Monthly Archives: September 2011

Bitchy Waiter on Dr. Phil, 9/12/11

Surely you all must know by now that a few weeks ago, I was jetted out to the City of Angels to be on an episode of Dr. Phil. They were doing a show called “Brat Ban” and asked me to come and stand behind my opinion about children being banned from certain restaurants. In my mind, they got wind of this blog post and liked my sense of humor and writing style. In truth, they probably reached out to every other waiter/blogger and I was the only one needy and ego-driven enough to appear. We all know that Dr. Phil was birthed from the loins of Oprah herself so being a guest on his show was as close as I would ever get to being on the Oprah show, so I latched on to the opportunity. Once the producers agreed to let me use a fake ass name and mention my blog at least once, I was even more excited about it. So I did it. The time has come for the episode to air.

Monday September 12 is the day. Check your local listings here.

A producer called me yesterday and said that it was last minute but it was happening. According to some press releases, September 12th is Dr. Phil’s 10th season premiere and he is supposed to be interviewing George and Cindy Anthony about a murder trial. Clearly, I need to have the channel on something other than HGTV and Food Network, because I didn’t know who they were. However, according to producers, Monday’s show will now be about bratty children instead, and that’s where I come in. So set your DVR’s and Tivo’s if you want to see the Bitchy Waiter make his first national television appearance. Yes, I was booed a couple of times but it was worth it to hear Dr. Phil actually refer to me as Bitchy Waiter. And no, I will not be wearing a bag over my head or have a pixelated blob over my face. Instead, I washed my hair, curled my eyelashes and ironed a shirt. I hope you will tune in. I did not feel a lot of love at that show. Apparently, the studio audience loved their children more than me but their “boos” and “hisses” filled my hollow heart with joy and I ate it up.

It was a great experience. The trip was fun, the hotel was nice and it makes for a great story. I met some other great people including blogger Jennifer who writes Perfectly Disheveled. It’s kind of a mommy blog but some of you might want to check her out.

Set those DVR’s, people. Monday September 12th on Dr. Phil, you will finally hear my nasal voice and see the bird’s nest I call my hair. Here is the preview from You Tube. And yes, that is me bitching about chicken fingers and peanut butter and jelly.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHi0OdQ7Pjg?rel=0]

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How To Treat Your Server

I hope you will enjoy this article that I wrote for wikiHow about how to treat a server in a restaurant. This article needs to be seen by the world. Share the hell out of it.

How to Treat Your Server in a Restaurant
from wikiHow – The How to Manual That You Can Edit

Everyone loves to eat out in a restaurant, but sometimes people forget how to treat that person who takes care of them while they are there. This article will let you know how your server wants and deserves to be treated.

