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It’s Official: Fecal-Covered Tip Really Stinks

shitty tip

shitty tip

Well, here’s some news that will make you want to slather your body in Purell and then crawl into a big Ziplock baggie the next time you go to work. A customer in Muncie, Indiana left his waitress a tip with a little something extra on it. It wasn’t a smiley face or his phone number or some other cutsie little doodle, it was poo. Yes, poo. This asshole took his money to the bathroom, wiped his butt with some bills, and then gave that money as a tip to his waitress.

The suspect, a 17-year old kid who has not been identified because he is a minor, has been charged with battery with bodily waste. He was at the table with three football players from Ball State (which I understand to be a university with a very awkward name) who have been identified, but it has yet to be determined how much they had to do with smearing of fecal matter onto the tip.

The waitress is said to have noticed the kid laughing when she picked up the check presenter and that she smelled a “foul odor.” Shortly after leaving the table, she was in the side stand when she exclaimed, “Awww, hell no! Someone done wiped shit all over these dollars!”

What can we say about this? How would anyone think that giving your waitress a shit-covered dollar is acceptable? The only person who wants a shit-covered dollar is nobody. Nobody wants a shit-covered dollar. And what about George Washington? There he is, just living the dream on a dollar bill in this kid’s wallet when all of a sudden things get dark:

La di da, la di da. I am George Washington, the father of my country and here I am on the dollar bill. How fortunate am I to have this honor bestowed upon me. Of course, I am also part of Mt. Rushmore, so basically, I got it goin’ on. Oh yes, and I am on the quarter as well, but all that means is that most of the time I am stuck in the coin slots of laundromats across the country. My highest honor is to have my face on this dollar bill, the most common of all currency. Oh, I cannot tell a lie, I love being crumpled up in the wallets of the people of this country. Each time the wallet is opened, I know that I am about to become a vital part of the economy of this great land. Perhaps I shall be used to purchase bread for a hard-working family or maybe I will be stuffed into the paper cup of someone less than fortunate who has taken to begging on the street. My use is always for good.I will admit I do not take kindly to being rolled up and used as an instrument to snort drugs into one’s nostrils. Neither do I appreciate assisting someone to roll a marijuana cigarette, but most of the time I am proud to have my face on this dollar bill.

What’s this? The wallet is being opened by my current owner, a young man who has but his whole future ahead of him. Maybe he is using me to buy a new text book or school supplies! Oh the privilege! Wait, why are we in the bathroom? I’m hardly ever seen in the bathroom. Is this young man sitting on the toilet while counting his money? This seems wrong. I do not like the odor and I do not like the sounds in here. Oh, good he’s standing up now, we must be leaving. I’m sure as soon as he uses that roll of toilet paper we will be making our way out of here so so that I can be given away in exchange for something honorable and necessary. Maybe I will be the tip for the bathroom attendant. No wait, am I heading toward his ass? Oh my God, i am heading towards his ass. Stop, I’m George Washington on a dollar bill! I am not toilet paper, do you hear me? I am NOT toilet paper! Oh God in heaven, save me, save me! Noooooo!”

 

 

 

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Meanest Customer In the History of Serving

Damn, bitch.

Damn, bitch.

I do not condone violence, for I am a lover, not a fighter. The last time I went to fisticuffs was in the fifth grade when I met Gabriel Chapa after school and we had a fight because I thought he was getting on too many people’s nerves and wanted to bring him down a peg. We were caught by teachers thirty seconds into our brawl and we both ended up in the principal’s office getting three pops with a paddle. (Hey, it was 1978 and corporal punishment was no big deal.) Nor do I ever think it is right for a man to strike a woman. Ever.

Until now.

This video has made me seriously question whether or not I would have been able to restrain my hand from flying through the air and making contact with the face of one of these horrible women who are really upset about the lack of Guinness beer. Knowing me, I would have produced a full on, open-palmed slap of All My Children proportions and then the woman would punch me in the face with a fist, sending me to the floor crying like a baby. The only good thing that could come out of that would be that she knocks the teeth out of my head and I would get to go to the dentist and get some new ones, preferably the straight white kind as opposed to the yellow crooked ones that I am blessed with now.

Still, if I was their server, I don’t know if I would have been able to be as calm as the guys in the video. These bitches really push the boundaries. Good job to the men who show greater reserve than I would have.

Update: According to this article, the video was staged for publicity. Thank God those women are not for real.

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This is What We DO NOT Want For a Tip

This is not a tip.

