It has been way too long since I have just let loose on some annoying ass bitch of a woman who sat in my station. Enough with the Dear Bitchy Waiter, Frazzled Stay at Home Mom and Ricki Lake stories, already. I need to vent about this lady last night who crawled up my ass and gave me a severe case of pruritus ani.
The show I was working was pretty much sold out, so we were crazy busy. I had a five top of women in their sixties who all seemed pleasant enough with the exception of the one bitch on the end who must have not been laid since the repeal of prohibition. She was so tightly wound that her face was all scrunched up in a permanent scowl with lips pursed and brow furrowed. At the end of the night, they gave me three credit cards and wanted $62 put on one of them and then the balance divided among the other two. No problem. I took them to the computer and divided it up but in my haste, I made an error in division which made the two cards have unequal amounts on them. I didn’t understand why but I returned them to the table. At first, I thought that it had not balanced out because sometimes people ask me to put a certain amount on three cards but they have included the tips in that total and then the computer won’t let me initially charge more than the original total. So I was trying to explain this to them, but they didn’t get. Not only because it’s a confusing situation to explain, but because that was not what they had done and I had just made an error, still unbeknownst to me. I told them I would be right back to explain it after I dropped off some other checks. It was then that I figured out what I had done. Tightly wound up bitch was getting all bent out of shape and steam started to shoot out of her ear holes. I ran back to the table and admitted my mistake. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I figured it out. I just put in the wrong total and it’s totally my fault. The credit receipts have not been finalized so just tear them up, I will void them from the computer and if you give me your cards again, I will run them correctly.” I was completely honest about it being my fuck up and it wasn’t even that big a deal, but ol’ Bitch Face was like, “What? Now, I have to give you my card again? Why, why why? I already gave it to you!” One of her friends tried to calm her down by telling her to chill out. I thought she should try rubbing her nose like they do a horse when it’s stressed out. I figured since she had a horse face, why not?
I got back to their table about a whole two minutes later, but Horse Face acted like I had traveled through three different time zones. As soon as I got back to the table she whinnied at me that she needed to leave. It must have been time for her feeding and there was a pile of hay somewhere with her name on it. “Okay,” I responded. I just need you to sign the slip.” She shook her tail to swat at a fly that wasn’t there and said “I really need to go.” A friend of hers explained that I needed her to sign again before she galloped off but she protested “why, why, why?” I had had it. I went up to her long face and said:
Did I ruin your night? Did I just ruin your night? Did you just sit through an hour and a half show with an amazing performer, have a wonderful time and then I made a simple error on your credit card that I fixed and now you’re going to let that ruin your whole evening? Don’t let this ruin your night. Just sign the receipt and everything will be fine.
Her four friends backed me up by saying:
“Yeah, it’s okay Seabiscuit.”
“Relax, Black Beauty.”
“What’s the big deal, Secretariat?”
“Take a chill pill, you horse faced bitch of a whore. I hate going out with you. You’re such a pain in my ass. Tell your jockey to ride your ass home and then eat a carrot and a sugar cube and shut the hell up.” (I may have paraphrased a bit…)
Horse face eked out a half smile because I had made her realize what a petty fucking bitch she was being and if she continued to act like she had a riding crop up her ass, then she would look like an even bigger horsey bitch. She smiled, and said, “No, you didn’t ruin my night.” I smiled back (except mine was fake) and lied that I was glad that her night wasn’t ruined. I jabbed the spur of my cowboy boot into her side and she shook her head and trotted off towards the exit. As her friends followed behind her, they each gave me a look of apology with a glint of gratitude for putting up with their friend Flicka.
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