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Definitive Proof That People Lie About Food Allergies

Lying Food Babe

Lying Food Babe

You know how we servers know that so many times our customers tell us they are allergic to something but we know they are lying? We know because they tell us they are allergic to gluten and then we watch them order a piece of cake for dessert claiming, “well, it’s just a little bit of gluten.” It’s annoying and it does a disservice to those who are actually allergic to something because it makes servers think that allergies aren’t really that big of a deal. Allergies are a big deal, but you know what isn’t a big deal? Not liking something. It only becomes a big deal when you don’t like something and then you tell your server you’re allergic to it when you’re not. A recent article written by some chick who calls herself “Food Babe” offers tips on how to eat healthy when you eat out and one of her suggestions is to lie to your server about allergies. I need to discuss this.

First off, what kind of name is “Food Babe” anyway? Really? What a ridiculous moniker to give oneself and only someone with a deep seated need for approval would choose to call him or herself something so immature. Wait, I’m The Bitchy Waiter. Never mind.

In her article called “Food Babe Travel Essentials-Eating Outside Your Home,” Food Babe offers 11 suggestions on how to eat healthy when dining out. The fourth suggestion on the list advises that if you don’t want butter, soy or corn in your food, you should “go as far as telling the server you (sic) allergic” to these items. In other words, lie, lie, lie. Lie your ass off and just tell the server you’re allergic to butter so he can waste his time typing in all the modifications and then go to the chef to alert the kitchen so they can make sure to not cross-contaminate any of the pans. The kitchen will go through all the trouble to make sure no butter gets near your precious digestive system. Later on, on when the server sees you putting some butter on your roll, the server will know you made that shit up and you’re a big fat liar. When someone comes in to the restaurant who has a true severe allergy to nuts, maybe the server won’t take it as seriously because he saw Food Babe lying about the fucking butter allergy. It’s annoying and I’m surprised that someone who has such a popular website and huge following is alright with telling her readers to lie.

Sure, just lie about it.

Sure, just lie about it.

Overall, Food Babe’s suggestions indicate she is a huge pain in the ass to wait on. If you ever see Food Babe heading to your section, you better order your shift drink early because you’re gonna need it. Here are a few more of her handy-dandy tips for dining out:

2. “Order a salad for the first course with dressing & cheese on the side” and find out if there is any iceberg in the salad. If there is, “tell them to leave it out! There are no nutrients in iceberg.” I can just see some server standing in the kitchen window picking iceberg lettuce out of a salad with their “clean” hands because some cook was like, “Fuck that, do it yourself.”

3. She wants you to “quiz the server to see which dish they think is the most healthy.” You wanna know what the healthiest is, Food Babe? The iceberg wedge with blue cheese dressing on the side. Eat up, liar, eat it up.

6. “Before you order the soup – ask if it’s homemade or if it contains additives.” She also wants you to ask to see an ingredient list. If you’re a server, you will have to find that crappy Xeroxed sheet of paper that you got on your first day of work that had that information on it. It’s probably wrinkled up in your locker, your bag or your car right next to the rules and regulations of your new job and the dress code. If you can’t find the ingredient list, just tell her its got MSG in it and she’ll immediately choose something else.

7. “Drink hot water with lemon during your meal or hot decaf green or ginger tea,” because you haven’t already been enough of an annoying stereotype yet, so why not go all the way?

8. “Mix and match. Check out the specifics of each dish and ask the waiter to create you a plate.” Yeah, do that, Food Babe. Servers love to tell the kitchen that Table 19 wants the cod, but they want it prepared the way the salmon is and then to put it on the plate with the set up for the grilled chicken. The kitchen loves it when we ask for that shit.

9. “Order off the menu-ask the chef to create something for you.” If you eat at some hoity -toity restaurant, I suppose the chef would be eager for this challenge, but I would think that many people who read her column are eating at Outback Steakhouse and Olive Garden. Their “chefs” will not appreciate the request. Asking to change the menu might make their heads explode and no one wants to have their food cooked in a kitchen where there has just been a head explosion.