This is not a tip.

You want to know what your server wants for a tip? Money. Preferably cash money but if you want to put it on a credit card that’s fine too, we’ll take it. We want 20% of the total of your check. You can bitch and whine about how you think that the restaurant should be paying the server’s salary and it’s not your responsibility, but you know what? If you live in the United States, this is the culture we have so for whatever reason, it is your responsibility. Suck it up and deal with it or move to Europe where servers make more per hour and tips aren’t as important as they are here.

You want to know what we don’t want for a tip? A pile of fucking coupons. What are we supposed to do with those? “Hey, Mr. Landlord, thanks for the roof over my head for the last thirty days, it was great. I appreciate it so much and I want to show my appreciation by giving you this pile of coupons that some cheap bitch left me last week.” No, it does not work that way.

Someone sent me this photo and this is what they actually received for a tip: coupons. A lady took the time to go through the weekly circular of the Piggly-Wiggly or whatever, find some scissors and cut these out for her server. Or maybe she didn’t have any cash and she pulled out her coupon wallet and “made it rain.”

$1.00 off Russell Stover Candy: Who the fuck wants to eat Russell Stover candy? That’s the shit you buy at the damn drugstore the night before Valentine’s Day because you have absolutely no other option and you’re alright with your girlfriend being royally pissed off at you. You buy Russell Stover for your mom’s birthday when you’re in the third grade because you think it’s fancy. Potheads with the major munchies would probably even skip over a bowl of Russell Stover candy and eat the cushions from their couch first. Nobody wants Russell Stover Candy and you don’t leave a coupon for it as a tip.

$1.00 off Lancaster Brand Pizza: I don’t even know what “Lancaster Brand Pizza” is. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want a coupon for Stouffer’s or Totino’s either so don’t get any bright ideas. But a dollar off a fucking frozen pizza? Wouldn’t that pretty much make the pizza free? “But it’s for cheese, pepperoni or combo,” I can hear Coupon Queen saying. “It’s such a great deal!” No. it’s not a great deal. It sucks but probably not as much as a lLancaster Brand Pizza does.

Free bottle of water: Wow, it’s up to a $1.19 value, but you have to buy something called  a Planters NUT-rition Tube before you can claim that valuable bottle of water. A NUT-rition tube? What is that? A tube of nuts? It sounds like something Mr. Peanut would buy at a sex shop along with some Planters Lube and a cock ring for his Macadamia nuts. No thank you.

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup: Another candy coupon, great! The person who sent me the picture pointed out that there is a whole punched into this coupon so it was invalid. That’s right, the bitch tipped with a used fucking coupon. She probably still had Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup breath when she sat down to order. Then again, that peanut breath may be from the blow job she gave Mr. Peanut out in the parking lot.

People, don’t insult your server by leaving coupons as a tip. Those four coupons were for a total of $3.19 so it’s a shitty tip even if they wanted to use them. Don’t assume that your server is going to be grateful for bestowing upon them the opportunity to get items from the grocery store that they probably don’t even want. It’s rude, disrespectful and cheap. In addition to all those things, you run the risk that your server is going to take a picture of it, send it to The Bitchy Waiter who will then make fun of you for performing fellatio on an animated mascot for nuts.

Bottom line: do not ever leave coupons as a tip.

mr-peanut

This is a repost after the original posting of this was accidentally deleted.

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The Most Epic Yelp Response Ever!

There’s a big story out there on the Internet and it involves Yelp, a restaurant in Kansas City, Missouri called Voltaire and a disgruntled customer by the name of Sonal. Sonal got a huge bug up her ass when the restaurant wouldn’t do take-out for her even though it says right there on their Yelp page that the restaurant does do not do take-out. She threatened to write a bad review about them on Yelp and she did indeed did that.

What happened next is epic: the restaurant owner, William G., responded to the review and it is brilliant. Below, you can see the whole thing. I can add nothing else to the story except that William G. is a hero.

Here is Voltaire’s Facebook Page. Go give them some love and tell them the Bitchy Waiter sent you.

 

 

Yelp!

Yelp!

Yelp!

Yelp!

 

Yelp!

Yelp!

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Don’t Touch Your Server, People

This is what I want to do when one of my customers touches me at work.

 

 

Don't touch me!

Don’t touch me, bitch!

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Why Does Anyone Wear a Tie To Wait Tables?

Yeah, they all suck.

Yeah, they all suck.

