10 Things Every Server Thinks at Least Once a Day

So true.

So true.

I have been slacking in the blog posts of late because my show was happening and it was taking a lot of time. Between working, rehearsing and finding time for my daily cocktails, writing fell to the wayside, much like Table 7 often does because it’s not in my sight line from the sidestand. As I gear up to start writing on a more regular basis again, please enjoy these ten things that i think about almost every day at work. I venture to guess that some of you think them as well.








  1. “I wonder what grad school would be like.”


    Just do it.

  2. “If those parents don’t care about their kid then neither do I.”

    too bad, asshole

    too bad, asshole

  3. “How much damage could I do with a butter knife?”


    Bitch, please.

  4. “Something stinks. Oh wait, it’s my uniform.”

    step away from the Axe Body Spray

    step away from the Axe Body Spray

  5. “I need these old people to get out of my section.”



  6. “Lemme just eat this real quick before my manager sees me.”

    nom, nom, nom

    nom, nom, nom

  7. “Maybe I could just hide in the walk-in for twenty minutes.”

    buh bye

    buh bye

  8. “I need a drink.”

    anything. on the rocks.

    anything. on the rocks.

  9. “People suck.”



  10. “I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

    outta here.

    And scene.

Waiting Tables Summed Up in 4 Minutes, 18 Seconds

Thadra Sheridan

Thadra Sheridan

Thank you, thank you, thank you to Thadra Sheridan who wrote and performed the best fucking video about waiting tables ever. I bow down to her very existence because everything about this video is sheer perfection. I almost didn’t post it because I am such a small, small man that it is hard for me to acknowledge people who are better at bitching about waiting tables than I am, but Thadra has proven me wrong. She has nailed it. Because I am so desperate and needy, I have chosen to embed her video into my blog so that I can capitalize on her brilliance.

This bitch is good.

Real good.

Watch this video and then share it. Share it, my friends! Help the world understand what we already know: that waiting tables is hard work and that we may smell like a fucking fajita plate, but we’re people dammit. Fajita-smellin’people!

Go visit Thadra at her website.

Follow this chick on Twitter.

Go check her out on YouTube.

Waffle House Waitress Gets $1000 Tip. Still Has to Work at Waffle House.

Shaina Brown gets $1000 tip.

Shaina Brown gets $1000 tip.

In today’s “Lets Screw With A Waitress” news, we have Shaina Brown who works at a Waffle House in North Carolina who was left a $1000 tip by a good samaritan but then Waffle House made her give it back thanks to a policy that was created by someone who doesn’t depend on tips for a living. According to the Charlotte Observer, Shaina works the late night shift and a customer left $1500 on a credit card voucher; $1000 for her and the other $500 for a woman who was eating in the restaurant who looked like she needed it. (Cue me to go sit in a Waffle House in drag and express neediness as I get free refills and play Candy Crush.) Head Waffle House Honcho spokesperson, Kelly Thrasher, explains that Waffle House has some policy that doesn’t let people give good tips unless it’s cash or check because we all know that we carry our checkbooks around with us and our wallets are full of thousand dollar bills. Bitch, please. If someone wants to tip $1000, they can. She says that Waffle House does this in case a customer wants to dispute the tip or ask for a refund. First off, if someone writes in a tip and then signs the voucher, sorry, but it’s mine now, end of story. I don’t care how drunk your ass was when you were feeling all generous and signed it, too bad so sad. I would suspect that Waffle House just didn’t want to pay a processing fee on the charge amount and that’s why they denied Shaina her tip. When the Big Tipper heard about the story, he promptly wrote out a check for Shaina because he knows that Waffle House needs to change their name to What the Fuck House.

Shaina has her tip, the do-gooder has his happy warm feeling and Waffle House now has thousands of people thinking they screwed over a hard-working single mom with two jobs. I guess I can understand their policy of not letting people charge huge tips on a credit card. Maybe they are protecting their customers. I suppose it wouldn’t be out of the question for some less than honest server to add a $1000 tip on a credit card and then quit after getting the money but before the customer realized what had happened. Or what if a thief was in cahoots with a server and the thief used a stolen credit card to leave a big tip for the waiter and then they split at after the server got his money from the? I suppose those things could happen. It’s too bad that Shaina was just being rewarded for doing her so job so wonderfully and it had to be tainted by corporate policy.