10. “ Create an old standby and build a relationship with the staff – I have my favorite standby restaurant when I am too busy to cook but still want to eat healthy. I’ve gotten to know the staff and they make everything perfect for me every time.” And I’m sure they just love when you come in, Food Babe.

You should go visit her Facebook page and tell her what you think of her advice to lie to servers about allergies. C’mon, tell her how you feel. Let’s blow up her Facebook page, you want? Tell her I said hello.

And here is her Twitter page if you want to tell her how you feel via a Tweet. If you do, make sure you add @BitchyWaiter so she she’ll know I care.


TGI Fridays Just Got Even Worse to Work At

"It's always Friday and always shitty."

“It’s always Friday and always shitty.”

That deafening roar you heard across the land on Monday afternoon was the sound of every TGI Fridays server bemoaning the new promotion that started at their jobs: Endless Appetizers. Yes, that’s right, someone who works in the corporate office of TGI Fridays probably got a two million dollar bonus when they sharted up this idea. Beginning on July 7th and running until August 24th, customers can pay $10 and get an endless amount of loaded potato skins, pan-seared pot stickers or some other fried piece of crap until they are bursting at the seams with MSG and other Sysco products. Don’t worry about the server not getting tipped by people who are eating a lot of food but not spending a lot of money because marketing officer Brian Gies says that sharing is discouraged. Ummm, yeah.

I can see it now, can’t you? Four teenagers show up but “only two of us are eating” they say. They sit down at your only money maker, Booth 5. They ask for for four waters and one asshole orders an endless order of boneless buffalo wings and another asshole orders mozzarella sticks. The server spends the next three hours running back and forth from the kitchen as all four teens shovel handful after handful of defrosted food into their eating holes. “At the end of the day, our servers aren’t policemen,” says Gies. “We’re not going to slap someone’s hand if they reach over and share someone else’s mozzarella sticks.” In other words, “We don’t really care if the servers get totally screwed by our customers and make no fucking money. As long as we have people in the restaurant and we can continue to sell sub-par food to them, we are satisfied.” When the four teens are finally too bloated to stuff one more cheese stick into their bodies, they get their check which is for $21.65 and they leave the server three dollars. Hurrah.

I also predict that parents will bring in their brood of five kids and order one endless app for the table and easily feed five kids on ten bucks. Of course they will only do this if they can’t find someplace where kids eat free. “Well, it ain’t free, but it’s only two dollars a kid,” says Ma Kettle as she sucks down her third Blackberry Long Island Tea Shaker. “And if I only gots to pay ten bucks for all them children to eat, that means I can afford to get the Jack Daniel’s® Sirloin and Grilled Lobster Tail. Thanks, TGI Fridays!!”

Some analysts think that the bold move will destroy the TGI Fridays chain, but let’s be honest. Wasn’t TGI Friday’s pretty much already a big piece of crap? Who the hell even eats there anymore? I guess that’s the reason they are desperate enough to try this approach. It might bring in new business, but it’s not going to be quality business. It’s scraping the bottom of the fast-food chain barrel and it’s only going to make TGI Fridays go the in the same direction of Bennigan’s, Fuddruckers and Friendly’s and that direction is the toilet.

The Endless Appetizer Promo will end on August 24th, but I would like to suggest some other ideas for them to try for their next bid for relevancy:

  • No Tip Tuesdays: Come in on Tuesdays and order whatever the fuck you want and then stiff your server. We don’t care. (This offer is also good on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday.)


  • TGI Fridays Frequent Diner Program: For every dollar you spend you get a point. The more you spend, the more points you get and once you reach 10 points, you can redeem those 10 points for a free party for 200 of your closest friends. The party will consist of unlimited pitchers of water and three orders of Tostado Nachos (you must pay extra for the toppings of refried beans, seasoned ground beef, melted cheese, salsa, sour cream, house-made* guacamole and jalapeños.) You don’t really have to tip your server, because we don’t give a shit. [*house-made is not really house-made. It comes in a big plastic bag that we cut open and squeeze into ramekins.]


