Mom Doesn’t Like Waitress So She Gets Really Gross With Her Revenge

Just a few days ago, I blogged about a restaurant that banned children under the age of five from dining in their establishment. Most people felt that they had the right to make that decision, but a few people cried “age discrimination” and thought it was a horrible idea. Well, in case you need convincing that some parents should not be allowed to bring their children into a restaurant, I want you to meet Brooke.

Brooke went to eat dinner at Charlie and Jake’s Brewery in Melbourne, Florida and had the “worst experience of her life eating at any restaurant.” It was so bad that she felt the need to go to their Facebook page and leave them a 1-star review. Brooke means business, y’all. First she was upset that they seated her and her three children in a small corner where the most people were. Ummm, Brooke. If you and your children are only comfortable eating in a private dining room, maybe you should see if your home has one. Most houses do. Then she was mad that the food took “foreverrr” which we all know probably meant it took just as long as it did for anyone else. She was most upset that the waitress kept talking to her even though her baby was screaming. Yes, screaming. Meanwhile, the waitress was probably all, “Let me just tell this woman the specials so I can go wipe the blood from bleeding ears.” Brooke also says that she doesn’t care about the menu which we all know probably meant that she was going to order whatever she wants, menus be damned! Finally, Brooke says she will never go back again.

Cue the staff at Charlie and Jake’s Brewery breathing a collective sigh of relief.

When I called Brooke out for leaving a 1-star review even though it seemed that her own baby was the crux of the issue, she expanded her review and said that the waitress came back a “million times” to see if she was ready to order. (Customers just love to exaggerate, don’t they? A million times? Really? I’d be surprised if she even came back three.) According to Brooke, it should have been obvious to the waitress that her hands were full with a screaming baby. Meanwhile, every customer was wishing that Charlie and Jake’s Brewery had instituted a “no kids allowed” rule.

Brooke, Brooke, Brooke. The restaurant will not miss you or your screaming offspring. It’s fine. They will survive. But then Brooke admitted one more thing. She is not ashamed to post on Facebook that she enacted a type of revenge that only a disgusting human being would think to do: she smeared a poopy diaper in the bathroom. Yes, because she was upset with the waitress for trying to do her job and take a food order, Brooke thought it was a good idea to take fecal matter out of her baby’s diaper and smear it in the bathroom. Truth be told, we can only assume the poopy diaper was that of her baby. It is quite possible that Brooke was in some type of adult diaper situation and the poop came from her own diaper. We will never know, but wherever the poop came from, it’s wrong.

I like to use this blog to point out when a customer does something they should not be doing in a restaurant and I think we can all agree that smearing shit all over the wall of a restroom is definitely bad behavior. Brooke, you sound lovely and I’m sure you are setting a wonderful example for your three children:

“Okay, kids, whenever something happens that you don’t like here’s what you do: you reach into your diaper, a nearby toilet or even stick your finger up your own butthole if you have to, and you get yourself a handful of poop. Dog poop will work too, but human poop is always better. Once you get a real good amount into your palm, you rub it onto the wall. Billy, are you paying attention to me? I am teaching you a life lesson, son. Okay, anyway, you smear that poop all over the wall and then when you get home you write about it on Facebook so everyone in the world will know how disgusting you are. Got it? Now give your Mama a kiss, but let me wash my hands first. Oh, never mind. It’s just poop.”

Now I Know What It’s Like to Work at Olive Garden

Wow, I feel I have disappointed so many people with my recent announcement that I am working at Olive Garden. Some people think it’s a huge mistake.  Let me explain.

For a couple of years, I thought it might be fun for the blog if I were to get a job at one of the places I continuously trash. You know, like Olive Garden or Applebee’s. Two weeks ago, as I walked past Olive Garden, I decided to fill out an application and see what happened. “There’s no way they will even call me in for an interview,” I thought. After all, if you Google my real name, the first thing that comes up is something about Bitchy Waiter. Surely whoever is in charge of hiring would do a simple Google search on prospective employees. But I guess they didn’t because three days later they called me for an interview. I decided to see how far I could go with this charade. I went to my interview on March 27th.

I arrived with my hair pulled pack in a tight pony-tail and I was freshly shaven to give the appearance that I could be corporate. It’s been years since I have done a corporate chain, but I knew how to play the part. The manager who interviewed me was named Charlie (yes, I changed the name for this blog) and I quickly realized I have been waiting tables since he was in diapers. My first thought when I looked at him: “Goddam, his forehead is bigger than mine. I did not know that was possible.”  After discussing my experience, why I want to work at Olive Garden (“I really like the food and I have heard that Darden is a great company to work for!”) and how I need to keep at least one or two shifts at my other job, I walked out with a starting date.

“What have I done??”

