay $10 and get an endless amount of loaded potato skins, pan-seared pot stickers or some other fried piece of crap until they are bursting at the seams with MSG and other Sysco products. Don’t worry about the server not getting tipped by people who are eating a lot of food but not spending a lot of money because marketing officer Brian Gies says that sharing is discouraged. Ummm, yeah.

I can see it now, can’t you? Four teenagers show up but “only two of us are eating” they say. They sit down at your only money maker, Booth 5. They ask for for four waters and one asshole orders an endless order of boneless buffalo wings and another asshole orders mozzarella sticks. The server spends the next three hours running back and forth from the kitchen as all four teens shovel handful after handful of defrosted food into their eating holes. “At the end of the day, our servers aren’t policemen,” says Gies. “We’re not going to slap someone’s hand if they reach over and share someone else’s mozzarella sticks.” In other words, “We don’t really care if the servers get totally screwed by our customers and make no fucking money. As long as we have people in the restaurant and we can continue to sell sub-par food to them, we are satisfied.” When the four teens are finally too bloated to stuff one more cheese stick into their bodies, they get their check which is for $21.65 and they leave the server three dollars. Hurrah.

I also predict that parents will bring in their brood of five kids and order one endless app for the table and easily feed five kids on ten bucks. Of course they will only do this if they can’t find someplace where kids eat free. “Well, it ain’t free, but it’s only two dollars a kid,” says Ma Kettle as she sucks down her third Blackberry Long Island Tea Shaker. “And if I only gots to pay ten bucks for all them children to eat, that means I can afford to get the Jack Daniel’s® Sirloin and Grilled Lobster Tail. Thanks, TGI Fridays!!”

Some analysts think that the bold move will destroy the TGI Fridays chain, but let’s be honest. Wasn’t TGI Friday’s pretty much already a big piece of crap? Who the hell even eats there anymore? I guess that’s the reason they are desperate enough to try this approach. It might bring in new business, but it’s not going to be quality business. It’s scraping the bottom of the fast-food chain barrel and it’s only going to make TGI Fridays go the in the same direction of Bennigan’s, Fuddruckers and Friendly’s and that direction is the toilet.

The Endless Appetizer Promo will end on August 24th, but I would like to suggest some other ideas for them to try for their next bid for relevancy:

  • No Tip Tuesdays: Come in on Tuesdays and order whatever the fuck you want and then stiff your server. We don’t care. (This offer is also good on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday.)

 

  • TGI Fridays Frequent Diner Program: For every dollar you spend you get a point. The more you spend, the more points you get and once you reach 10 points, you can redeem those 10 points for a free party for 200 of your closest friends. The party will consist of unlimited pitchers of water and three orders of Tostado Nachos (you must pay extra for the toppings of refried beans, seasoned ground beef, melted cheese, salsa, sour cream, house-made* guacamole and jalapeños.) You don’t really have to tip your server, because we don’t give a shit. [*house-made is not really house-made. It comes in a big plastic bag that we cut open and squeeze into ramekins.]

 

  • Buy One Dessert Get Five Free: Yep, you heard right. All you have to do is pay for one crappy ass Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie and you get five more for free. We are happy to put them in a to-go bag for you or you can stay all night and eat them, we don’t care. And don’t bother leaving a tip, it doesn’t matter to us.

 

  • Complain On Facebook: If you go to our Facebook page and leave a negative comment about anything at all, we’ll make sure to send you a gift card to make up for the fact that you found a piece of plastic in your birthday cake or that the bartender took too long to make your drink and it ruined your Girls Night Out. We also give you a “Get Out of Tipping” card to give to your server so that you don’t have to bother with that pesky extra 20%. We hate our servers.

 

  • Your Weight in Food: Step on our TGI Friday scale and whatever you weigh is how much food you get for free. If you weigh 250 pounds, you can get 250 pounds of whatever you want. 250 pounds of Jack Daniel’s® Ribs? Sure! 250 pounds of mashed potatoes? No problem? 250 pounds of Parmesan Meatballs? You betcha! The more you eat the more you weigh and the more you weigh the more food you get for free. It’s terrific! The only tipping you’ll do is that of the scale. In fact your server will leave you a tip, because we totally don’t give a shit about our servers or if they make any money whatsoever.

 

Good luck, TGI Fridays. And my heart goes out to all those servers. As if it wasn’t already bad enough to work at TGI Fridays.