  • Buy One Dessert Get Five Free: Yep, you heard right. All you have to do is pay for one crappy ass Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie and you get five more for free. We are happy to put them in a to-go bag for you or you can stay all night and eat them, we don’t care. And don’t bother leaving a tip, it doesn’t matter to us.


  • Complain On Facebook: If you go to our Facebook page and leave a negative comment about anything at all, we’ll make sure to send you a gift card to make up for the fact that you found a piece of plastic in your birthday cake or that the bartender took too long to make your drink and it ruined your Girls Night Out. We also give you a “Get Out of Tipping” card to give to your server so that you don’t have to bother with that pesky extra 20%. We hate our servers.


  • Your Weight in Food: Step on our TGI Friday scale and whatever you weigh is how much food you get for free. If you weigh 250 pounds, you can get 250 pounds of whatever you want. 250 pounds of Jack Daniel’s® Ribs? Sure! 250 pounds of mashed potatoes? No problem? 250 pounds of Parmesan Meatballs? You betcha! The more you eat the more you weigh and the more you weigh the more food you get for free. It’s terrific! The only tipping you’ll do is that of the scale. In fact your server will leave you a tip, because we totally don’t give a shit about our servers or if they make any money whatsoever.


Good luck, TGI Fridays. And my heart goes out to all those servers. As if it wasn’t already bad enough to work at TGI Fridays.

Is This the Rudest American Ever?

Vulgar American

Vulgar American

I was scrolling through Twitter a few days ago just looking for people talking about their servers. These are the things I find myself doing at 1:00 AM when I am too hyped up after work and cannot fall asleep. I was looking for Tweets that would inspire me or piss me off or engage me in some way when I came across a Tweet that said:

“Ali and I ate lunch at this little cafe in France and our waiter was really rude so we left him a little message.”

Attached to the Tweet was a photo where this darling young girl had spelled out in mustard the words “fuck you” onto her plate. Charming, isn’t she? She seems to be having the time of her life in France because one of her Tweets said “France is cul.” I know when I had the good fortune to be in Paris last year, I found he Eiffel Tower to be inspiring, the Musée d’Orsay was completely mind-blowing, the Catacombs were thought provoking, the food was delicious, the people were so warm and friendly. Overall, I too thought France was “cul.”

I can’t help but wonder what Rachel and Ali experienced that made them think their waiter was rude to them. First off, they are probably used to eating at Chili’s and Applebee’s so when the waiter didn’t skip to their table and write his name out in Crayon onto a piece of butcher block paper, they begin to think that he had a bad attitude. I bet he also did not squat down beside the table to take their order or say “Bonjour, my name is Jean-Luc and I will be taking care of you this evening.”

It was probably something like this:

“Oh. Ma. Ga. Ali, he didn’t even offer us fried cheese sticks or anything. He is SO rude,” said Rachel. “I totally wanted French Fried Fromage.”

“I know. And like, how come he’s not even wearing any flair or anything? This is France,” said Ali. “I would think his flair would be all like Yves Saint Laurent and shit. He’s just wearing black pants and a white shirt. Rude.”

Ali moved her chair closer to Rachel because she felt too close for comfort to the people beside her at the next table.

Rachel picked up the menu. “Oh. Ma. Ga. This menu is like totally in French and I can’t read any of it. They don’t even try to help tourists feel comfortable here. It’s like when we went to Versailles yesterday. There was no air conditioning at all. Rude. And Notre Dame had way too many stairs.”

She flagged down her waiter who was standing at the other side of the restaurant writing an order down and handing it to the chef.

“Excuse moi,” she said as she snapped her fingers. “Excuse moi.”

The waiter approached her table and said something in French to them.

“Ummm, do you speak American? I’m American and I can’t understand you, so…”

Jean-Luc easily switched over to English and asked them if they were ready to order. The girls explained that they could not read the menu and asked if they had an American version of it, you know, for tourists. Jean-Luc apologized and offered to help them choose something for lunch.