Wait, what? It was that easy? My ego was a little bruised because I couldn’t help but think, “Don’t they know who I am??” Apparently, they don’t. Ouch. I started on March 29th. And my husband thinks I’m nuts.

I show up at 3:00 on Wednesday to fill out my paperwork and do my first trail shift. As I walk in the door, I can’t help but worry that someone who works there is going to recognize me and blow my cover. In another shattering blow to my ego, no one does. I am also the oldest person on the staff except for a cook who looks like he is either a lot older than me or has never heard of  moisturizer. Somewhere in the mountain of papers, I am pretty sure I signed something that made me promise I would not blog, Tweet, Facebook or whatever about my job. You can see that I took that very, very seriously.

My trainer is Timmy (name changed) and he is actually pretty cool. He’s about 30 years old and is an actor so we instantly click when we talk about our love for musical theater. My shift begins at 4:00 and he tells me I will be there until about 9 or 10:00 depending on how busy it is. When he shows me a list of what all I will be learning over the next few shifts I am completely shook. The vast amount of crap is mind boggling. We get our first table at 4:45 when a lunch person named Alberta (actual name because it does not get better than being named Alberta) transfers her check to Timmy because she’s “on the rag and can’t handle this place right now.” That table leaves pretty soon so I learn how to close a check and then I take it upon myself to go bus the table and reset it.

Charlie the manager appears. “Hey, I like your self-motivation, but how did you know how to reset the table?”

“Well, I just looked at the other tables to see how they were set and then copied them. Is that alright?”

What Charlie did next seemed right out of a movie to me. He grinned and tapped his forefinger to his head and said, “And that’s how to use the old noggin, buddy boy. Keep it up, keep it up.”

Are you fucking kidding me, Charlie?  I already hate him, but he’s going to be great for the blog. Timmy lets me do whatever I need to do for the rest of the night. He knows that the training is just a formality, but stresses how important the menu tests are. The POS is pretty simple to pick up and table numbers I can memorize in one night. I just have to get thorough the four trailing shifts.

Who knows how long I will keep this up. This cannot be a job I keep forever and I am doing it for the sole purpose of getting some good blog posts out of it. It’s going to be difficult to balance this job with my other restaurant, but I can get my some of those shifts covered for a couple of weeks in order to see what it’s like on the inside of Olive Garden. I will do my best to take some photos every now and then and my goal is to do a Facebook Live video from the bathroom. That’s right, I am living life in the danger zone.

First impressions:

  • The menu test is going to be the death of me, but I bet that they will keep me even if I fail it.
  • It was a very slow night so I didn’t get the full experience.
  • The sections are small.
  • Timmy is cool.
  • Charlie is a fucking idiot.
  • Alberta has a cool name and is going to become a regular character on this blog because she is straight up crazy/psychotic and wears way too much make up.
  • What will come first? Me being fired or me quitting?

Wish me luck! I am officially in the Olive Garden family!

Oh, I did manage to film one quick video in the restroom and you can click here to see it.

This Restaurant Does Not Allow Kids and Now I Want To Work There

Looks like I found my dream job, y’all. A restaurant in Mooresville, North Carolina just moved into first place ahead of the imaginary restaurant in my head that has margaritas flowing from the tap and every shift meal is a bowl of ice cream. An Italian restaurant named Caruso’s has made the decision to ban children aged 5 and younger from coming into the restaurant and it is now officially where I want to work.

Says manager Michael Mills, “Sometimes the children become rowdy, and some of our other guests, it has made them upset because the parents don’t do the right thing of taking the child out.”

All praise Michael Mills. He speaks the truth. He is our leader. Praise him.

Understandably, some parents are not happy with the decision. Whitney Labozzetta who has popped out six children was quoted as saying, “We actually got up and left because the waitresses were very rude. When my daughter, who is one, cried, they gave us the nasty look.”

Ummm, Whitney, you are exactly why the new rule was created. Any restaurant can decide who they want to serve and who they don’t want to serve. Apparently, they do not want to serve your whining 1-year old, so if you and your brood are craving some Italian food, hop on over to the Piggly Wiggly and get yourself some Pizza Rolls. For every customer who is upset that they can’t take their toddler to the restaurant, there are about ten customers who are happy about it. The country is full of restaurants that welcome children. For those of us who might like to dine with the assurance that we won’t hear the high-pitched scream of a 2-year old who wants another Shirley Temple, can’t we have Caruso’s? Can’t you go to one of the thousands of other restaurants that that don’t care if your child is there? Just give us this one restaurant and you can cram your kids into a giant stroller and go practically anywhere else.

If you want to go show some love to Caruso’s, here is their Facebook page. Make sure they know that there are plenty of people who applaud this decision. Also, ask them if they are hiring and tell them to be on the lookout for my resume.

