What is your problem? You barreled in and flagged me over within two freaking seconds after you plopped your gloober globber ass onto your chair. Your arms were flailing about so wildly that I thought you were either having a seizure or were trying to take flight. Neither, it turns out. You seem to think you are the only person in the restaurant who has other things to do. You expected me to drop what I was doing and take care of your needs first because you think you are the most important man in all the land. You are not, sir.
“I’m in a real big hurry, “ you told me. “I need you to put a rush on this food.”
And then you ordered roasted chicken, the one thing on the menu that takes the longest to prepare.
“That takes about 15 to 20 minutes to make, is that going to be alright? I asked.
Judging by the huge sigh that escaped your body, it was not okay, but you still said it was. “But put a rush on it.”
Listen, asshole, I’m not putting a rush on your chicken for three reasons:
1. Chicken has to cook.
2. I don’t care.
3. I don’t care.
When your chicken was done, I immediately took it to you along with your check so you could eat and pay at the same time in order to get to your super important meeting, or whatever. Suddenly, you no longer seemed to be in a hurry. You took your sweet ass time eating that chicken, relishing each and every bite. I watched you scroll through Facebook on your cell phone and I saw you put the fork down for at least two minutes so you could text someone. The check that I so thoughtfully brought to you sat neglected on the edge of the table. After you sucked the last bit of marrow from the chicken bone, you had the gall to ask me what we had for dessert and you ordered a bread pudding and a cup of regular coffee. When I brought it out, I produced a new check for you.
“I know you’re in a big hurry, so do you want me to take that check now for you while I’m here?”
Suddenly you remembered your earlier ruse of being in a rush and handed me your credit card and I took care of your check within thirty seconds. But then you fucking sat there. You even had a refill of coffee which, by the way, was decaf. You weren’t in a hurry. You were just hungry and self-important.
If you’re going to tell your waiter you are in a rush just to get your food out as soon as possible, at least finish the acting exercise and leave quickly. Every time you pull that stunt, it diminishes the importance of someone else who really is in a hurry. And it makes us servers think that all customers are liars and we are less likely to do anything to help them get out quickly which is exactly why I did not put a rush on your chicken.
It has to cook.
I don’t care.
Mustard and mayo,
The Bitchy Waiter