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The Saddest Woman Ever at Olive Garden

"I'm all alone!"

“I’m all alone!”

Since I have no life, I spend most of my free time Googling things about waiters and Facebook stalking chain restaurants to see what I can write about. I’m not proud of this fact, but it happens. As I was scrolling through the Facebook page of Olive Garden, I came across the saddest most depressing Facebook post ever and it made me want to write about it. I have posted it below, but it will probably get deleted by the end of the day. The post comes from someone named Roma who writes:

I love Olive Garden BUT I just got an e-mail for $4 off 2 two adult entrees In my opinion that STINKS!! and feel it is discriminatory to singles. I often eat out alone, why shouldn’t I get pentalized for being alone??


Poor, poor Roma. Destined to live her life alone eating out at Olive Garden and being denied the privilege of getting discount. As if being single isn’t bad enough, Roma has to be slapped in the face by Olive Garden to remind her that she is ALONE! Olive Garden responded to unescorted Roma explaining that she can use the discount for one meal and get $2 off, but Party For One Roma told them that she was denied!

I wasn’t there, but I imagine it went like this:

Waiter: Welcome to Olive Garden! My name is Skip and I will be your server this evening. Can I start you off with a something to drink? Or perhaps you would like some classic calamari or spicy shrimp scampi to nibble on while you wait for your husband, boyfriend, life partner, significant other or soulmate.

Roma: Oh, I’ll just have water with extra lemon to drink, but I’m not waiting on anyone. It’s just me tonight.

Waiter: What?

Roma: I don’t have a boyfriend, so I’m eating all alone. Unless you let cats eat in the restaurant. Do you? Because Mr. Mittens is in the car!

Waiter: Oh, you’re alone. Did you tell the hostess that when she seated you here because usually we put the single people in the back of the restaurant by the bathrooms.

Roma: No, I didn’t. And I asked to sit here. Is that alright?

Waiter: Ummm, lemme go talk to my manager.

(The waiter rushes off to the sidestand and whispers something into the ear of another server who then looks at Roma and begins to laugh. The waiter returns to the table.)

Waiter: Yeah, so, you’re alone…do you mean that you aren’t even dating anyone? Because here at Olive Garden, you’re family, but one person does not a family make.

Roma: Well, Mr. Mittens is like my family, does that count?

Waiter: No, that’s sad. Lemme just get your order right quick so we can get you out of here as quickly as possible before anyone sees that you eat all alone. What would you like?

Roma: Well, I have this email coupon for four dollars off of two entrees so I thought that I could use it for just me and get two dollars off instead. Is that alright?

Waiter: No, that coupon is only for people who have managed to form some kind of relationship with another living being other than a cat. You can’t use that.

Roma: I don’t understand. I’m not asking for four dollars off of two entrees, just two dollars off of one. What’s wrong with that?

Waiter: What’s wrong with that? Well, it’s just sad, that’s all. You’re all alone-

Roma: I have Mr. Mittens!

Waiter: -and you come marching in here and want to sit at a table right in the front of the restaurant where everyone can see you detached and forsaken and you want a discount too? It’s just pathetic and I feel sorry for you. Why don’t you let me order your food to go? You can go sit in your car with your cat and I’ll bring it out as soon as it’s ready.

Roma: Well, can I get two dollars off?

Waiter: No.

Roma: This is awful! I’m going to go home to my computer and go to the Olive Garden Facebook page and complain about this. It’s discriminatory to deny me the privilege of getting a discount just because I choose to be single!

Waiter: Honey, everybody knows you didn’t choose to be single and if you are going to spend any time on a computer, I would suggest using that time to create an account on Word of advice though: be really mindful about your profile picture; maybe use a filter or something. And don’t mention Mr. Mittens.

Roma: I have never been so insulted in all my life! I am never coming back here again!

Waiter: Okay, thanks for coming in. Keep in mind that our Never Ending Pasta Bowl promotion will be starting again soon, so keep an eye out for an email reminder about that. Hopefully you’ll have a boyfriend by then. Buh bye.


UPDATE: It appears that the Facebook comment was deleted less than 12 hours after I posted this blog.  -BW

An Open Letter to the Kid On a Scooter

Better here than in a restaurant.

