No Cell Phones, Please

Being in a new serving environment has opened up a whole new can of worms regarding annoyances. At the last job, it was like a can of Upper East Side stroller mom bitch worms, while at this place it’s an occasional worm of total cluelessness. Seeing that I now work in a classy joint with candles and performers, the customers are, for the most part, pretty aware of the situation. They are there to see a show. A performer will be on the stage in front of them singing songs and baring their soul and they do not want to hear a fucking cell phone go off. It baffles me that people can listen to an announcement that says to please turn off all cell phones and then just not do it. In a restaurant, it’s annoying, but not a deal breaker. In a movie, it disturbs me, but movies are full of people who have no manners so it’s kinda expected. At a Broadway show, that shit really pisses me off because I paid an arm, a leg, an eyeball and my left nipple for the ticket and don’t be ruining my night at the theater.

A few nights ago, the place was pretty full because the performer was popular and the show had good reviews. The announcement came on that said to cease and desist with the cell phone crap and to enjoy the show. I was dealing with table 34 and trying to get them to understand that there was a two-drink minimum. Bitch ordered a cranberry seltzer and then wanted to know if tap water could count as her second drink. What do you think the answer is to that? She really just wanted water for the second drink which is totally fine by me. One five dollar bottled water it is. Her husband wanted the same thing. Already they were annoying the piss out of me because their check was going to be for $20 before the cover charge so maybe I was looking at a three dollar tip. Wishing they had ordered the $15 Pear Cosmos, I shuffled off to get their drinks. I was mentally done with them because two cranberry seltzers and two bottled waters means nothing to me at the new job. I like to focus on the old men with big swollen alcohol noses who will order three or four Jack Daniels in the course of one hour. I love those fucking losers.

About three songs into the evening, I hear a cell phone go off. The performer somehow didn’t hear it, or if they did they just ignored it. If it was my ass up on the stage, I’d be all up in their business and embarrass the hell out of the bitch who doesn’t know how to hit vibrate or silent. It rings a second time. I look over at Miss Cranberry Seltzer and she is rifling through her giant pleather purse to find her phone. I inch my way towards her so I can shoot her a crusty just as she pulls the phone out of her bag. And the she answers it. What the fuck? She thinks she is whispering. “Hello?,” she says all scrunched down in her seat like it makes a difference. “Oh hi there. How are you? Uh huh…uh huh…oooh, okay…well, alright. Listen, I’ve gotta go, I’m at a show… I’m seeing a show. A show.” She finally hangs up.

Seriously? This place only hold about 100 people and it’s really small. She was about twelve feet away from the stage and she thought it was alright to have a freaking telephone conversation? I handed her the five dollar bottle of water and gave her a mental cunt punch. The show ended without incident, but I can see that this job will have its own idiosyncrasies for me to get used to. Like bitches who use their phone while I’m trying to serve drinks and someone else is trying to sing.


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