Customer Complains Old School

These days, when someone doesn’t like a restaurant experience, we are accustomed to seeing their complaints on Yelp, Facebook or Twitter. Well, this customer went old school with pen, paper, stamps and envelopes. They chicken scratched their complaints out and judging by the handwriting, the person is an oldie but a goody with one foot in the grave. Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t use a quill and ink on parchment paper or just carve the complaint into a stone tablet like their birth certificate probably was. This self-described “grouchy customer” is full of unhappiness. It appears that only the bacon cheeseburgers, the peas and the cheese passed the muster while everything else was just one disappointment after another.

Hi,

Sunday, we had lunch at your restaurant. The bacon cheeseburgers were great. The chicken sandwich was not my favorite.

I snagged my sweater on a sharp corner glass of the sneeze protector at the North-East corner. You need to tape the sharp corners.

The little ham squares were located so far in the back, I had a hard time reaching them. The German potato salad was way in the back too. (I suspect that the strategy is to put the expensive stuff at the back so not as much will be used).

The cheese was excellent.

The peas were good but hard to pick up with tweezers.

But there was NO Thousand Island salad dressing. Wow! That’s my brand.

I’m sorry you closed the [other location.] You needed a big tall sign so people could find it.

You should ask the people where they would like to sit. I wanted a window seat, but got a little table for 2 with people on the other side of a short wall. Work on better music too.

Signing off,
[name withheld]
another grouchy customer

I applaud this senior citizen for embracing their inner “get off of my lawn” attitude. I also wonder how they will make it through their life (well, what’s left of it…) when they perceive everything to be so miserable. The woman who wrote this letter might actually be Lady Elaine Fairchild, the grumpy ass puppet from Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. If that’s the case, that sweater was snagged when you got there, bitch. In regards to the “little ham squares” being so far in the back that you could barely reach them, that sounds like a blessing. I mean, who the hell wants a square of ham? You should be thanking whoever had the foresight to decide that any meat shaped like a square should justifiably be difficult to obtain. It belongs right next to the German potato salad. As for the peas having to be picked up with tweezers, I think that was just someone who ran out of fucks when they were setting up the buffet. “Anyone know where the slotted spoon is for the peas? Oh, fuck it, the only person who eats the peas is that old lady who wears so much blush she looks like she has bruises on her cheeks. Lemme just throw some tongs in there…”

I am sorry there was no Thousand Island Dressing for you, Lady Elaine. That is a damn shame. I assume you found some Ranch dressing to use or else there would have been a whole ‘nother paragraph about how your heart almost stopped beating when you didn’t find it.

Finally, I hope you were able to get through the horror of not sitting at a window seat. Let me guess, the seats by the window were for four people and they didn’t want to use that prime real estate for a puppet with a snagged sweater and her old husband, is that it? That makes sense. A four-top is for four people. They put you at a table for two. Deal with it. And also deal with the music choice. If you don’t like it, take out your hearing aid and the problem will be solved. Besides, there aren’t that many people who want to eat at a restaurant while listening to the Andrew Sisters and Benny Goodman. (Full disclosure: I am totally one of those people who would want to eat at a restaurant while listening to the Andrew Sisters and Benny Goodman.)

Again, this complaint of is awesome. In this day and age of technology, it is refreshing to see a handwritten letter from a valued customer. After all, when we get a complaint online, it’s not as easy to drop into the shredder.

It’s Official: Customers Are Idiots!

As has long been suspected by restaurant workers for decades, scientists in Roanoke, Virginia have confirmed that some customers who go into restaurants can experience a severe drop in IQ levels, some people losing up to 50 points. The average American has an IQ somewhere between 90 and 110 points. However, when certain people cross the threshold of a restaurant, they can suddenly become incredibly less intelligent. Dr. Baxter Fälschung, lead scientist of Roanoke’s Center for Urban Neurological Testing, along with his team, released the study results this week.

“It’s incredibly surprising that we see such a drastic yet temporary dip in intelligence,” he says. “Even someone who is highly functioning in their everyday world can step into a restaurant and end up coming across as one of the Three Stooges. I can only imagine how difficult this is for servers.” Although Fälschung can not confirm why this happens, he states “it is 100% categorically true. The momentary lapse of intelligence can cause customers to forget how to read a menu or even lose their eye and hand coordination causing them to struggle with forks and knives. This particular effect can result in huge messes and many glasses being knocked over. In some scenarios, a customer can become so severely stupid that it’s practically fucking impossible to even understand it.”

Beatrice Eyecanteven, a waitress for 40 years at a Doug’s Donuts Diner across the street from the Center for Urban Neurological Testing (CUNT), is not surprised with the finding. “I’ve been saying that for for thirty years. People come into the diner and suddenly they can’t tell the difference between their thumb and their asshole. I hope they didn’t spend too much money on that testing because I coulda told them that for free. Now either order another entree or get the hell out of my section.”