Better here than in a restaurant.

Dear Kid on the Scooter,

What the hell is your problem? I saw you come into the restaurant with your mom, grandma and sister and you were riding a fucking scooter. In a restaurant? Really? I saw you riding it on the sidewalk before you came in, but I never thought you would ride it all the way through the restaurant as you and your family picked out a table like you were in a fucking orchard picking out apples.  “Oh, look at that one, it’s so nice! Oooh, but what about that one?” You rode it from Table 1 all the way to Table 16 and then back again. With the wind blowing through your hair, you looked like you thought you were filming Easy fucking Rider. And then your mom wanted a table on the patio. I saw your eyes light up when you saw all that open concrete out there with just nine tables that you would have to dodge though. I could tell you were looking forward to taking that damn scooter on a ride from Table 21 to Table 29, but your mom was too damn impatient to wait for me to reset that four top that had just left so she decided to sit inside instead. I bet your heart fell through your chest and into a soggy pile of sadness when you realized you would have to go back inside with your scooter. Inside you rode, right back to Table 16 where your sister crawled into the booth and put her grubby little hands on every piece of silverware and every glass at the table.


So then I had to make room for the fucking thing as if serving two kids wasn’t enough of a pain in my ass, now I have to practically valet park a goddamn scooter for a ten-year old. After I moved the high chairs over and made room for the thing, I went to give you your menus and then I went outside to clean the four top. As soon as I was done setting it up, your mom decided she does want to sit outside “now that there’s a table ready.” Off you go to get your wheels so you can ride the whole six feet to your next table. I grabbed the silverware and glasses from Table 16 since your sister had already left her DNA on all of it and carried it out to the patio to swap them with the clean ones. And what did you do, kid? You stood in the doorway, straddling your scooter the same way your whore mother straddled a stranger she met on the 7 train to conceive you between the Queensborough Plaza and 46th Street stops. I had to step around you three. Damn. Times.


After a couple of spins around the patio, as I silently prayed for a rock or stick to catch your wheel and send you to the pavement, you finally sat down. Your mom was in a hurry all of a sudden just like she was ten years ago when she was trying to get her panties back on before she missed her subway stop. She chose your food for you because she’s so good at making decisions. “Yeah, ride the scooter in the restaurant. Yeah, let your hair grow down past your shoulders so no one can tell if you’re a boy or a girl. Yeah, cum inside me, man on the 7 train, so we can make a baby together.” Your mom’s a real peach pit, I tell ya.

I got your food. I cleared your table. I gave you your check. Your mom left me about 12%. And then you left. Onto your scooter you hopped, your sister running behind you as you rode through the restaurant while other customers gave your mom a look of “what the fuck is wrong with you?” Your mom meandered out, pulling a wedgie out of her ass, except don’t you have to wear underwear to have a wedgie? You zoomed through the exit and out onto the busy sidewalk and hopefully out onto the busier street.


Mustard and mayo,
The Bitchy Waiter

Eat it, asshole.

Eat it, asshole.

“Gimme That Grape, ” said Connie Chung

11th Annual Michael Jordan Celebrity Invitational Gala

“Gimme that grape!!”

In honor of Connie Chung’s 68th birthday, I would like to repost this article I wrote way back when this blog was just a baby. It happened in May of 2009 and I will forever remember it as the day I met Connie Chung…


As a cater waiter, you get used to being at really crowded parties with people poking at you to get a bite of tuna tartar. I can’t stand being touched when I am working. Don’t tap me on the shoulder, don’t pull my elbow, don’t grab my arm and don’t even look at me funny. It pisses me off and makes me ignore you for the rest of the night. If some lady is annoying me, I can make sure that no other cater waiter gets within ten feet of her for the rest of the night. It’s a game we play. At every party there is some Ms. Bitchy McBitch Bitch who is overdoing it on the appetizers. When this happens, we put out an all points bulletin to the other servers with a description of the Over Eater. “Lady in sparkly blue pantsuit, ugly shoes and big hair has had her quota of quesadillas. CUT HER OFF! AVOID PANTSUIT LADY.” And we do. And the bitch gets no more food from us for the rest of the night.