Is This the Rudest American Ever?

Vulgar American

Vulgar American

I was scrolling through Twitter a few days ago just looking for people talking about their servers. These are the things I find myself doing at 1:00 AM when I am too hyped up after work and cannot fall asleep. I was looking for Tweets that would inspire me or piss me off or engage me in some way when I came across a Tweet that said:

“Ali and I ate lunch at this little cafe in France and our waiter was really rude so we left him a little message.”

Attached to the Tweet was a photo where this darling young girl had spelled out in mustard the words “fuck you” onto her plate. Charming, isn’t she? She seems to be having the time of her life in France because one of her Tweets said “France is cul.” I know when I had the good fortune to be in Paris last year, I found he Eiffel Tower to be inspiring, the Musée d’Orsay was completely mind-blowing, the Catacombs were thought provoking, the food was delicious, the people were so warm and friendly. Overall, I too thought France was “cul.”

I can’t help but wonder what Rachel and Ali experienced that made them think their waiter was rude to them. First off, they are probably used to eating at Chili’s and Applebee’s so when the waiter didn’t skip to their table and write his name out in Crayon onto a piece of butcher block paper, they begin to think that he had a bad attitude. I bet he also did not squat down beside the table to take their order or say “Bonjour, my name is Jean-Luc and I will be taking care of you this evening.”

It was probably something like this:

“Oh. Ma. Ga. Ali, he didn’t even offer us fried cheese sticks or anything. He is SO rude,” said Rachel. “I totally wanted French Fried Fromage.”

“I know. And like, how come he’s not even wearing any flair or anything? This is France,” said Ali. “I would think his flair would be all like Yves Saint Laurent and shit. He’s just wearing black pants and a white shirt. Rude.”

Ali moved her chair closer to Rachel because she felt too close for comfort to the people beside her at the next table.

Rachel picked up the menu. “Oh. Ma. Ga. This menu is like totally in French and I can’t read any of it. They don’t even try to help tourists feel comfortable here. It’s like when we went to Versailles yesterday. There was no air conditioning at all. Rude. And Notre Dame had way too many stairs.”

She flagged down her waiter who was standing at the other side of the restaurant writing an order down and handing it to the chef.

“Excuse moi,” she said as she snapped her fingers. “Excuse moi.”

The waiter approached her table and said something in French to them.

“Ummm, do you speak American? I’m American and I can’t understand you, so…”

Jean-Luc easily switched over to English and asked them if they were ready to order. The girls explained that they could not read the menu and asked if they had an American version of it, you know, for tourists. Jean-Luc apologized and offered to help them choose something for lunch.

“Zee mussels wiz white wine ees very good or perhaps you may try zee poisson de jour which comes with haricot verte et roasted potato?”

“Ummm, never mind,” said Rachel as she held her palm up to his face. “Just give us a minute.” Jean-Luc stepped away from the table and Ali and and Rachel looked at each other, confused.

“Oh. Ma. Ga,” said Rachel. “I heard him say ‘poison.” He offered us the poison de jour. He is, like, totally trying to kill us. Rude, right?”

“So rude. Totally,” agreed Ali. “Like, I just want a hamburger and fries and a Diet Coke with ice. Why don’t they put ice in anything over here?”

“Because they’re rude, that’s why.”

The two girls finally ordered their burgers and were very disgusted to find that each one came with an egg on top of it. They never once got a free refill and when they asked for yellow mustard all they got was brown moutarde.

“How come in France I have not been able to get French dressing OR French’s mustard?” complained Rachel. “I don’t get it. This is France and they don’t even have any French food here.”

As is customary in France, the waiter kept his distance from the table and did not bring the check until the two girls had asked for it. Ali and Rachel, being the clever little vixens that they are, decided to perpetuate the “vulgar American” stereotype by leaving a message for their server; a hearty “fuck you” spelled out in mustard with the help of a toothpick. They probably also stiffed their server thinking they were really hurting him when everyone knows that servers in France get paid a living wage and Jean-Luc didn’t need their two Euros anyway.

I hope that Rachel and Ali see this little fictionalized story I have created about them and even though I was not there, I have reason to believe it’s pretty close to being factual. Thanks, Rachel, for giving me something to bitch about today.

Never fear, though. All is not lost. That same night I also found this photo on Twitter which can give us all hope:

No, thank YOU!