I wonder what would happened if Kelly Thrasher was going to get her big Christmas bonus of a $1000, a honey-baked ham and a week supply of waffles but her boss was like, “Oh, wait a minute, hold up, sweetie. We have changed our policy now so if you want that bonus, we are going to need to verify that the company really meant to give it to you. I need you to download some forms and then fill them all out stating what exactly you are expecting for your bonus. Once they are complete, I need you to send that to me in an email, in PDF format, and then I will forward that on to our Christmas bonus department. Once they have confirmed that it was in fact heir intention to give you this money, ham and waffles, I will ask that you file a claim for it. That claim form can be downloaded and sent to me in PDF format. If everything goes as planned you should have your Christmas bonus in June. Thanks, Kelly.” Pretty sure if that’s what happened for Kelly to get her bonus, she’d change that system right quick.

Congratulations to Shaina and thank you to the anonymous philanthropist who was just doing something nice. You know who really gets the shaft in this story? The needy looking lady who was sitting in the restaurant that the man wanted to give $500 to. Nobody knows her name, so nobody wrote her a check for $500. She probably doesn’t even know that she was almost $500 richer. She was just minding her own business eating waffles and lookin’ all needy and shit and she will never get her money. I’m sure some lady in North Carolina is going to come out any minute and say, “Hey I was at that Waffle House recently and I’m pretty sure I was the desperate looking lady that was supposed to get $500. Where’s my money.” If you see this woman, look closely at her. If she has curly Brillo pad hair with highlights, bloodshot eyes and is drinking a margarita, it might be me.

I Served Olive Oyl

Oh, Popeye!

Have you ever wondered what Olive Oyl would like in today’s day and age? Wonder no more because I think she sat at Table 18 last night. She has put on some weight which is a good thing because I always thought Olive Oyl was bit too thin. It was rumored that she had body dismorphic syndrome and may have had some type of eating disorder as well which would explain why she always seemed to weigh about 70 pounds. Judging from her fickle nature and not being able to decide between Popeye and Bluto also shows that she probably had some issues with low self esteem. But last night she was healthy and robust and acting like she has finally got her life on track. Her hair is still jet black but it’s obvious that she dyes it now. But she’s in her early 90′s, so more power to her. It also appeared that she had gotten a boob job because she actually had breasts. Popeye and Bluto probably chipped in and paid for those tits after years of pancake breakfasts. Her feet are still huge but she was wearing snow boots so maybe it was an illusion. She was wearing that sad black pencil skirt and red top but she had jazzed it up with a zebra print jacket. Overall she looked good for a 90 fucking year old cartoon character

“Hello, ma’am. May I get you something to drink?” I asked.

“Oh dear, I dunno. Ooooh I dunno. Oooohooooh.”

“I can come back in a few minutes if you want to take a moment to decide.”

Nooooo, I’m ready. Ooooh, I would like a vodka on the rocks with olives. A lot of olives. I love olives.”

“More than three?”

Oooh, are they the big olives or the little olives. I love olives.”

“They are the big olives,” said I.

Olive Oyl smiled from ear to ear and said, “Ooooh, I love the big olives. I’ll take as many as you can give me.”

I went back to the bar and crammed five olives on to the tiny toothpick and carried it back to the table. She eyed the glass and went straight for the olives. I just knew that her panties were a little wet with olive oil at the very thought of downing those delicious salty little fruits.

Ooooh dear, these are big olives. Thank you so much. I love olives,” she said again as she swallowed two of them at once.

“Yes, I heard that about you. Would you like to order any food or will you be having olives for dinner tonight?” I followed that remark with a laugh so she would think I was being funny and not bitchy even though I was being bitchy and not funny.

Oooh dear. Hmmmm. Ooooh my. Oh, I know! I would like an order of spinach artichoke dip.”

Apparently her years with Popeye had rubbed off on her and she was a big fan of the spinach can. I was afraid to ask her about Popeye. He was older than Olive Oyl was so he’s probably dead now. I also wanted to ask her who the hell Swee’Pea was and if he was the bastard child of Popeye or Bluto, but it seemed too personal for a waiter to ask a customer. I almost shared with her how I played her one summer in an amusement park in Denver but decided that she probably wouldn’t care. (Yes, I really did. I was Olive Oyl at Elitch Gardens the summer of ’87 so if you hugged her that summer, you probably hugged me.) The rest of the night with Olive Oyl was uneventful. She had her two drink minimum and enjoyed the show. She gave me a good tip and went on her way. I was just happy to see that Olive Oyl was alive and well and living in New York City. Now if I could only find out whatever happened to Josie and the Pussycats.

