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Prince Harry, Meghan Markle and the Cater Waiter

I am honored to present to you this first hand account of the royal wedding. It comes from a cater waiter who worked the after party. Because of a non-disclosure agreement that he signed, I am unable to tell you his name, but rest assured that it all 100% totally not made up at all. Thanks. -BW

Aww, bloody hell, what a day I had on Saturday. I don’t know if you know it, but Prince Harry finally got married and guess who had to work as a cater waiter at the afterparty at Frogmore House? What a royal pain in the ass that gig was. When I agreed to work it, I didn’t know it was for the royal freaking wedding. I just took it because it was close to my other job at The Windsor Castle Pub. It wasn’t until the day before when I had to get security clearance that I realized what I had got myself into.

So, after the ceremony and at the after-party, I am charged with passing hors d’oeuvres which is my favorite thing to do as a cater waiter because you get to move around all night and you get to eat whatever it is you’re passing around. The party is overflowing with celebrities. George Clooney was there and a couple of the Spice Girls. I think I saw Elton John, but it might have just been a fat bloated old man with giant sunglasses, not sure. I never saw Prince William or Kate, but I did see Queen Elizabeth herself. Since it was literally the only time I would ever have to chat her up, I sidled my way over to her to see if she wanted a a snack.

“How do you do, ma’am?” I asked her. “Pig in a blanket?”

“Prince Phillip is right over there,” she said and as she pointed to at tall frail looking man in a uniform sitting on a folding chair and draped with a blanket. “He gets cold when he’s not in the palace.”

“Don’t be daft,” I told her. “Do you want a pig in a blanket? I’ve got a whole tray of ‘em right here in me hand.”

“Oh, silly me. Yes, I’ll have two, please.”

But then she just stood there like I was supposed to feed her or something. My hands are full, one with a tray and the other with bev naps so I held the tray out to her. “Help yourself, do I look like a freakin’ lady-in-waiting to you?”

So she picks up a pig in a blanket and dips into a ramekin of mustard. I think it was Grey Poupon since, you know, it’s the royal wedding and everything has to be fancy. She acted like she had never in her life dipped a pig in a blanket into mustard and I watched her drip it all over her dress. Thankfully, her dress was a yellowish green and it didn’t show too much.

“Those are quite delicious,” she said. “And what are those called again?”

She was already on my nerves, so I didn’t even bothering answering her. Besides, I needed to walk the room and see who else might want a wiener wrapped in dough. And that’s when I saw Oprah. I thought for sure she’d want something to eat, so I made a beeline toward her, but when I got there, I saw that she had her own personal chef with her who was making her a plate of her own pigs in a blanket. I asked if I could try one and she said, “YOU get a pig in a blanket, YOU get a pig in a blanket, YOU get a pig in a blanket!” And she threw one to me, which I missed. It went flying over my head and Sarah, the Duchess of York caught it in her mouth. So hilarious.

And that’s when I saw Prince Harry and Meghan. They were standing next to Sarah who totally deserted them once she saw that Oprah was passing out free pigs in a blanket. At this point, my tray was empty, so I didn’t have anything to offer the newlyweds, but I went to them anyway.

“What up, bro?” I said to Harry. He fist bumped me. “Congrats on the big wing ding. Freaking awesome. By the way, your grandmum was much nicer than I expected her to be. On the telly, she always seems like she has a stick up her royal butt, but she’s cool.”

“Oh, right,” he said. “”She totally lets her hair down at the royal weddings. You should have seen her Will”s wedding. She was doing tequila shots with Judy Dench and Helen Mirren.”

“Well, the night is young,” added Meghan. “You never know what might happen.”

We all looked over at the Queen who was doing the Macarena with David Beckham and Idris Elba.

“Nice meeting you, mate,” Harry told me and with that, he and Meghan disappeared into the crowd.