I think it was Shakespeare who wrote this famous line about everyone’s favorite useless article of clothing, the neck tie:

To wear, or not to wear, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of a stupid ass tie,
Or to take it off and show a Sea of chest hair,
And by opposing end them: to fuck it, to wear
No more; and by a vote, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand Natural knots
That ties are heir to?

Yeah, Bard of Avon, I hear ya. Wearing a tie as a server is pain in my neck and I too am wholly against it. I got an email from work the other day mentioning a possible uniform change. “I’d like for servers and runners to wear a purple tie over black button downs. Please give me your feedback on this,” the email said. Here is my feedback: NO!

I worked at The Marriott for six years and every day I was there I wore a tie; the same tired tie that was tied into a double Windsor knot on the day I was hired and it stayed that way until the day I left. It hung in my locker and was never untied or wash. It collected crumbs, bacteria, stains and ire. I think wearing a tie while serving in a restaurant is silly. How many of us who have had to wear ties as servers have looked down to notice that our tie just went for a quick dip in the cream of tomato soup for the lady at position one? It happens. When we are carrying a tray of drinks and it almost spills, the first thing we do is bring it closer to our bodies to try to regain the balance. Sometimes we spill the drinks on that tray and our uniform is covered in Coke or cocktails. The shirt, pants and apron all get tossed into the laundry that night. The tie, however, gets wiped down with a damp cloth and laid out to dry. The next day, it’s a little stiff but what are you gonna do? Dry clean it?

Women have it even worse. What woman wants to wear a button down man’s shirt buttoned all the way to the top and then put a tie on? How in the hell is a woman like my co-worker Lo supposed to show off her amazing cleavage to improve her tips when the occasional straight guy sits in her station? It’s downright misogyny, I tell you!

Another reason ties are bad in restaurants is because they are dangerous. Imagine, if you will this scenario:

Darla is at work in her required tie. She is in the sidestand grinding the coffee beans for all the coffee that day. Darla is a little bit shorter than the other servers so she has to stand on a stool in order to pour the beans into the grinder. It’s early in the morning and Darla is a little bit hungover from the night before when she went to the $2.00 Margarita round up and spent 22 bucks. Darla is half paying attention when she begins to dump in another pound of beans. She has flipped her tie over her shoulder in order to keep it from getting dirty. She really cares about her tie. So there she is, standing on a stool and looking into the grinder to see why it is making that weird noise. She thinks it is just the machine doing its thing, but really it hasn’t been right ever since Moe dropped an espresso spoon into it and fucked it up. She leans over to get a better view when her tie falls from her shoulder and into the grinder. Immediately, the tie is pulled downward, caught in the gears and coffee grinds. Darla does not panic at first because it seems like she would be able to just pull the tie out quickly and move on to filling the creamers. But the coffee grinder has a mind of its own. It grabs at the tie, not ready to give up and in turn it pulls Darla closer and closer to the machine. “Oh, shit,” says Darla. “Can somebody help me, please?” The only other person in the dining room at that time is Edgar the bus boy who is eating an egg and cheese on a roll and is not on the clock yet. He ignores her because the night before she only tipped him out $35 but according to her sales report that Edgar printed out, she should have given him $40. “Fuck you, bitch,” me muttered in between bites of his deli sandwich.

By now Darla is worried. The tie is being pulled tighter and tighter and she is having trouble breathing. The switch to shut it off is just out of reach. She struggles to stretch her little short arms to the red button but as she does, the stool she is standing on slips out from under her and falls to its side. Darla is now grasping for air. “Help! Oh my Gog, help me, Edgar!! I can’t breathe!”

“I’m not punched in yet,” he says.

Darla is on her tip toes with her hands at the top of the machine trying to pull herself up when the coffee grinder comes crashing down on her, spilling beans and coffee grinds all over the floor. “Goddammit, bitch. I just fucking mopped that last night. Fuck!” yelled Edgar. But Darla didn’t hear him. Her ears are full of House Blend and her head is crushed from the weight of the machine. She is barely breathing but she manages to whisper out one more sentence before her life slips away to a world of 25% automatic gratuity, no tip-outs and never any sidework. “Edgar,” she whispers.” “Tell the manager that the milk is about to expire…and that I hate wearing ties at work.” With that, the life slipped out of Darla and her eyes closed forever.

Edgar, now finished with his breakfast, looks at Darla’s lifeless body and the mess surrounding her. “Fuck this shit, man. I quit.” He reaches into the cooler and gets a quart of orange juice and walks out the door.

Moral of the story: ties suck!