Texas Restaurant Serves Up a Side of Homophobia

Screen Shot 2014-06-03 at 12.23.19 PM

Big Earl’s

Oh, boy, look what I found: hatred against gay people in a restaurant. A restaurant/live bait shop called Big Earl’s (Of course it’s called Big Earl’s…) in a sad little town called Pittsburg, Texas is making news because a waitress told two gay men, Collin Dewberry (best name ever) and his partner Kelly Williams that they were not welcome to come back because they “don’t serve fags.” They were told this after they had eaten and paid their bill because even a dumbass business owner like Big Earl Cheney knows that dollars spend the same way whether they come from gay people or straight people, so you may as well get those dollars before you call your customers a couple of fags. He says that he doesn’t have a problem with them being gay, he just didn’t think their behavior was appropriate in a family restaurant. I’ll tell you what I think is inappropriate in a family restaurant: selling live fucking bait, that’s what. Who the fuck goes to a live bait shop to get their tackle and fishing supplies and then decides it looks like a nice place to get a burger? Hillbilly motherfuckers like Big Earl, that’s who. The way Big Earl talks, you would think the two guys were bare-boning at Booth 5 using I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter for lube and an old stale donut for a cock ring, but actually, all that he saw was their legs touching. The horror! His daughter was the waitress who was serving them and she is the one who told the guys they didn’t like fags in their restaurant. In fact, their company manifesto is posted right on the door. It reads:

Welcome to Big Earl’s Where MEN act like MEN and LADIES act like LADIES. NO SAGGY PANTS. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.


KLTV.com-Tyler, Longview, Jacksonville, Texas | ETX News

When KLTV reporter Summer Dashe (here is her Twitter profile. Tell her I said hello and thank you.) asked him what that sign meant, he said, “The same thing it says. That a man’s supposed to stand up and be a leader. He’s not supposed to be a woman. He’s not supposed to come in here in a dress.” Ummm, I don’t think Collin or Kelly were wearing dresses, Big Earl and if we’re going to judge people on what thy wear, can we talk about your stretched out grey t-shirt that you bought in a pack of three from the Wal-Mart odds and ends bin? And don’t even get me started on that Colonel Mustard mustache you’re rocking. It looks like it’s six days away from mutton chops. And if you want men to stand up and be leaders, why don’t you take your own advice and stand up and lead your daughter to a cliff so you can both jump off? Big Earl and his daughter, Lil’ Earlietta have got something against gay men and saggy pants but Earl is allowed to have saggy jowls and his daughter is allowed to be anything but a lady. Yeah, that makes sense.

Collin and Kelly have lived in East Texas their whole lives and they say they have never had that kind of hatred directed at them. Having grown up in Texas and also spending my fair share of time in East Texas, I have to say that I am amazed this is the first time it’s ever happened to them. When I was teenager, my nickname in high school was pretty much “Fag.” It was a good day if it went by without someone yelling that to me in the hallway or in the cafeteria. I regularly saw my name written on the bathroom walls calling me “fag.” One time on the school bus some douche bag stood up and announced that he had invented Fag Proof Glasses. With much fanfare, he pulled out a pair of Rayban sunglasses, placed them on his face and yelled out to the entire school bus that he could no longer see me or my best friend Michael. “Hey look y’all, all the fags disappeared!” Charming, right? Gotta love Texas in the 80’s.

I went to look at Big Earl’s Facebook page and not surprisingly, most people are disgusted by the story. What is surprising though is that every time I look at the page, the number of people who “like” Big Earl’s grows just a little bit. That means that there are plenty of people who stand behind Big Earl. Personally, I would never stand behind Big Earl because he looks like the type that could let a fart fly out at any given moment and I like my hair way too much to see it burned off by the fumes of a homophobic asshole’s asshole. The restaurant is still proud of their stance, claiming, “The amount of support we have had has been greatly appreciated. The numerous phone calls received tonight from people that feel the same way we do has been outstanding. We have new customers due to the news story, and will continue to feel the same way.” They are happy with all the new business that is flooding their restaurant/live bait shop and I can only assume that the customers who are showing their support are equally idiotic and back-ass-ward. I have held on to this post for a few days because Big Earl took down his Facebook page after it was bombarded with comments from smart people who know that love makes the world go ‘round. I wanted to wait until their page was back up again so we could all contribute our thoughts to the story, but in the meantime, here is their website. Go check it out. You can also see their Yelp page which is full of great reviews. If and when their Facebook page is up again, you can count on me to let you know.