Last week, I served a party with a few celebrities. It was honoring Barbara Walters for her lifetime achievement. Apparently she has interviewed some really famous people… Liz Smith was there and she looked so fucking old. I swear to God that her face looked like a 85 year old piece of bacon that sat in a tanning bed for a couple of decades. Not pretty. Nope, not pretty at all. It was really crowded as usual and I was elbowed in the ribs by some greedy woman grabbing at a grape filled with goat cheese. I turned around to see who the fuck was that hungry and it was Connie Fucking Chung. Seriously, Connie Chung? Maury Pauvich couldn’t take you to dinner first so you didn’t have to knock the breath out of me to get a grape? I resisted the urge to tell Maury that I needed a DNA test to find out about my baby daddy. I gave his wife a grape and then I mentally cunt punched her.

A Comment on Comments, the Sick Days Edition

A Comment on Comments

A Comment on Comments

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a photo on the Bitchy Waiter Facebook page about how many servers do not get sick days at their job. The photo said, “Hi, my name is Sally and I’ll be your server tonight. I’ll also be giving you my cold because I don’t have sick days and have to come to work sick if I want to pay my rent.” It was a simple little image that I thought would have nothing but positive response and glowing reviews. Was I wrong! Although it was shared by over 1,800 people and more than three times that many people “liked” the photo, plenty of folks had something negative to say about it. All I was trying to say was that it is unfortunate that so many in the service industry don’t have the option to call in sick and still get paid for it, at least a few days a year. Sure, we can try to get someone to cover our shift for us, but that means we are losing the money we would have made that day which means a lot of people would rather go to work sick than lose a day’s pay. To some of the people who disagreed with the photo, I would like to respond in this Comment on Comments blog post.

Mike says: Big problem is all employees use it as a excuse to take a day off, hangovers are NOT sick days. Every Rest. I have managed, real clear understanding right up front. If you are to sick to come to work, then bring me in the doctors note and yes I call and confirm. Sometimes a sick day is just a, I am lazy excuse. Still have a business to run.

Here is the big problem with your statement, Mike. You use the word “all” and assume that every single server in the world is a lazy fuck who spends each night drinking and will only use a sick day when they’re hungover. You sure have a high opinion of your employees and you must be a real joy to work for. And to make everyone who is too (not “to”) sick to come to work produce a doctor’s note is another pile of shit. People don’t go to the doctor for a cold, especially ones who don’t have any fucking health insurance.

Elizabeth says: I’ve had to work with whooping cough, the flu, and a sprained ankle because I couldn’t find coverage.

Just two weeks ago, I caught a summer cold and was coughing up phlegm for six days. I knew it was only a cold and would go away in a week, so I didn’t go to the doctor. What I did do is go to work and every time I went into my manager’s office, I coughed all over the fucking place so hopefully some of my sick ass cold spores floated right into his coffee cup. Would have been nice to find someone to work for me, but I couldn’t.

Linz says: The sad thing is, it’s the nature of the business. Choose a different profession & elevate.

Linz, thanks for the great advice. Maybe I can just elevate myself right on up to CEO of Microsoft and maybe you can elevate your head high enough to get it out of your own ass.

Mike has more to say: If you call in sick, no doctors note.. you loose that day.. but depending on there history or when the employees start talking about what they did that night and how drunk they all got.. you start loosing other days and other income.. again.. you still have a business to run…

Mike, I think you need to learn how to hire better employees, that’s what I think. If all of your staff is constantly calling in sick because they went out drinking the night before, maybe you shouldn’t be hiring 22-year old college kids who are majoring in beer bongs. There are plenty of responsible servers in the world who want to work and will only call in sick if they absolutely have to. And again, no one goes to the fucking doctor these days unless they have lost an appendage or are coughing up blood. To expect someone to produce a doctor’s note for being sick is a joke. Sometimes it takes days to even get a fucking appointment. Also, it’s “lose,” “their” and “losing.”

Lauren says: I had the same kinds of problems when I worked in restaurants — I’m not a heavy drinker and would never call in if I was just hung over. But I have had PINKEYE before and called in and my managers threatened to fire me if I couldn’t come in or at least find someone to cover my shift. Um, okay, I’ll come give all the customers my pinkeye. Sounds awesome. Let’s just break all the health codes.

