The Most Disgusting Bus Boy in the World

Totally gross

When I worked at Black Eyed Pea in Houston Texas about a thousand years, I worked with a girl named Connie. We caught her eating leftover rolls and fried okra straight from the bus tub which led to her nickname of Bus Tub Connie. She thought it was a waste of perfectly good food and felt an obligation to consume it.

“There are starving children in Africa who would be so grateful for this leftover piece of chicken fried chicken,” she’d say.

“And there are people in the restaurant who think you are a disgusting human being,” we’d tell her right back.

I never thought I would meet someone as nasty as her, but last night at work, it happened. Our bus boy Reggie is officially the mist disgusting person I have ever seen in my entire life.

Reggie is telling us how broke he is and how badly he needs some money. Since he lives at home and does not go to school, I don’t know what he needs money for. His parents don’t make him pay rent, he does not own a car, he does not have a girlfriend and I have never seen him wear anything but ripped up Levis and black t-shirts. The only logical explanationis that he is a major drug addict and needs his fix.

“Man, I would do anything for fifty extra bucks tonight, you know?” he says. “Anything.”

Kristine wants specifics and asks him what exactly he is willing to do for some extra cash since we are all bored at work and could use some entertainment.

“I dunno, “ answers Reggie. “What do you want me to do?”

This is Kristine’s chance. “What if we all pitched in some money and we are willing to give it to you if you eat something really gross?”

Reggie must be more desperate than Kristine expected because he quickly agrees to it. “Okay, what do you want me to eat?”

I can’t believe that he is willingly going to let us decide what he will put into his mouth and swallow. We set some ground rules:

  1. It will be one soup cup of something.
  2. Each person who outs in money gets to add an ingredient.
  3. He must swallow it all.
  4. He cannot drink any water until it has already gone down.
  5. If he throws up, it does not count.
  6. If he swallows it all and keeps it down for 30 seconds, he will get all the money we have thrown into the pot.

Reggie agrees, proving that he must be a serious meth-head. Kristine and I go around the restaurant to see who is willing to donate some money to this very important cause and we find seven people who are willing to each put in $5. It’s not quite the fifty that Reggie wants, but he says he will do it if we don’t fill the soup cup all the way to the top. Everyone chips in their five bucks and their ingredient choice.

  • Kristine: leftover carrot soup from Table 7
  • Juan: chocolate syrup
  • Tim: Tabasco sauce
  • Angel: a leftover hamburger setup that was pulled from the garbage can.
  • Tony: pineapple rice pudding
  • Sarah: dead broccoli from the window
  • Me: a piece of fat that was left on a plate from an order of the shell steak

Kristine mixes it all up in the cup and I swear to god it makes me want to throw up just looking at it. She gingerly places the piece of slimy steak fat on top of the concoction and presents it on a tray to Reggie. Next to the cup is a glass of water, a spoon and $35.

“Eat up,” she tells him.

Reggie picks up a spoon and I see not an ounce of hesitation in his eyes. He pushes the steak fat to the bottom of the cup and stirs it in. The lettuce and tomato from the hamburger setup is breaking apart with the broccoli while the chocolate syrup colors everything a deep dark color of diarrhea brown.

“I’m trying to pretend it’s a smoothie,” says Reggie.

“Yeah, a delicious fucking steak fat smoothie,” I remind him.

He lifts the spoon to his mouth and takes the first bite as the seven off us attempt to wrap our brains around this kind of desperation for $35. He swallows the fist bite and claims that it isn’t that bad. He still has at least three or four more bites to go and I am confident that when the time comes to to eat the fatty piece of gristle, we will all get our five dollars back. Remarkably, Reggie takes a second and third bite without batting an eyelash. There is one more bite to go and it is the one with the fat.

I taunt him. “Just remember who was eating that piece of steak fifteen minutes ago, Reggie. It was that old man at Table 9 who spits everywhere when he talks and leaves the whole table feeling greasy when he’s done. He probably had that piece of meat in his mouth before he spit it onto his plate and it’s the same mouth he used to eat out his wife last night.”

“Shut the fuck up, man!” Reggie yells. “Shut the fuck up.”

I begin to make gagging sounds and then Kristine and Sarah do the same thing as the spoon nears his mouth. I can see the fat quivering on the spoon and it has a some rice pudding on it that makes it look even more fatty.

Reggie swallows it and throws the spoon onto the floor. Kristine looks at her watch and begins the countdown for thirty seconds to see if Reggie will earn his prize.

