I just wanted to remind some of you that I am not all bitch all the time. Just mostly bitch most of the time. And vacation is good.
The Bitchy Waiter
I get a lot of comments and flack from people who question my bitchy ways and ask me why I keep this job if it’s so fucking miserable and demeaning. Most of these comments probably come from people who have never had to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous food service and maybe they don’t understand my point of view. Waiting tables is like wearing a pair of golden handcuffs. My friend Annie was describing her non food service job and I totally related to it. Sometimes you find yourself in a situation or job that is not ideal, but the benefits outweigh the negatives. In the restaurant world, the benefits are the quick cash in a short period of time, the complete flexibility and the opportunity to wear khakis and Pay Less slid resistant shoes everyday of your life. Serving food is not the easiest job in the world but it sure isn’t the hardest either. Am I handcuffed to my waiter jobs? Maybe. But they’re made of gold so it’s not that bad. So I continue to wait tables and then come to this blog and bitch about it and complain about all the annoying people and then when I am done, I feel better. It’s like therapy, this blog. It keeps me sane(er). And every once in a while, I show up to work and The Bitchy Waiter slacks off a bit and the 4% of Friendly Waiter gets to pokes his timid ass head out and say hello. This rare event happened a few nights ago and the customer left a comment card regarding my service. I quote:
Excellent, friendly service. Very polite. Manners matter!
Did you just now hear the fucking angels singing Hallelujah? Did you feel the temperature in the room change a bit as the bolt of electrical excitement shot right through you? The birds are singing and the rainbows have shot their wads in the sky because someone took the time to write a comment card about how great a waiter I am. I must stop typing now because tears are falling into the keyboard at an alarming rate.
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I should be whipped incessantly with an al dente noodle, for I have forsaken writing for far too long. I was distracted by a supreme bitchola who was in the club a while ago and it has taken me this long to climb out of the dark hole of bitterness that she sent me spiraling into. Oh, and I have been lazy too. But let me regale your souls with what this woman was like. Table 28X. Not my table. I was nearby though servicing the needs of my clientele when I feel the cold icy stare of a bitch stabbing me in the back. I turn around to look at her and risk being turned into stone by her Medusa ass attitude. And she gives me a look that I will now ask you to recreate. Turn your palms upward while raising and clenching your shoulders. Now tilt your head to the right while curling the left side of your lip and furrowing your brow in such a way that will guarantee a need for Botox. Shake your head back and forth in short jerky movements and now please move your palms backward and forward in an oscillating manner. Are you doing all of this? This is what Medusa was doing to me. To save her from all that activity she could have simply said , “Hi, excuse me?” but she wanted to put on a show instead. Knowing full well that she wanted something, I played dumb and went up to her and asked if she needed anything. “Uh, a drink??” Way too much sass was coming from this lady. Looking behind her, I saw that her server was at the next table. “Scott, is your server and he’s right behind you. I’m sure he’s on his way and your table is next.” That should have satisfied her, but true bitches always have to take it a step further. So she took it a step further. “Well, him being right behind me and him taking my order is not the same thing now is it?” Wait, what? Was she being funny? I scanned her eyes and saw not a trickle of humor. All that was visible was anger, impatience and forty years of mascara clumped into the corner of her eye. I waited a second to see if she was going to say something like, “oh, okay” or “thank you” but she said nothing. She then rolled her eyes and gave me a look that was telling me to take her order now. I simply responded with the customary I-am-not-your-server speech but she was not satisfied and wanted to know why it was taking so long. I paused and took a deep breath and counted to ten. I then told her the reason it was taking so long was because 105 people all were seated at the exact same time and we go down the rows of tables and she just happened to be at the last row. End of story, lady. It’s something that most people learn in fucking kindergarten. It’s called “taking turns” and we all do it. At the bank, the grocery story, the amusement park and even at restaurants and bars. Wait your turn.
Scott took her order and she was fine. But when it came time to pay their checks we made sure we knew who’s credit card would be the last one to be swiped. Medusa the impatient bitch, that’s who. Bitch needs to learn to wait her fucking turn and maybe learn that people who are nice to their servers sometimes get to cut to the front of the line. But bitchy ass Medusa ladies who have shitty attitudes? Nope. You will be last. Go back to kindergarten and learn some freakin’ manners, bitch.