I went back to the kitchen to get a another tray of food to pass and this time they handed me some Pizza Rolls and Bagel Bites. After eating a couple of each one, I made my way out to the floor. The rest of the night was your typical cater waiter shift; drunk assholes, too many selfies and a wet t-shirt contest. Same ol’, same ol’. The main problem was that breakdown was a bitch. It took forever to get out of there. And Prince Philip was always in the freaking way, walking around with that goddam blanket. Overall, it was a great gig though and I’m happy I got to do it. I wish they hadn’t confiscated my cell phone, so I could show you some photos, but whtevs. If you ever get the opportunity to work a royal wedding, I highly suggest it.

Congratulations to harry and Meghan!

Click here if you want me to serve at your next wedding or party.


We Should Not Be Fired For This

Anyone who has read this blog for more than a few days knows how I feel about online reviews of restaurants. While I can accept that they do have some use, too many diners use the threat of online reviews to try to blackmail the restaurant into giving them more than they deserve. And don’t even get me started about someone who leaves a one-star review for something that has absolutely nothing to do with the food or service. (“I have never eaten here, but every time I drive by, the parking lot is too crowded. One star!” or “I was sitting on the patio and a fly landed in my lemonade. One star!”) But there is another thing about online reviews that really chaps my ass and that’s when a customer mentions a server by name.

Look, if you are unhappy with the way your dining experience went down, by all means, fire up the fucking Internet, create a Yelp account and go to town. Try to make sure that your version of the story is accurate though because whiny ass customers are going to exaggerate in order to prove their point. (We know you didn’t really wait an hour for your food because your check has the time printed on it, assholes.) So many restaurant owners and managers look at Yelp and Facebook reviews as the most important thing ever put on the world wide web. Bitches, please. It’s not like Moses trekked down from Mount Sinai carrying a Yelp a review carved into stone. These reviews need to be taken with a grain of salt, because they can be deadly for servers who are are specifically mentioned. Time and time again, I have heard from servers who have either been suspended or fired because of a negative online review. The worst part is that some managers don’t even bother to hear the server’s side of the story. Instead, they take the review as the gospel truth and immediately get rid of the person mentioned. But what about when the server is unfairly named? It isn’t that difficult to believe that a trite, vindictive customer would be willing to throw a server under the bus just because that server refused to serve their drunk ass another cocktail or because the server wouldn’t let them order off the kids menu. The waiter is just trying to do his job but then a review shows up that says he had a nasty attitude and was rude and now the server is out of work because his boss chooses to believe an asshole customer over their own trusted employee.

Stop using names in reviews. It doesn’t help anyone and all it does is make trouble for the person mentioned. Even if your server did treat you poorly, wouldn’t it be better to grow a pair of balls and speak to management directly rather than letting cowardice rule your life and hide behind a computer screen? Any person who mentions an employee by name in an online review is a straight up asshole. There’s no two ways about it. Karen, you can still get your free fucking Applebee’s gift card without saying that Scott had an attitude when you told him you were gluten-free. Brad, you can still get that semi-chubby by seeing your name on a Yelp review without saying that your waitress Anna didn’t smile enough. Calm the fuck down and make your reviews matter. Calling out people by their name only makes you look like a vapid asshole looking to push buttons and get someone in trouble.

I’m sure that after I post this blog, I will hear from several more people who lost their jobs because of someone calling them out on Yelp. It’s not fair. As if Yelp doesn’t already suck enough dicks, it also has the power to unemploy hardworking servers who happen to work at restaurants with a zero tolerance for bad Yelp reviews. The next time you want to write a bad review about your dining experience, please take a moment to think about the consequences of what you write. How would you feel if someone posted a review about how bad you were at your job as a whore and then your pimp read the review and you had to go find another corner to work? You wouldn’t like that, would you? Be careful what you write. Someone’s job may be on the line.