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Reggie grabs the glass of water and the money. “Fuck all y’all, I did it. My money now, bitches.”

So Reggie is officially the nastiest person I have ever worked with and you are the most gullible if you would ever believe a story like this on April 1st.

April Fools!


This Is What A Desperate Bitchy Waiter Does

Yes, I am begging you.

Yes, I am begging you.

Hey, remember when I did an episode of the Tell The Bartender podcast a few weeks ago and it was great fun?  I am just writing to let you know NPR is looking to feature podcast episodes, and it would be so helpful if you could nominate the episode I did. As you know, I am a desperate fame whore and it just so happens that Katharine, the podcaster, is too! Can you take a couple of minutes and help us out?  Just fill out this form here which isn’t spam, I promise!



“What’s Your Favorite Podcast Episode?
NPR is working on ways to help people discover podcasts — and we need your
help. We’re looking for podcasts from public radio and beyond, and we’d
love for you to share some of your favorite episodes with us.”
Duh, the one I was on. “Episode #54 Live With Norm Lewis and The Bitchy Waiter.

My everlasting love!

Thank you very much.


A Comment on Comments, Another “Get a Real Job” Edition

A Comment on Comments

A Comment on Comments

One would think that by now when someone leaves a negative comment on the blog or sends me a hateful email, I would be mature enough to let it roll off my back like water on a duck. Guess what: I’m not a duck. I am also extremely immature so when the following comment popped up on a blog post about automatic gratuity,  it rubbed me the wrong way. Please read it and then please allow me the opportunity to respond:

Fuckin Whiners says: You servers are a real piece of work. If the pay and work conditions are so bad. Get a real job that pays you what you feel your [sic] worth. If you choose not to or cant, too bad for you. I don’t feel you deserve any tips. what do you? Pick up a plate and take it to a table. Yeah skilled labor. When was the last time you tipped someone who really worked for a living. The local AAA tow driver makes less then minimum wage. Are you tipping that guy who risked his ass on the freeway cause your dumb ass was too drunk to put gas. Or how about the cable guy who has to crawl under your house through the pet cemetery, so you have TV. Probably not. Every time my wife and go out to dinner and she wants to leave a tip. I calculate how much she wanted to leave and I stop by a local liquor store a give it to a bum. Same shit, a begger [sic], but at least he/she doesn’t expect it from me. And I get my windows washed.

Okay, Fuckin Whiner, how do you get off on coming to a blog called The Bitchy Waiter and feel it’s alright to slight our profession? Your argument is as poor as your syntax and use of grammar, sir. I am so sick and tired of people using the “get a real job” card that it makes me want to throw up and for once, the urge to vomit has nothing to do with the margaritas the night before.

First of all, waiting tables is a real job. We go to work, we punch in, we perform tasks that are required by our employer, we earn money while we are there and with that money we pay real bills and we also pay real taxes. What part of that seems unreal to you? Our job is more real than this “wife” you speak off because I find it hard to believe that any woman would want to marry a cheap asshole like you. Let’s call your wife what she is: a blow up doll.

Secondly, you want to know when was the last time I tipped someone who worked for a living? The day before yesterday, that’s when. I had a furniture delivery (You see, I bought two new chairs with the money that I made at my real job) and I tipped the delivery guys. As for your example about the AAA tow truck driver who makes less than minimum wage, I’d like to know where you learned that kernel of “truth.” I can’t imagine that a tow truck driver makes less than minimum wage and if he is, he has a serious lawsuit on his hands. I would suggest that he starts waiting tables so he can make more money. Besides, I don’t consider driving down the freeway “risking his ass” for his job. He’s not a firefighter scrambling through flames on the roof of a burning four-story building, he’s a tow truck driver riding down on an Interstate Highway just like everyone else does who owns a car. Regarding this cable guy who you say crawls under your house through a pet cemetery, um.. what the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck buries dead animals under their house except for crazy fucking nut jobs? Are you saying you have a pet cemetery under your house? That is some crazy Stephen King bullshit right there, man.

Thirdly, you say that your wife wants to leave a tip when you go out to eat but you won’t let her. How 1950’s of you. Does she wear an apron and have dinner cooked when you get home from the office? Do you give her an allowance each week so she can go to the market and buy groceries? Does she have reinforced seams so that when you have sex with her she doesn’t pop and if she does pop, do you have a warranty on her? There is no way in hell that what you say is true. Mostly, I find it hard to believe that you know how to calculate a tip unless you have an app for that. Let’s say your bill is $57 and you calculate that a decent tip would be $5.70 (we all know that you would be a 10% kind of dick). You’re telling us that you actually take that $5.70 and drive to a liquor store to find a beggar and then you give it to him if he washes your windows? Bitch, please. If you’re not going to leave a tip, you should save that money to upgrade your wife from blow up doll to one of those silicone Real Dolls and finally take your relationship to the next level.