“Zee mussels wiz white wine ees very good or perhaps you may try zee poisson de jour which comes with haricot verte et roasted potato?”

“Ummm, never mind,” said Rachel as she held her palm up to his face. “Just give us a minute.” Jean-Luc stepped away from the table and Ali and and Rachel looked at each other, confused.

“Oh. Ma. Ga,” said Rachel. “I heard him say ‘poison.” He offered us the poison de jour. He is, like, totally trying to kill us. Rude, right?”

“So rude. Totally,” agreed Ali. “Like, I just want a hamburger and fries and a Diet Coke with ice. Why don’t they put ice in anything over here?”

“Because they’re rude, that’s why.”

The two girls finally ordered their burgers and were very disgusted to find that each one came with an egg on top of it. They never once got a free refill and when they asked for yellow mustard all they got was brown moutarde.

“How come in France I have not been able to get French dressing OR French’s mustard?” complained Rachel. “I don’t get it. This is France and they don’t even have any French food here.”

As is customary in France, the waiter kept his distance from the table and did not bring the check until the two girls had asked for it. Ali and Rachel, being the clever little vixens that they are, decided to perpetuate the “vulgar American” stereotype by leaving a message for their server; a hearty “fuck you” spelled out in mustard with the help of a toothpick. They probably also stiffed their server thinking they were really hurting him when everyone knows that servers in France get paid a living wage and Jean-Luc didn’t need their two Euros anyway.

I hope that Rachel and Ali see this little fictionalized story I have created about them and even though I was not there, I have reason to believe it’s pretty close to being factual. Thanks, Rachel, for giving me something to bitch about today.

Never fear, though. All is not lost. That same night I also found this photo on Twitter which can give us all hope:

No, thank YOU!

No, thank YOU!


update: Someone got all butt hurt over this post. I changed it up a little bit to soothe some hurt feelings. Bottom line is someone posted something on Twitter and then didn’t want to stand behind what they said. When I found the picture on Twitter, I didn’t know shit about the person who posted it. I just took the screenshot and made up a story. The age of social media is not for sissies.   -BW

The Truth Behind the Declaration of Independence



July 4, 1776

Dear Diary,

So I was just at work minding my own business today at City Tavern when my boss Mr. Drucker gets a message that the fellas down at congress are working on some important shit and they need to have their lunch brought in. Seeing that Mr. Drucker is the only tavern in Philly that offers free-delivery, he gets all the business. So they Pony Express the most complicated to-go order ever and he’s making all these plates of sweet potato biscuits and pepper pot soup when I notice that our regular delivery guy Paul Revere is no where to be found. I know that Drucker is going to tell me to deliver it even though my job is to wash the dishes and clean the outhouse. “Fuck that, Drucker,” I says. “Go find Paul. I’m not using my horse to go all the way down to congress. Not my job, dude. Unless you’re gonna pay me for new shoes for my horse, I ain’t doin’ it.” He tells me that it’s in my contract to do whatever he tells me to do and that if I don’t do it he will fire me and since this job is better than cleaning outhouses for free, I decide to do it.

Those fucking congressman know how to eat, I tell ya. They ordered the whole damn tavern and my horse was bogged down with so much crap that I had to walk him because there was no place for me to sit. They must have ordered 25 lobster pot pies alone. Those are the most expensive thing on the menu so I guess we can expect a tax increase any day to pay for all that, fucking politicians.

When I get there, John Adams is the first one to see me and he’s all, “I had the lobster pot pie with no celery because I’m allergic to it. Which one is mine? I’m starving!”  Umm, hello, Mr. Adams, I’m fine, thanks for asking. God, he’s such an asshole. So he grabs his food and scurries off to his little desk and then all the other dicks want their food right away like they haven’t eaten since the Boston fucking Tea Party. (Which I catered, by the way, and it sucked.) I finally get all their food out to them and when it comes time for someone to pay the bill, they all suddenly have short arms and deep pockets. No one wants to pay. “Oh, just put it on our tab,” they all say. “Mr. Drucker knows we’re good for it.” I tell them I’m going to need a signature and some fucking blowhard named John Hancock appears out of nowhere and signs the receipt like it’s the most important thing he’s ever signed in his whole entire life. That’s all fine and dandy, but I’m more concerned with my tip. Nobody seems willing to tip me on this huge ass to-go order.