Found at Olive Garden: the Most Entitled Customer Ever

Buckle up your seat belts, bitches, because the entitlement is real strong in this recent Facebook post on the Olive Garden Facebook page. Before I get to that, let me fill you in on my last couple of weeks: I got an infection, I was in the hospital for a couple of days and now I’m on antibiotics for six weeks which means I am not allowed to drink (much) alcohol. I honestly fear for the financial stability of my neighborhood liquor store. I have not been up to writing for a while, but Anna’s post reignited the bitchiness deep in my soul. Like the infection that has been brewing in my prostate for the last few weeks (TMI?), it is ready to make itself known. And now to the bitching:

Anna went to Olive Garden last week and wanted some “pomadoro” sauce to go with her breadsticks, salad and entitled attitude. Upon learning that it wasn’t on the menu, she did what any self-centered, egocentric, head up her own ass customer would do and asked the waitress to have the kitchen make it for her. Because, you know, if you don’t see what you want on a restaurant menu, it’s perfectly acceptable to ask the kitchen to just whip it up for you. Anna says the waitress was puzzled by her request. I want to give that waitress a high five, a pat on the back, and a glass of house white for making the customer think she was puzzled when we all know the waitress was really just using her “puzzled” expression instead of her “bitch, get the fuck out of here” expression. When the manager was called to the table, he told Anna they don’t have the ingredients to make that particular sauce, which is code for “it’s not on the menu, kindly go fuck yourself with some angel hair pasta.”

Anna, not one to give up on her quest for pomodoro sauce, then went to the Olive Garden Facebook page and wrote out the recipe for her desired sauce. All together now:

So many things need to be said about this. First off, even if the restaurant had “theses” ingredients for the sauce, that doesn’t mean they are going to make it. The menu isn’t there so you can actively ignore it. It’s there to let you know what you can and cannot have at this restaurant. If you don’t see any pomodoro fucking sauce with angel hair pasta on it, then you can’t have it.

Secondly, Anna seems surprised that they don’t have the ingredients. Girl, it’s Olive Garden. There isn’t an Italian Nonna back there in a hairnet and orthopedic shoes chopping up fresh basil, running pasta through a pasta maker and stirring sauces with big wooden spoons. The kitchen is stocked with cans of sauce, plastic bags of veggies, boxes of pasta and a bunch of men and women who don’t give a shit. I don’t think there is a vat of pomodoro sauce anywhere back there.

Thirdly, if you know this recipe so well, why don’t you drag your ass back to your own cucina and make it your own goddamn self? Posting the recipe on a Facebook page and expecting Olive Garden to make it for you makes you look like an entitled, spoiled idiot who thinks the world revolves around you. News flash, Anna: it doesn’t. If Olive Garden doesn’t have what you want, you find something else on the menu to order or you leave. And make it yourself.

I want to thank Anna for giving me the will to blog today. The last couple of weeks have been difficult for me, but my desire to roast clueless customers is strong again. Like my prostate, my bitchiness is enflamed, slightly enlarged and pulsating. Thanks, Anna!

Today is “Take Your Kid to Work Day”

Today is National Take Your Child To Work Day here in the United States. It’s a day that is meant to teach our sons and daughters what their parents do at their jobs. Originally formed in 1993 by Gloria Steinem and the Ms. Foundation for Women and called “Take Our Daughters To Work Day,” it has evolved to encompass all children, both sons and daughters. It can provide the opportunity for a young girl to see her mother as something more than a mom and instead see a capable, strong, women in charge. Or maybe a son can see his father as something other than a lazy fat ass who sits on the couch all weekend and farts out Doritos.

If you are a server and plan on taking your child to work today, here are 8 things they can do while at the restaurant:

  1. Roll silverware. Every restaurant always need someone to roll extra silverware and quite frankly, who has time for that? An eager 10-year old will have quick and nimble fingers that can roll that silver and not bitch about it the whole time.
  2. Retrieve silverware from the garbage. None of us want to dig through the trashcan to get that fork we accidentally dropped while we were scraping a plate. Make a kid do it. Tell them it’s like a scavenger hunt and for each utensil they find, give them a butter packet as a reward.
  3. Remove gum from underneath the table. Being a fully grown man with 50-year old knees and joints, I don’t want to go under the table to scrape it off. However, a small child is just the right size to crawl under Table 9 and scrape that Bazooka from the underside. I say give that kid a sharp knife and some gloves and let them go to town.
  4. Clean the menus. It’s such a tedious task and we all know how fucking germy those menus can get. Why not let a kid, who is basically one big germ anyway, clean those menus instead? Then the hostess can use her time for more important things like ignoring customers and accidentally hanging up on people who want to place orders to pick up.
  5. Take care of the other kids in the restaurant. When we have a crying baby in our section that won’t shut up because it’s either colicky or needs to have its diaper changed, we servers can come across as insensitive when we ask the parents to quiet the baby down. Let the kid say it. You can instruct the child to say something like, “Man that baby sure is loud. Can’t you get it to take a nap or something? It’s giving me a headache.” Most parents are going to accept that from another child, but not from a server.
  6. Deliver the to-go food. This is such a great option. Because of child labor laws, the restaurant won’t have to pay the kids to deliver the food which will help out with payroll. It also gets those kids out of the restaurant so that those of us without kids won’t have to fucking see them. If you don’t feel secure having the child drive a car, just wrap some reflective tape around their head and send them on a bike or something. I’m sure they’ll be fine. If they happen to receive any tips, steal them. They’re just kids, what are they gonna do about it?
  7. Mop the floor. Kids love to mop! Haven’t you seen Annie? Give those little assholes a bucket and a couple of sponges and let them have a ball.
  8. Help you get bigger tips. After you have placed the check on the table, instruct your child to go to the customer and give a sob story about how badly you need money. They can say that you need bunion surgery or that your car has four bald tires and no windows or whatever. Make the kid slice some onions right before approaching the table so there are some real tears happening. Most customers won’t be able to resist a child in need and you can watch your tip average soar for the day.

I hope these suggestion come in handy for you as you strap an apron around your kid and teach them the joys of food service. If you are going to take your child to work today, you may as well make it work for you. Good luck!

Kids Meals Are For Kids. Period.

Everybody light a candle for Lindsey, because she had the “WORST customer experience” of her life this week at Applebee’s. Yes, that’s right. Out of every interaction she has had in her entire existence on earth, this is the event that will forever be remembered as the worst one. Like when, she is 85 years old and talking to her great-great grandkids, she’ll still be boring them to death with the tale about that time she went to Applebee’s in 2018 and the server wouldn’t let her order a goddamn kids meal.

Long story short: she went in with her two kids, one of which got full on the appetizer and didn’t want anymore food and since Lindsey herself wasn’t that hungry, she wanted to order two kids meals: one for her still hungry child and one for herself. Server gave Lindsey a big ol’ “no can do” and then Lindsey was forced to order a regular entree and leave with a ton of leftover food she didn’t want, couldn’t eat and had to pay for.

Buckle up, Linds, because I’m about to explain how kid meals work. A restaurant that offers a smaller portion of food at a lower price is doing parents a courtesy. It’s called a “kids meal” because it is literally FOR KIDS. It’s not for people who have small appetites or who had gastric bypass surgery or lap band surgery. The reason restaurants offer a smaller and cheaper portion for kids that is so that parents who come in with a gaggle of children won’t go bankrupt just taking their brood out for dinner. It’s actually very generous of restaurants to even offer it in the first place. Too many people see a kids meal and want to order it because it’s cheap. Whatever the case may be for wanting to order it, if you are over the age of 12, you better just resign yourself to having a full portion of Fiesta Lime Chicken and get ready to carry home a to-go box with your leftovers.

Your argument that you have two kids and you should be allowed to order two kids meals regardless of who will eat them, doesn’t fly. Why? First off, you ain’t 12 years old. Second off, the lower price for a kids meal is off-set by a parent who is paying a regular price for an entrée. If the only thing that is being sold to a table is a bunch of kids meals, it’s not a good use of restaurant real estate. Why would a restaurant want to give up a prime booth and then only sell two plates of food that cost a few dollars? News flash: all restaurants are there to make a profit, even Applebee’s. Your server was doing his job and you want to complain about someone who is enforcing the rules that were set by his boss? The real reason he didn’t want you talk to the manager is to save you the embarrassment of having that manager say the exact same thing your server just told you: kids meal are for kids. So even though you may have the emotional intelligence of an 8-year old, your actual age will require that you step away from the kids menu.

So, you had to leave with a bunch of leftovers? Is that the worst thing in the world? Doesn’t that just mean that you can eat it later? And if you didn’t want it, why did you order it? If you weren’t hungry enough for a full meal, why not order another appetizer? And also, your complaint that you to “still had to pay for it,” is just plain stupid.