Beatrice Eyecanteven, waitress at Doug’s Donuts Diner.

Fälschung’s study also confirms that different restaurants create different drops in intelligence levels. “We have found that customers visiting a Waffle House see the biggest IQ drop with Cracker Barrel customers not far behind.” His team hopes to study more restaurants to see if there are any places that increase the IQ level of a customer when they enter it, but he is doubtful. “Science can only explain so much, but it seems as if when customers go into a restaurant, they just get dumb. I feel really sorry for the waiters and waitresses.”

To read the whole study and the rest of this story, please click here.

Woman Doesn’t Like 5 Things About Restaurants. I Disagree With 4 of Them.

Oh what a joy it is for me to find an article written about us servers and what horrible monsters we are as we try to do our job. Case in point is an article by Laurie Notaro for the Phoenix New Times. The article is called “5 Things Restaurants Need to Stop Doing Right Now,” but every point she makes isn’t exactly about the restaurant itself. “Train your staff, restaurants. That’s all I’m saying,” she says. Somebody hold my cocktail, because I’m about to go off.

She begins by complaining about a time she was in a restaurant and her friend said, “I have-” just as the server poured more ice tea and blocked her face. After the server was finished being the rude ass person he was being by filling iced tea, the friend was able to finish her sentence with the word “cancer.” While I am very sorry about the cancer diagnosis, contrary to popular belief, we servers are not hovering at your table listening to your conversations waiting for the precise moment to ruin an announcement. If we are nearby and see your glass is empty, we’re gonna fill it. Sorry for doing our freaking job.

Her list then begins:

Don’t reservation shame me. “Stop pretending that if I come in without a reservation that I have broken a holy sacrament.” Look, lady, if you don’t have a reservation it’s fine. Well, depending on the restaurant. If you’re dining at Chili’s they can probably squeeze you in, but if you’re trying to get a table at Barbuto’s here in New York City as a walk-in, it’s gonna be an issue. And although you see that 75% of the restaurant is empty, you don’t know what’s on the books for the next two hours. So if the hostess makes you wait for “20 minutes” and then another “18 minutes” to find you a table, maybe you should just be grateful that they let you even sit down at all. And by the way, we all know that customers love to exaggerate to try to prove their point so there’s no way a hostess made you wait 38 minutes. Bitch, please.

Don’t judge a salt lover. Okay, I’m gonna let her have this one. She does not want to be judged if she is in a restaurant that does not have salt on the tables and she wants some. I’m with you, Laurie. Salt away. It’s good. And I dunno if you’re for real when you say you have 50 packets of salt in your purse that you took from Arby’s but I fully embrace your thieving, salting ways.

Quit interrupting. “I want the waitstaff to stop interrupting me right before I get to the punchline of my story. For that matter, do not interrupt my conversation at any point.” Oh, I’m sorry Laurie, are we not allowed to speak to you? Again, we aren’t listening to the banal conversations that are happening at each of our tables. Sometimes at work, we barely have time to listen to the voice inside our head that’s telling us to run out of the restaurant and never come back. Do you honestly think we are paying attention to the incessant drivel that is spewing from the mouths of our customers? And don’t think I haven’t waited for a more opportune time to inject myself into the conversation, but after standing there for 30 or 45 seconds, I need to interrupt, because if I don’t, I’ll never know if you’re going to eat that last fucking piece of romaine lettuce that’s been sitting on your plate for 15 minutes and if I don’t know if you’re done eating or not, I can’t tell the kitchen to fire your entrees. So, sorry I interrupted your stupid joke, but I have a job to do. If you need to eat without interruption, warm up a Lean Cuisine and eat it at home.

Don’t be so pretentious. Well if you go to a pretentious restaurant, you’re gonna get pretension. In fact, your whole article seems pretentious. Are you the only one who is allowed to be pretentious? Do you need to be the most pretentious person in the room? Congratulations on such a lofty goal.

Don’t ever ask me how something tastes. Umm, okay. So you want me to drop the food and never ask you how it is. Or is it that you don’t like the way servers ask? “Did you enjoy the profile of your dish?” sounds pretentious which makes me question where the fuck you are dining. I don’t know a server who would ask a question that way or this way: “How are your flavors tasting this morning?” Who the hell talks that way? It sounds to me that you are choosing restaurants that are going to give you everything you claim to hate. Don’t go to those places anymore.

So, Laurie, if you are ever in my restaurant I know how to treat you: I make sure you get a table right away even if we are fully booked and you don’t have a reservation. Put a salt lick on the table. Don’t talk to you. Speak like a commoner. Assume the food is fine. I suppose your article was meant to be tongue in cheek, but from a server’s point of view, it’s rather insulting.

Here is the article in full if you want to go read it for yourself and maybe leave a comment or two. It’s fun! But don’t be pretentious about it or anything. And check out my book here!