It is hard to find things to bitch about being a waiter when one’s waiting job is actually tolerable. That’s right, The Bitchy Waiter has little to complain about. The job is profitable, the hours are short, the co-workers are nice, the managers are cool and I get to listen to amazing performers sing while I work. Well, there was this one woman the other night. What a beyatch.
At the club, it is very important that people sit where the hostess has seated them. Everyone has to pay a cover charge and some people pay different amounts so it really screws things up when people move around, because I am not a psychic. I can’t be calling my psychic friend, Dionne Warwick, and asking her how much is the bitch at table 19 supposed to be paying for the show. Two couples came to the show and they wanted to switch their seats so they could sit next to their partners instead of across from them. Isn’t that sweet? I mean, really, who gives a shit? The show is an hour. Get over it, co-dependents. I picked up their seating passes which alert me who is paying what, but since they had ants in their pants and had moved around, the seating passes got mixed up. It wasn’t my fault, I promise. When I gave the checks at the end of the night, I had charged one couple a cover charge even though they had prepaid. The man was really nice about it, and I just voided off the cover charges. No biggie. So for the other couple I had put two $0 cover charges when I really needed to put two $25 cover charges. I had to add the $50 cover charge, but I didn’t bother voiding off the two $0 items since…well, since they were for zero dollars. I laid their check down and moved on. Five minutes later, the lady is at my side breathing down my neck.
“Excuse me? Ummm, Excuse me?” I turned to see what she needed and she was already complaining to the manager. “Hi there. Yes…uh…I am not responsible for my friends cover charge,” she says. I looked at my manager and gave him a look that said “I don’t know what this bitch is complaining about.” He took the check from her icy talons and reviewed it with her and then she snatched it back and mumbled to herself for a few seconds. “Two cover charges for $25 each…two scotch and sodas…one chardonnay…one Pelligrino…” She shut up. I knew she had finally noticed that two of the cover charges, the ones for her friends that she would not be responsible for, were for zero dollars. That’s right, lady, read the check. She was all ready to complain and make a stink that smelled worse than her crotch probably did and she had no fucking argument. She just rolled her lips into her mouth (do that, so you know what I mean) and slinked back to the table without an explanation. When I went to pick up the check, she avoided eye contact with me because bitch knew she was wrong.
I love love love it when customers are wrong. Especially when I am new and it is quite possible that it was my fuck up. But not tonight lady. You moved tables and didn’t tell anyone about it and made the check all complicated for you and your pea brain. The customer is not always right.