Fuck you, Big Earl.

update: they have a new Facebook page!

Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. RIP, Ann B. Davis

Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

So this Sunday was just an ordinary Sunday of ham and cheese omelets, customers Instagramming their food and me serving coffee that wasn’t hot enough. It all seemed normal enough until I got home from work and looked at Facebook. That is where I found out that Ann B. Davis died. She fell down in the tub, hit her head, went into a coma and then floated off to heaven where she doesn’t have to wear a blue maids uniform anymore. What the fuck? Ann B. Davis is no longer on this earth? No wonder things seem just a little bit sadder today. She played Alice on The Brady Bunch from 1969 until 1974 and sometime during the mid to late 70’s, she captured my heart. I never watched The Brady Bunch when it was on in prime time. I was first captivated when it began playing in reruns and I would catch it after school at 3:30 on some channel that I could only get clearly if the antenna was just right. I don’t know what it was about The Brady Bunch that made me like it so much. It’s not like I was having a horrible childhood and watching their idyllic lives gave me hope that mine would some day be better. My life was good; it was me and my two brothers and our parents, happy and content. But something about The Brady Bunch appealed to me. Maybe it was the fact that they had two-stories in their home and to me that has always epitomized a “dream house.” Perhaps it was that they had brushes with famous people like Joe Namath and Davy Jones. Most likely, it was that they had a maid named Alice.

It’s not that I wanted to have someone living with me who did all the cooking and cleaning, because my Mom already did that for us. (While working full time, by the way, which now I understand was incredibly difficult, but as a kid I simply thought it was no big deal.) Alice was more than a maid. She was a best friend to Greg, Marcia, Peter, Jan, Bobby and Cindy. Later on, Oliver joined the family, but no one really gave a shit about him and I’m sure Alice felt the same way. He was fucking annoying. They all knew they could trust her if they had a problem they couldn’t share with their parents, but more importantly, they knew that she would be making them some pork chops and apple sauce for dinner. The loved Alice, even though we don’t know if they ever allowed her eat and she seemed to be on call 24 hours a day. It was like she was the slave for the Brady’s, but gosh darn-it, they loved their slave. Every once in a while, they would give her the night off and she could go bowling with her boyfriend, Sam the Butcher, and we can only hope that he gave her a special cut of meat if she bowled over a 100.

Alice was cool and if you don’t believe me, how else would you describe this quote from Episode #52, “Juliet is the Sun” when describing Marcia? “I know she’s groovy. You know she’s groovy. But she doesn’t know she’s groovy.” Oh, Alice, you’re so fucking groovy. I also loved her because I know that she cooked some bad ass Mexican food and she described it as coming in “three degrees: hot, very hot  and pass the extinguisher.” I wish I could get a taste of Alice’s enchilada. I recall Alice playing basketball with the boys on more than one occasion which tells me that she didn’t take her job too seriously, but just seriously enough.

I dunno why I’m sad that Ann B. Davis died. I didn’t know her personally. My friend met her once at a church youth camp and I have always been jealous of him for that. I have since come to grips with the fact that some people got to meet Ann B. Davis and some didn’t. I guess I’m sad because I think of Ann B. Davis as eternally 40 years old and quick with the comeback and always prepared for dinner. In reality, she was 88 years when she died. It’s just another reminder that time keeps moving and every day that passes means our youth is just a little bit farther away. Ann B. Davis was 43 years old when The Brady Bunch started. I am older than that now. It seems like only yesterday that I was sitting at 2513 Plover Street in Victoria, Texas watching The Brady Bunch after school. The truth is that was almost 40 years ago. If the next forty years go by as quickly as the last forty did, I better start appreciating what I have in this life. Whenever we lose a beloved TV icon from our childhood, it’s a sobering reminder that time is marching on.

In Ann B. Davis’ honor, I will be having a cocktail tonight and that cocktail will be one that I got from her cookbook. Okay, honestly, it’s just a recipe for lemonade, but I add blueberry vodka:

Lovely Lady Lemonade

1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup hot water
1/2 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
7 1/2 cups water

Dissolve the sugar in the hot water and allow to cool. Pour the lemon juice, water and sugar mix into a pitcher and stir. Add a shitload of blueberry vodka. Add ice for the best drink on a hot summer day.

Makes 8 servings.

Rest in peace, Ann B. Davis. I hope where ever you are, I hope someone else is making the meatloaf tonight.