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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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Servers DO Have Names, You Know

I do have a name.

I do have a name.

Dear Customer,

I have a name. I may not give it to you every time you sit in my section and I may not wear a name tag that tells you what it is, but I can assure you that my name is not “Diet Coke.” It is not “More Coffee” and it is not “Come Here.” When I walk past you and you are need of something, a simple tilt of your head and making eye contact with me should be enough to alert me. If you know my name, feel free to use it. If you don’t know it, and I don’t necessarily expect that you would, you can say, “excuse me” or perhaps you can say, “pardon me, waiter.” What you should not say is, “water.” That’s not my name. I don’t call you “Hurry Up” or “Tip Me” or “Goddammit, You’re Fucking Annoying The Hell Out of Me,” do I? No, I don’t. I call you “sir” or “ma’am” or “miss” because it’s polite.

Also, when I first go up to your table and say hello and ask you how you’re doing, you are not doing “bread.” You may be doing fine, okay, great, alright, good, so-so or terrific, but you’re not doing “bread.” You’re not doing “I need more time” either. Those are not states of being. Those are needs and they should be used with other words like “please” and “thank you.” It’s called having manners.

Yes, I am your waiter and I am here to serve you. It is, by nature, a job of subservience, but it does not give you the right to treat me as if I am your own personal robot servant who has no feelings, no respect and no fucking name. We don’t have to introduce ourselves to each other in order to have a healthy 45 minute relationship as you cram food into your mouth and I bring you ketchup, mayonnaise, napkins, more napkins and a refill of Diet Coke on five separate trips. Names aren’t essential for this transaction. All I ask is that you don’t call me “Hey” or “You” or “I Need…” We’re not best friends and I don’t need to see you on Facebook or know the last four digits of your social security number. I just want us to be friendly to each other. If we use names, that’s great. If not, that’s fine too.

But if you call me “Diet Coke” one more time, I will call you “Fucking Asshole.”

Mustard and mayo,
The Bitchy Waiter

 

 

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If Siri Was a Waitress

Screen Shot 2014-10-08 at 2.13.07 PM

“How can I help you?”

Thanks to Jimmy Kimmel, we now know what a shitty waitress Siri would make. I don’t have an iPhone, so I can’t speak personally about everybody’s favorite bitch, Siri, but this waitress reminds me of a girl I used to work with in Texas. She could never get anything right and we were all convinced that she had a soft spot in her head. I saw  her one time sitting in her car before work and it looked like she was sniffing a spray paint can. When I asked her what she was doing, she told me she liked to smell her can of hair spray in the morning, because it reminded her of her grandma. Ummm, okay. I think it made her stupid.

 

Anyway, this video makes me wish I could do this to every customer who sits in my section just so I could see how far I could go along with it.