Steps

  1. When your server approaches your table, give him your full attention. This means put down your stupid cell phone and take out your ear phones. Smile and wait for the server to speak to you first. He is in charge of this situation.
  2. The server will probably make some banal comment like, “How are you today?” Please know he does not really care, he is just trying to initiate some conversation so that he can develop a rapport with you. It is imperative that you respond to the server when he makes this conversation. If you simply say something like, “Gimme a water with a lemon” he will think you are rude.
  3. The server will announce the specials. Please try to pay attention to them so he doesn’t have to say them again in three minutes. After this dialogue, he will ask you what you would like to drink. If you don’t know yet and need more time, just say so. Don’t hem and haw while you make him stand there watching you strain your brain trying to decide if you want a Cosmopolitan or a Diet Coke. And do not say, “What do you have?” All restaurants have the same basic beverages; water, soda, juice, coffee and usually a bar. Figure it out.
  4. After your server has taken your drink order, this is the time for you to decide what you would like to eat. Use the menu. That is what it is for. When you know what you would like, it is best to close your menu and place it on the table. This is the signal to the waiter that you are ready to order. If you leave it open he will assume you are still looking it over and will not come to your table.
  5. When it comes time to place your food order, be audible and clear. Do not make the waiter try to decipher your mumbling. Do not point at something in the menu. Use your words. If there are children at the table, order for them. Do not say, “Tell the man what you want, sweetie.”
  6. Let the waiter decide who places their order first. He will usually start with the women and then go from there. He has a system. Do not let your whole table just yell out willy nilly what they want at the same time. This is rude and confusing and will make your serve irritated with your table. This is also the time to ask any questions you have about the food. Ten minutes later is not the time to inform him of your peanut allergy and you need to know if the Chinese Chicken Salad with Peanut Dressing has peanuts in it. it does.
  7. Your order has been placed and your beverages are at your table. Enjoy your conversation with your friends and/or family. Your food is coming. You do not need to call your waiter over to see if it’s done yet or to ask how much longer it will be. When it is ready, he will bring it to the table. Trust your server. He wants your food to get to you quickly just as much as you do. The sooner it comes out, the sooner you eat and the sooner he can turn the table over and make more money.
  8. When your food arrives, please make sure you have what you ordered. Do not eat half of the chicken club sandwich before you realize that you ordered a burger. When the food is placed, think for a moment about what else you may need during the course of the meal. Ketchup, mayo, fresh pepper, extra napkins, more soda, water refills? These are all things that you should ask your server for now. He can get them all in one trip instead of five of them. If you make him do that, he will grow to resent you.
  9. A good server will come back to your table in two minutes to “check back” on you to make sure everything is to your liking. This would be when you ask for your medium rare burger to be cooked more because it “has too much pink in it.” Or this would be the time to tell him that french fries are “ice cold” or that you need more salad dressing because the Caesar salad has “no dressing on it whatsoever.”
  10. When it is time for him to clear the plates, let him do it. Do not try to help him by stacking them. That does not help him. He has his own method for clearing plates so let him do his job. It’s nice that you want to help and all that, but don’t bother. Do not say something stupid like ‘Oh it was horrible” as he clears a plate that you obviously licked clean. It’s a tired joke that every waiter has heard a hundred million times and it’s never ever even a little bit funny at all.
  11. He will then offer you dessert and coffee. If you want it, have it. if you don’t, don’t. He doesn’t care either way.
  12. When he presents you with the check, pay it. Do not argue amongst yourselves about who owes whom or who paid the last time. Do not thrust several credit cards at him saying “No take this one!” He will take whichever one touches his hand first because he does not care who pays for the check as long as it gets paid. If you want separate checks, you should have told him that at the beginning. It is now your problem. Pull out your calculator and figure it out.
  13. Now is the time for you to compute your tip. 15-20% is expected. If you don’t think that tipping is something you should be responsible for then you should eat at McDonald’s or live in Europe. A good way to figure out the tip is to look at the tax and then double it. Or you can use one of those stupid smart phone apps if math is too complicated for you.
  14. As you leave, look around your table to make sure you didn’t leave any of your personal belongings. This is also a good time to see if your child left a pile of Cheerios or french fries on the floor. If you left more than a 20%, tip feel free to leave the mess. If you left 10% or less, then you need to get on your hands and knees and clean that mess up.

Tips

  • Always say “please” and “thank you.” It will make all the difference in the world.
  • If you have a problem with the food, alert your server but keep in mind that he didn’t cook it. All he did was punch some buttons on a computer and hoped that the cook would know the difference between “rare” and “well done.”
  • Remember that your server wants you to have a good time because the more you enjoy your meal, the better his tip will (should) be. He is not out to get you or make you wait longer for your food than the table next to you.
  • If you have children, please keep them at the table. The restaurant can be a dangerous place to let a child run freely. There may be a shard of glass on the floor or maybe a food runner who is carrying a tray of hot and heavy plates won’t see your child sitting in the aisle and playing with a toy.

Sources and Citations

Article provided by wikiHow, a wiki how-to m
anual. Please edit this article and find author credits at the original wikiHow article on How to Treat Your Server in a Restaurant. All content on wikiHow can be shared under a Creative Commons license.

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Get a Room, Love Birds

Lovers are very special people. They’re the luckiest people in the world. Love is a beautiful, wonderful, splendid thing, we all know that. If you are lucky enough to have found it, then please accept my sincere and heartfelt congratulations from the very bottom of my heart. However, I don’t want to see you tonsil diving with your lady lover while I am trying to take your order for calamari.