I’m just standing there with my hand out like a fucking beggar and they totally ignore me. I am pissed as bloody hell. They’re all at their desks cramming roasted duck triple decker sandwiches into their faces and no one wants to tip me for my service. I wander over to this table that has all this parchment paper on it and at the top of one of the pages I see it says Declaration of Independence. It looks important, like, really important. The first thing I notice is John Hancock’s big obnoxious signature underneath it and a bunch of other chicken scratch bullshit. I can tell at this point that no one is going to tip me and I decide as a big “fuck you” to all of them, I will put my name on their little masterpiece. Who fucking cares? Hopefully, they won’t see it until it’s too late and their boss will make them do it all over again. I grab a quill and some ink and sign my own “John Hancock” right there between Charles Whoever the Fuck and George Somebody Else: Thomas “Bud” Henry! I don’t even have to be sneaky about it because they are all so involved in their food that they don’t even notice some 18 year old kid defacing their precious fucking document. I also pocket the quill and a jar of ink. Fuck you, John Adams and the horse you rode in on.

When I get back to City Tavern, I see Paul Revere and he’s all, “Hey asshole, you trying to steal my job?” I ignore him. Then Drucker wants to know where the money is and he blows a gasket when I tell him to put it on their tab. How the fuck am I supposed to know we don’t let politicians run tabs? Not my problem. By this time, my shift is over so I go back home.

It was a long hot day today and I didn’t make much money, but I do have some satisfaction knowing that I got my name on to some bullshit document called Declaration of Independence. I don’t know what it is but I hope that whoever has to turn it in gets in trouble. I hope it’s John Adams. Man, he seems like an asshole.


Good night, diary.    -Bud

Thomas "Bud" Henry

Thomas “Bud” Henry

A Comment on Comments; Old People Edition

A Comment on Comments

A Comment on Comments

When I posted the video from my show of the song “Old People,” I expected both positive and negative feedback. The song is based on Randy Newman’s 1977 hit “Short People” and all I did was change the lyrics around to explain how it feels for me to wait on certain old people. It’s rude, crude, mean and the epitome of what Bitchy Waiter stands for. Well, plenty of people took offense and I must respond to some of the comments because it appears that a sense of humor is lacking for many individuals.

Marilyn says: We are all going to get old one day remember that be kind and there on a fixed income too.

Marilyn, let me tell you three things: Number one, I am less than three years away from getting my AARP card so I’m not exactly a spring chicken. The second thing I want to tell you is to please learn what the fuck punctuation is for. The third thing is “they’re.”

Mary says: I normally think you’re witty, funny and on point. This was meant I’m sure to be tongue in cheek, but cruel and harsh. Not so funny.

Mary, this is called parody or satire. The song, the Facebook page, the blog and everything else about Bitchy Waiter is a representation of what so many servers are thinking. It is not an actual account of how I behave while at work. Duh.

Mark says: You think you’re not going to be old?? Can’t wait. You will probably be the worst because I can tell you are a cry baby little cunt!! I’m 67 and would love to meet you in the ally and kick your stupid little ass!!

I think Mark is grumpy because he lost one of the tennis balls that goes on the leg of his walker or he’s upset that he let his coupon for Old Country Buffet expire. He threatens to meet me in an ally, but he does not specify which one. Ally McBeal? Ally Sheedy? Which Ally? And how exactly will we get inside this Ally person? Typically, I do not enjoy getting inside a woman Ally or otherwise. I may be a cry baby little cunt, but you are very unclear with your threats. By the time I’m 67, Mark will probably be in Hell sitting alone at a six-top waiting for his server to bring him a glass of water with no ice because the cold water makes his teeth hurt.