Thank you for your comment, Fuckin Whiner. (By the way, I find it hilarious that you chose a screen name that you meant to insult us with, forgetting that it’s what you have decided to call yourself, dumb ass.) Your comments are always welcome here just as your wife will always be welcome in a recycling bin for paper or plastic.


Super Waitress Does Not Stand for a Dine and Dash

Don't fuck with me.

Don’t fuck with me.

Another day, another dine and dash with a waitress trying to get her money. According to NBC Los Angeles, an Anaheim, California waitress/Wonder Woman named Maria Uriostegui had four losers in her section who decided they didn’t feel like paying their $45 bill so they up and left. Well, Maria wasn’t having that so she followed them to the car and tapped on the window asking if they were going to pay or not. The 24 year-old driver, Rowshaid Pellum, decided that rather than pull out a credit card and apologize for trying to skip out on his bill, it would be easier for him to just run her ass over so that’s what he did. Somehow, Maria was not seriously injured even though the tires rolled right over legs. She has some scratches and a bruised lung. There was some serious miracle shit going on in that parking lot that day and Martha, the Patron Saint of Servers was working overtime. Either that or Maria is some kind of superhero, because she got up and hobbled back into the restaurant where the police were called. The suspects’ car was spotted at a motel three blocks away and and they were all booked on charges of assault with a deadly weapon, conspiracy and defrauding an innkeeper. I guess they will think twice about not paying their check next time.

Hopefully Maria will think twice next time about chasing down dine and dashers. In hindsight, she said “I don’t think it was worth it. I have a 2-year old and a 12-year old.”

People: STOP CHASING AFTER DINE AND DASHERS. Get out there and write down the license plate number and then let the police finish their donuts and do their job. Just last week another restaurant employee jumped on the hood of a car in an effort to get their money. I can guarantee you will never see me jumping on a car unless it’s the Margarita-Mobile and they are giving out free samples. A lot of servers worry that if they have a walkout that the restaurant is going to make them pay for it, but that is against the law. If a restaurant makes you pay for someone else’s theft, call the labor board and complain about it.

Maria risked her life for a $45 bill and it wasn’t even her money. Maybe she wanted that 15% tip, but anyone who walks out on a bill wasn’t planning on tipping anyway. Even if you catch up to these losers and they decide to pay their check, you think they are going to cough up another seven or eight bucks for a tip? Doubtful.

If you have a walkout, do your best to get the license plate number but do not, under any circumstances, put yourself in harm’s way. The car they are in turns into a deadly weapon as soon as they put their foot on the gas pedal and see you in front of the grill. Unless you are like Maria and have super powers that allow cars to run right over you, you could be seriously hurt or maimed.


$5000 Reward for (scummy, miserable, low-life) Dine and Dashers



There is no scum of the earth that is scummier than people who go into a restaurant and then skip out on the bill. No ifs ands or buts about it: it’s stealing and it happens way too often. Sometimes, fair or unfair, legal or not, it’s the server who winds up having to pay for that stolen meal. Well, this is our chance to catch some of these asswipes and make them pay.

Two pieces of low-life trash went to eat dinner last month at the Coram Diner on Long Island. They breezed in, him wearing a douche hoodie and her wearing so much makeup that her face looked like it was about to collapse from the weight of it all, and ate $80 worth of diner food. When it came time for them to pay, they slip-slided out of their booth and went right to the car figuring that someone else would pay for their Spring Lamb Chops on Toast with Mint Jelly (19.95), Shrimp Parmigiana with Spaghetti 22.95), two Frozen Mudslides (7.95 each), Lemon Meringue Pie (3.95) and the Melon Fruit Jubilee with Cottage Cheese (7.95). Well, the restaurant was all, “No, tricks, fuck that shit,” and followed them out to their car, a dark-colored four door sedan. When they wouldn’t get out of the car, the employee climbed up on the hood to prevent them from leaving but these bitches drove off anyway, the employee clinging to the car. The employee eventually slid off and suffered some minor injuries.

Suffolk County Crime Stoppers is offering a $5,000 cash reward for information that leads to the arrest of these Long Island trash bags masquerading as human beings. If you know them, you can call 1-800-220-TIPS and report them anonymously and confidentially. That means even if it’s your own brother or sister, you can turn those bitches in, get your money and they will never know anything about it.