No, thank YOU!

 

update: Someone got all butt hurt over this post. I changed it up a little bit to soothe some hurt feelings. Bottom line is someone posted something on Twitter and then didn’t want to stand behind what they said. When I found the picture on Twitter, I didn’t know shit about the person who posted it. I just took the screenshot and made up a story. The age of social media is not for sissies.   -BW

The Truth Behind the Declaration of Independence

WTF?

WTF?

July 4, 1776

Dear Diary,

So I was just at work minding my own business today at City Tavern when my boss Mr. Drucker gets a message that the fellas down at congress are working on some important shit and they need to have their lunch brought in. Seeing that Mr. Drucker is the only tavern in Philly that offers free-delivery, he gets all the business. So they Pony Express the most complicated to-go order ever and he’s making all these plates of sweet potato biscuits and pepper pot soup when I notice that our regular delivery guy Paul Revere is no where to be found. I know that Drucker is going to tell me to deliver it even though my job is to wash the dishes and clean the outhouse. “Fuck that, Drucker,” I says. “Go find Paul. I’m not using my horse to go all the way down to congress. Not my job, dude. Unless you’re gonna pay me for new shoes for my horse, I ain’t doin’ it.” He tells me that it’s in my contract to do whatever he tells me to do and that if I don’t do it he will fire me and since this job is better than cleaning outhouses for free, I decide to do it.

Those fucking congressman know how to eat, I tell ya. They ordered the whole damn tavern and my horse was bogged down with so much crap that I had to walk him because there was no place for me to sit. They must have ordered 25 lobster pot pies alone. Those are the most expensive thing on the menu so I guess we can expect a tax increase any day to pay for all that, fucking politicians.

When I get there, John Adams is the first one to see me and he’s all, “I had the lobster pot pie with no celery because I’m allergic to it. Which one is mine? I’m starving!”  Umm, hello, Mr. Adams, I’m fine, thanks for asking. God, he’s such an asshole. So he grabs his food and scurries off to his little desk and then all the other dicks want their food right away like they haven’t eaten since the Boston fucking Tea Party. (Which I catered, by the way, and it sucked.) I finally get all their food out to them and when it comes time for someone to pay the bill, they all suddenly have short arms and deep pockets. No one wants to pay. “Oh, just put it on our tab,” they all say. “Mr. Drucker knows we’re good for it.” I tell them I’m going to need a signature and some fucking blowhard named John Hancock appears out of nowhere and signs the receipt like it’s the most important thing he’s ever signed in his whole entire life. That’s all fine and dandy, but I’m more concerned with my tip. Nobody seems willing to tip me on this huge ass to-go order.

I’m just standing there with my hand out like a fucking beggar and they totally ignore me. I am pissed as bloody hell. They’re all at their desks cramming roasted duck triple decker sandwiches into their faces and no one wants to tip me for my service. I wander over to this table that has all this parchment paper on it and at the top of one of the pages I see it says Declaration of Independence. It looks important, like, really important. The first thing I notice is John Hancock’s big obnoxious signature underneath it and a bunch of other chicken scratch bullshit. I can tell at this point that no one is going to tip me and I decide as a big “fuck you” to all of them, I will put my name on their little masterpiece. Who fucking cares? Hopefully, they won’t see it until it’s too late and their boss will make them do it all over again. I grab a quill and some ink and sign my own “John Hancock” right there between Charles Whoever the Fuck and George Somebody Else: Thomas “Bud” Henry! I don’t even have to be sneaky about it because they are all so involved in their food that they don’t even notice some 18 year old kid defacing their precious fucking document. I also pocket the quill and a jar of ink. Fuck you, John Adams and the horse you rode in on.

When I get back to City Tavern, I see Paul Revere and he’s all, “Hey asshole, you trying to steal my job?” I ignore him. Then Drucker wants to know where the money is and he blows a gasket when I tell him to put it on their tab. How the fuck am I supposed to know we don’t let politicians run tabs? Not my problem. By this time, my shift is over so I go back home.

It was a long hot day today and I didn’t make much money, but I do have some satisfaction knowing that I got my name on to some bullshit document called Declaration of Independence. I don’t know what it is but I hope that whoever has to turn it in gets in trouble. I hope it’s John Adams. Man, he seems like an asshole.

 

Good night, diary.    -Bud

Thomas "Bud" Henry

Thomas “Bud” Henry