Yes, this is the world restaurant workers live in. If we can’t make it to work, it is our responsibility to find someone to work for us. I understand if I want the day off to go to a concert that it should be my issue to get the shift covered, but if I am busy sitting on the toilet with explosive diarrhea, it might be nice for the manger to make a few fucking phone calls for me.

Lea says: No sympathy. It is part of the job, take it or leave it.

Yes, Lea, we do take it. And I have no sympathy for you when you take a stick up your ass, you uncaring clot.

Matthew says: Stop relying on the government to take care of your sniffles. Pussies.

I’m not relying on the government to take care of my sniffles, asshole. All I am asking for is two or three fucking days a year where I can get paid minimum fucking wage if I am too fucking sick to cart around trays of Ranch dressing and fajitas. I don’t think that is asking too much.

Shadrach says: Go pound sand. Tough crap you go to work sick or your rent fails gimme a break sounds like you need a crash course in budgeting maybe you spend too much maybe you should save in case of those sick days ever thought of that? Nope we are all supposed to read your stupid post feel sorry for you get the government to force restaurants to pay you more and give you sick days all so we can pay 40 bucks a steak to make your ass happy ? Get a clue. Socialist.

Hey Shadrach, why don’t you go pound Meshach and Abednego, okay? Some states, like New York, have just implemented mandatory sick leave and I don’t think we are living in a socialist society. I don’t know how this new law affects restaurant workers yet, but it’s only fair that if someone who works in an office gets paid sick leave, then someone who works in a restaurant should too. No one is asking you to pay $40 for a steak to make my ass happy. If you are looking for a way to make my ass happy, it does not involve a steak, thank you.

Thank you for all the comments and I hope that some day restaurant workers will have the same rights given to those who work in other environments. Until then, take some Nyquil, pop a Ricola in your mouth and keep taking those orders.


What's a sick day?

What’s a sick day?


Did Kendall Jenner Throw Money at a Waitress? Probably…

Kendall Jenner, rude famous person

Kendall Jenner, rude famous person

Forgive me. In the over five years I have been writing this blog, I cannot remember a time I ever wrote about a Kardashian, but I am about to do that right now. I feel the same way about all things Kardashian as I do about empty bottles of vodka which is a combination of sorrow and disgust. Over the last couple of days, lots of people have been sending me this story about Kendall Jenner who allegedly threw a bunch of money in a waitress’ face after the 18-year old fame-whore got pissed off about not being served alcohol. Technically, this girl is not a Kardashian, but she is close enough to being one and just by writing about her, I have soiled the good name of this blog. (Please, this blog was a soiled mess to begin with…)

According to Page Six, Kendall went to Mercer Kitchen in SoHo and wanted a cocktail. Of course the waitress, Blaine Morris, didn’t serve her because the bitch is only 18 years old. Kendall was with her bestie, Hailey Baldwin (I don’t know who she is, but I can only assume she’s related to one of those acting Baldwins…) and after they were refused the sweet nectar, they got up to leave without paying their $60 bill for the food or without leaving a tip. When the waitress chased them down, it is said that “Kendall took a couple of $20 bills out of her wallet, threw them at the server and walked away.”

Since nothing really matters unless it is Tweeted or Instagrammed, the waitress Tweeted out “That horrible moment you chase a Kardashian down the street because she forgot to pay her bill to be thrown money in your face.” I went to Blaine Morris’ Twitter account but the Tweet has been deleted. I am trying to reach out to talk to her, but I’m pretty sure that since the story is on Huffington Post, E! and every other online site, she doesn’t give two shits about lil’ ol’ me.

Kendall has gone to her Twitter account to deny the exchange and Hailey’s rep (really? she has a rep?) has farted out a a statement that pretty much says it’s all untrue and it was a misunderstanding. Who to believe? Who to believe?