If you live on Long Island or the surrounding area, look at that picture. Do you recognize them? (He probably smells like Axe Body Spray and she probably smells like ass.) If you do, please call and report them. If we can reunite a little girl with her stuffed animal, we can catch these assholes.




Proof that Waiters and Waitresses Are Great People

The Story of Guppy

The Story of Guppy

Hello, My name is Guppy and I am a stuffed panda. My best friend in the whole entire world is a little girl named Hyra and I love her so much. She is three years old and we have been together ever since she was a baby. We do everything together; we eat together and take naps together and one time we took a bath together, but since I’m a stuffed animal it didn’t work out too good for me and Hyra’s mommy had to put me in the dryer which made me very very dizzy and hot. I go to all of her doctor’s appointments with her and I was with her when she took her first step.

A couple of weeks ago we went on vacation to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina and we had so much fun until one day when the most awful thing that could ever happen happened. We went to IHOP. Well, going to IHOP wasn’t awful, but what happened there was. When Hyra and her mommy and daddy were finished eating, they got up to leave and they forgot me. I had fallen onto the floor (which was a little bit sticky with syrup) and they forgot all about me.

“Wait!” I was saying. “What about me? Please don’t leave me here! I’m under the table!” I was saying it as loud as I could, but the only person who can ever hear me is Hyra and I guess she was just too excited about going to the beach to hear me. I heard their car drive away and there I was, laying in a puddle of syrup, crying because I thought I would never see my best friend again.

A few minutes later, a nice waitress named Debi Jean found me and picked me up. She ran outside to see if she could find my family, but they were already gone. How could Hyra forget about me? And how was she going to be able to sleep tonight without me being there to protect her from the monster in the closet and the one under the bed? And how was I going to sleep without her being there to cuddle with me and keep me warm? I started to cry as I thought about Hyra being all alone.

“Well, shoot,” said Debi Jean. “I can tell that this little panda bear is well loved and someone is going to miss him dearly.”

And then she got an idea. She set me on the table and pulled her phone out of her apron. “Smile,” she told me. “I’m gonna take your picture.” I tried to smile but it was too hard because my heart was breaking. She carried me back to her locker to set me down and said, “Don’t you worry, little panda. I have a plan.”

That night, Debi Jean put my picture on her Facebook page; “Please share this photo so we can find its owner. All we know is she is 4 yrs old, from NC, and it was left at the Myrtle Beach IHOP while they were on vacation last week.”




Well, a couple of days passed by, but nothing was happening. It seemed more and more likely that I would never see my little girl again. Maybe she had already forgotten about me.

Then Debi Jean had another idea. “I’m gonna ask Bitchy Waiter to share it on his Facebook page. He has thousands and thousands of people on his page and maybe if he shares it, I can find the owner of this little panda bear.” So she sent it to him and even he calls himself Bitchy, he shared Debi Jean’s picture of me and he asked people to share it too. Well, suddenly it was hared over 6,000 times! Surely any day now, someone would see my picture and realize that I belong to Hyra. Debi Jean had a box all ready to mail me back home as soon as she got an address. I was a little bit scared to go into the box, but if it meant I would be back with Hyra, I was willing to do it.

And then one day, Debi Jean got a message from Hyra’s parents and they had seen the photo! They told her that Hyra had been heartbroken without me but now I was going to get to go back home! Debi Jean gave me a hug and put me inside the box. I thought I was going to be scared of the dark but all I had to do was think of Hyra’s smile and it made me not scared anymore. It only took a couple of days to get home and the next thing I knew, the box was opened and I saw Hyra’s mommy smiling at me.

“Hyra, come here. I’ve got a surprise for you!” she said.

I hear her footsteps coming towards me and then I saw my little girl run into the kitchen. I know it had only been a couple of weeks, but it looked like she had grown at least a few inches. She ran over to me and gave me the biggest hug I have ever had in my whole life. I hugged her back and whispered in her ear, “I don’t ever want to be away from you again. I love you and you are my best friend!”

Hyra carried me back to her room and I know that she will never leave me behind again. Thank you to Debi Jean at IHOP, The Bitchy Waiter (who must not really be that bitchy) and to everyone else who helped me get back home to my little girl, Hyra. We will live happily ever after.

I hope IHOP knows what a great person Debi Jean is. Maybe if you all went to their Facebook page and shared this story, they will know!


Best friends forever.

Best friends forever.