Arletta says: Old people have no reason to live? Are you aware that the highest rate of suicide in America is among the elderly? I guess you would find that funny too.

Arletta, who has the oldest old lady name I have ever heard of, is mistaken of her facts. According to American Foundation of Suicide Prevention, in 2011, the highest suicide rate (18.6) was among people 45 to 64 years old. The second highest rate (16.9) occurred in those 85 years and older. Close, Arletta, but no cigar. Besides, if Randy Newman can say that “short people have no reason to live,” why can’t I say that about old people? Again, it’s just a fucking joke, so have another hard candy and move on.

My favorite comments came from David. He left many and each one got more and more amusing. You should also know that David has a severe addiction to comma usage.

David says: This is an awful statement to make,not all old people,do not tip well,or are hard to please,but because of this statement,I will be in the future,you best retract this add.

So David is letting us all know that he will change his behavior to live up to the expectation that I have set for him. Don’t you think he would do more for his cause by continuing to debunk the myth that seniors are cheap and difficult to please? I do, but if wants to perpetuate the stereotype, by all means, please do so.

You will be old some day,I hope someone will talk about you ,in the same way,I have had many bitchy waiters,but still tip no more,this is an insult to all seniors ,even the ones who tip 20%you are very rude and deserve all the no tippers.

I don’t need to wait until I am old to have people talk about me. It happens right now on my very own Facebook page. I ignore the things I don’t like. Any senior who is insulted by this song need to learn to laugh at themselves.

Bitch waiter,you have lost me, with your add slamming seniors,so you deserve all you get,I am insulted and always tip 20% or more, well now I will act like the seniors you slammed and referred to us as fucking old people!seeking lawyer for lawsuit ,unless you aplogise, to me.

So now David wants to sue me for hurting his feelings, but if I apologize, he will drop the case. I am not apologizing to some old fart who doesn’t know the difference between a donut and a hemorrhoid pillow. If you find a lawyer who is willing to take this case, I hope it’s a class action suit so every senior citizen in the country can get a piece of all of my worth. They can cut up my apron into 40.3 million pieces and then sew it back together in a craft circle and make a fucking pot holder out of it.

Know we don’t like being called fucking old people,the f word was not needed,just wait to you get old ,which comes faster then you think,if a person is rude or cheap at tipping,it doesn’t matter their age,you hypocrites,wish I knew where you worked so I could notify,the owner of the restaurant,what low life servers you have,if you don’t like your job,get out of the business.

News flash, David; both of my jobs already know about this Facebook page and my blog and some of my co-workers, customers and bosses even came to the show. You know why? Because they understand what a fucking joke is, that’s why.

Get off my page,just a bunch of rude people who are in the wrong business.

Bless his little pacemaker heart, not understanding how Facebook works.

The best comment of all came from Steven. He is the guy who I specifically called out as an old person at 4:05 and apologized for offending him. He is a good friend and co-worker. He gets it.

Steven says: Hey wait! I am the OLD GUY the BW apologized to in his show. I was laughing my way to my next golden year. This guy with the lawsuit ain’t gonna know what hit him with the Bitchy Waiter gets done with him. I can’t wait! Let the ENTERTAINMENT go on!!

Thank you to everyone who liked the video and for those of you who didn’t like it, you can take an extra dose of Ovaltine and kindly move on from the page.


Everything You Hate About Waiting on Old People

Old People...

Old People…

As you may or may not know, I did The Bitchy Waiter Show; LIVE a couple of weeks ago. It was great fun and the show consisted of me bitching, singing and drinking about waiting tables. Since the show sold out, I have added two performances, one on August 4th and the other on September 6th, both here in New York City. Click that link above for more information and get your ass to the show. I think you’ll like it but worst case scenario is that you won’t like it but you’ll still get drunk. It’s a win either way.

My favorite number of the night was this gem which was about the joy of waiting on people of a certain age. It’s everything that can be annoying about waiting on a table of “olds” and it’s summed up in a neat and tidy 5 minutes and 34 seconds.  Please enjoy and share.