Two true romancers sat in my station last week and they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. It was obvious they were on a date in the beginnings of their relationship. At first I thought maybe it was first date because of the small talk I picked up while polishing silver next to their table. “So where did you grow up?” and “What do you do?” tells me they were trying to get to know each other. If it was a first date, then they must have met on pickaslut.com because she was all over him. After I cleared their plates, they put their elbows on the table and stared at each other. He looked into her eyes like they were pools of Nutella and he couldn’t wait to stick his banana in them. I watched as she put both of her hands on his face and rub it back and forth. I wondered if she knew that is not how you make a guy orgasm. Then he put his hands under the table and rested them on her knees. That old trick? Please. He did it like it was just a casual place to put his hands and they just happened to be a few inches from her Lady Bug. He knew he was in like Flynn when she put her hands on top of his and moved them closer to the Golden Ticket. Everyone in my station muttered a big “get a fucking room” as she laughed at one of his jokes and tossed her hair back. It’s like they both took Flirting 101 at the Learning Annex and this was their final exam. Just go down on each other already.

I wasn’t surprised they didn’t want any dessert because everyone in that restaurant knew what was for dessert and it wasn’t going to be a Vanilla Beam Creme Brulee, that’s for sure. I printed out their check and the total was $68.59, which when rounded up is a the number of love. How appropriate for this couple who were sexually assaulting each other in public. They threw money down and left in a flash, presumably to one of their apartments, the La Quinta down the street, or the bed bug infested mattress that was wrapped in plastic and discarded across the street. I have a feeling they were not choosy. Or picky. What is the word I am looking for to describe these two…horny, that’s it.

I carefully approached their table to clear it, making sure there were no errant bodily fluids that may have prematurely made an appearance. Everything seemed fine. About fifteen minutes later, the restaurant shook when a loud boom of thunder and lightening shot across the sky. Or a least, we assumed it was thunder and lightening. It’s possible that our lovebirds finally made the ultimate connection that they had started at the most romantic place on earth: table 11.

Another Annoying Kid Story

Every time a child does something in my station that melts my heart a little bit, leave it to another child who will be a raging asshole and turn my heart harder than Paula Deen’s arteries. Honestly, I don’t hate the kids, it’s their parents that I want to beat in the face with a pillowcase filled with salt and pepper shakers. Four top and one child. They roll in with the stroller and head right for the best booth in the restaurant; you know, the one next to the patio so they can park that fucking stroller right next to the door so that I have to walk around it every single time I need to go outside to tables 21 to 28. Real convenient. I watched them settle in and was surprised to see that they realized that the stroller was in the way, so they moved it to in front of the bathroom door. Yeah, that’s better. The four adults sat down, but left the baby in the stroller over by the bathroom. I could understand if it was asleep, but this kid was full on awake and looking around like, “Why the fuck y’all bitches got me parked over here by the mother fucking toilet, yo?” I approached the table and quickly recognized an accent that told me they were from Europe; French or Danish or something. I remembered a news event from a several years ago where a couple from Denmark got into some hot water for leaving their baby in a stroller on the sidewalk while they ate inside at a Dallas BBQ restaurant. It was a cultural difference but the mother ended up suing the city and blah blah blah. I think the real crime in that situation was that someone was actually eating at Dallas BBQ’s. That should be a life sentence of irritable bowel syndrome with no chance of parole.

After a few minutes, little Cherry Danish got tired of listening to people dropping their kids off at the pool and started hollering to get out of the stroller. They brought her over to the high chair I had lovingly placed at the head of the table and they started to order something for her to eat. “Do the home fries have peppers in them?” they asked. I let them know that they did in fact have some diced red peppers in them but they weren’t too spicy. “Do they have salt?” was their next question. Of course they have salt. It’s a freakin’ potato. A potato without salt is like a margarita without tequila-why the fuck bother? “Oh, can you make a batch with no salt?” What do you think? It’s not like we make the home fries per order. They are made in advance and get thrown onto the plate. Hell, no we can’t go make a new batch just so you can have a sodium-free Cherry Danish. I told them it was impossible but I could make sure they didn’t add any additional salt to the order and they were satisfied.

Two minutes later, I see Cherry Danish wandering around the back of the restaurant while her parents and friends were oblivious to various servers and a bus boy dodging her. If they weren’t careful, Cherry Danish was going to get turned into crumb cake. After a couple of near misses, the dad finally got up to hold her. He walked her around the restaurant and took her to the patio to look at the plants. Once outside though, he quit paying attention and before I knew it she was standing in front of the patio door just waiting for someone to open it and send her flying onto the cobblestone sidewalk. What is with these parents? Maybe they were from Amsterdam and totally baked but it just seemed like they had no clue that their kid was in the way and possibly going to get hurt.