Lindsey: I’m not that hungry, so can I order a kids meal?
Server: No, I’m sorry, you’ll have to order off the regular menu.
Lindsey: Oh, bummer. So, if I order off the regular menu, will I have to pay for it?
Server: Yes, bitch. That is how restaurants work. Jesus, why are my customers so dumb?

In closing, we all know that Lindsey has never been so dissatisfied with a restaurant which is why she went to the Applebee’s page to complain. What’s even more telling is that Applebee’s failed to respond to her post which means that even they know it’s an invalid complaint. Normally, we see Applebee’s jumping at the opportunity to offer a gift card. Their silence on this issue is deafening and that silence is saying: get over it, girl.


Applebee’s Customer Stiffs Her Server and Is Okay With It

As I am wont to do, I spent a good portion of my day today scanning the Facebook pages of various restaurant chains to see if I could find anything that would inspire me to sit my lazy ass down at the computer and write a story. Lo and behold, the Applebee’s page was a treasure trove of idiocy. One after another, I read customers’ comments and couldn’t decide which post would be the one that would awake the lazy sleeping bitch inside my soul. And then I saw Judith’s comment. Like a moth to a flame, my eyes were drawn to it because every word of it made my nostril hairs tingle and my ears twitch. The pure cluelessness, entitlement, and self-centeredness of the post was ripe for a Bitchy Waiter takedown and here it comes and, like projectile diarrhea, this takedown is about to spew from me.

It appears that Judith took her granddaughter to Applebee’s to celebrate her last year as a pre-teen. Being 12 years old and painfully aware of the embarrassment of being at Applebee’s with her grandma, the young lady specifically requested that the staff not sing “Happy Birthday” to her. (I already like the child about 1000% more than her grandmother.) Much to the surprise and delight of Grandma, their server Chrissie still brought out a birthday sundae to celebrate the momentous occasion. “The food was delicious and Chrissie was great!” crows Grandma.

But then it turns bad. Real bad.

“We don’t tip on our bank cards and discovered we didn’t have the cash to give her the tip she deserved. But we’ll make up for that on our next visit! Chrissie, you really made her day!”

Hold up, Grandma. Did you just announce to the world that you basically stiffed Chrissie because you refuse to leave tips on credit cards? What kind of bullshit excuse is that? If you didn’t have the cash to tip her what she deserved, then the only logical thing for you to do was to get over your weird, paranoid, fear of leaving a tip on a credit card. Do you think that by not tipping it keeps the portal to your bank account closed? It doesn’t. Once the credit card is swiped or chipped, that portal’s open, honey. Wide open like a hungry power bottom at a leather daddy pool party. If you know for a fact that you never leave tips on credit cards, then it is your responsibility as a diner to make sure you have cash in your purse, pocketbook, brassiere, sock or tucked inside your back fat. Simply going to the Facebook page of Applebee’s and thanking your server is not enough. Well, I’m sure what you would have left as a cash tip wouldn’t be enough either, but this really isn’t enough. Chrissie can’t pay her bills with “good job.”

And to say that you will catch her the next time is another load of crap and you know it. You just expect Chrissie to be at Applebee’s at anytime in the future, day or night, just so you can tip her what she deserves? What if she has the day off the next time you take your ass up there for a Sweet Asian Pineapple Burger, what then? I know what then. You slide that five dollar bill back into your greasy back fat and say, “Oh well, we tried.” If you really want to make sure Chrissie gets the tip she deserves, you go back up there and give it to a manager in a sealed envelope and also inside that envelope is a letter of apology for not tipping her in the first place.

Judith, you meant well and I’m sorry to come down so hard on you. Maybe it’s been a while since you’ve had anyone come down hard on you, but it was time for that to happen. You’re welcome. I suspect that this Facebook post will be deleted very soon because you will see the error of your ways. Once you delete the post, I hope you will do the right thing and make sure Chrissie get the tip she earned. If you don’t do it for Chrissie, then do it for your granddaughter. The best birthday gift you can give her is a lesson on how to be a good tipper. That’s a gift that will last forever and will always keep on giving.