It’s not that hard to think that someone who grew up around the warped values of the Kardashian household would feel entitled enough to expect some server to risk her job by serving alcohol to a minor. It’s also pretty easy to believe that a spoiled bitch who has as much disposable income as Kendall Jenner would simply toss money at “the help” and see nothing wrong with it. Why can’t Kendall get her liquor like every other 18 year-old does and ask someone to buy it for her in front of the 7-11? Or sneak into her sister’s room, step over the thongs, sex toys, cell phones and mirrors and steal some of her’s? Kendall may be rich and famous, but the bitch ain’t 21 so she’s just going to have to get in line behind Justin Bieber and wait a few more years before she can start terrorizing cocktail lounges around the world.

We may never know the truth about this story. I think the waitress is going to remain tight-lipped (which, by the way, is the opposite of all Kardashians) about the whole incident since the waitress is an actress who has actual credits on IMDB. It’s scary to think that we may live in a world where bad-mouthing a Kardashian can get you blacklisted, but a Kardashian can get famous for badly mouthing a list of black dicks. I also wonder if the waitress was in trouble with any social media policy that she may have violated at her job. If that’s the case, I don’t expect to hear much more about this story. If I should hear from Blaine Morris, and I totally won’t, I will let you know.

Meanwhile, I would love to have an Internet feud with Kendall Jenner. That would be fun.

Mom Kicked Out of Restaurant for Changing Diaper

gross. nasty. yuck

gross. nasty. yuck

Oh boy, look what’s making the rounds of the social media blogosphere: another mother changed a poopy diaper in the middle of a restaurant. KHOU TV and ace reporter Tiffany Craig report that it happened at Brother’s Pizza Express in Spring, Texas when a woman named Miranda Sowers thought, “you know, I’ve got my own changing pad, she’s tiny, she fits right here on the chair,” so she went ahead and opened up a foul diaper that was full of the wrath of lentils and beets. In her defense, the mother had already gone to the restroom to learn that there were no changing tables and she was with her two other kids, a four-year old and eight-year old. She says she didn’t want to have to take all of them out to the mini-van to deal with the diaper. Well, the shit hit the fan when customers started to smell things other than mozzarella, tomato and basil. One of the employees brought out Miranda’s food in to-go boxes and asked them to pack up their crap and move on outta there. Of course, Miranda called the news to alert them about this very important news story and she also filed a complaint with the Better Business Bureau, because, you know, why not?

This is a tough one, y’all. I mean, there were no changing tables in the restroom so what’s a mom to do? Should she let her baby stay in the soiled diaper and marinate? Should she have just dealt with the trouble of taking all three kids out to the mini-van? (We can all agree that she did the right thing by not asking her server to watch the other two kids while she took the poopy one outside.) Miranda claims to have done the deed “quickly and quietly” but even if you do it at the speed of light, that odor is going to emanate beyond the diaper and other people are going to smell it. They should not have to fucking get a whiff of that when all they’re trying to do is enjoy a pepperoni slice. Mothers probably become immune to the funkified smell that comes out of a baby’s diaper and think nothing of it. For those of us who don’t change diapers ten or fifteen times a day, that smell can assault us with a bitch slap to end all bitch slaps. If I was at Brother’s Pizza Express in Spring, Texas and saw someone changing a diaper, I would not be happy. Actually, odds are good that I was already unhappy to begin with just by being in Spring, Texas and eating pizza in a strip mall. However, I would have been one of those customers complaining to management about the chick changing diapers in the restaurant. No word on what she planned to do with the used diaper full of shit, but if she’s like plenty of other moms out there, she was going to roll it up in a ball and place it on the plate when she was finished eating so that the bus boy would think it was a napkin and clear it away for her. Yes, we have all seen that happen. As inconvenient as I’m sure it would have been, I think that Miranda should have just gone to the damn mini-van and dealt with it. Yes, the the restaurant should have had a changing table, but they didn’t, so you have to suck it up, buttercup. Nobody ever said that having children was convenient. Pushing three kids out of your sweet potato pie hole entitles you to Mother’s Day cards for the rest of your life, stretch marks and grey hair, but it doesn’t give you the right to change your diaper two feet away from someone who is trying to eat a goddamn piece of pizza.

The restaurant stands behind their decision but they are now considering buying changing tables for their restrooms which is probably a good idea. As for the complaint filed at the Better Business Bureau, why bother? If you really want to make some noise, Yelp is the way to go!