I rushed their food out to them so they could hurry up and eat and move on. The little girl sat in her high chair and was pretty good for the rest of the service with the exception of a few blood-curdling screams and an annoying habit of banging a spoon on the table while her parents laughed at how adorable it was. When they left, I went to see the damage under the table and found a good portion of the home fries on the floor underneath the high chair. I swept them up and gave thanks this brunch shift was coming to an end. It’s rare that I work the brunch shift and it was a good reminder of why I don’t like to do it. Too many kids, not a high enough check averages and being at work at 10:30 is too damn early. I punched out and went home feeling relived that it was over but I couldn’t shake the feeling that a Cherry Danish would be better if it was toasted in the oven first and then left in Denmark.

Non-Smokers Have Rights Too

I don’t smoke cigarettes. Never have, never will. Growing up, my dad always smoked and it was the first thing I would smell in the morning when my alarm would go off, his cigarette smoke as he sat in the kitchen reading the newspaper, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. Nowadays, he would never consider smoking inside the house but back then no one seemed to think much about it. It was sorta the way that we thought it was perfectly fine to sunbathe with baby oil and throw litter outside our car windows as we drove down the highway. Ah, it was a simple world back then. Over the years, I have been in a couple of plays that required me to smoke cigarettes but it was always so disgusting that it never made me want to consider continuing the habit after closing night. Nope, cigarettes are not something I ever wanted to take up until last last night when I noticed that the bartender got to take four or five cigarette breaks during the course of our five hour shift while I was stuck inside working.

Surely I am not the only one who notices this reverse discrimination. Yes, smokers have been delegated to one square foot where they are allowed to puff and it has to be so many feet from the building entrance and then they are not allowed to throw their butts on the ground, (Speaking of butts…) but they do get to leave their jobs several times a day to do it. It’s not fair for those of us with clean lungs, longer life expectancy and more spending money. Observe:

Smoker: Hey boss, I’m gonna go out to the sidewalk and have a quick cigarette break for a few minutes and I’ll be right back, okay?

Boss: Okay.



Non-smoker:
Hey boss, I’m gonna go out to the sidewalk for a few minutes and I’ll be right back, okay?

Boss: Are you gonna smoke a cigarette?

Non-smoker: No, I don’t smoke so I’m just gonna pace back and forth.

Boss: Get your ass back to work.

You know it’s true. Smokers have this unspoken permission to run out for a quick smoke break any time they want and while they’re out there they get to other things that we non-smokers are not allowed to do at our jobs like talk on the phone or look at a magazine. Man.smokers have all the fun. Maybe people allow them to do it because they feel sorry for the chain of addiction that is wrapped around the smoker’s lungs and they know that for every cigarette they smoke that person is losing eleven minutes of their lives. But I want my four or five mini breaks a day, goddamn it. I knew this guy once who was from Hungary. He told me that every man there had to serve in the army as a teenager and he soon realized that the smokers in the army got several sanctioned breaks throughout the day. So what did he do? He bought a pack of cigarettes and started to smoke. Actually, he would simply light a cigarette and hold it just to get away from whatever the others were doing. It was the army in Hungary so who the hell knows what that was. Push ups? Breaking rocks? Eating goulash? The point is that even in the Hungarian army, smokers got to take breaks that non-smokers didn’t.

It’s time that we non-smokers stood up for our rights! The next time you are at work and you see one of your filthy addicted co-workers going out to suck on a cancer stick for five minutes, I say go with them. (Do not stand too close to them though because you don’t want any of that nasty ass second-hand smoke to get into your beautiful pure lungs.) If a person goes out to smoke once an hour during a five hour shift, that totals about twenty-five minutes of free time they get that non-smokers don’t. Never mind that by smoking five cigarettes they have shaved off almost an hour of their life, we are talking about short term benefits here. We deserve those cigarette breaks too and we don’t have to smoke to get ’em. Starting tomorrow, any time someone goes out for a “quick puff,” I’m going too. I’m going to buy me some of those candy cigarettes though because smoking is not cool. I just want to be lazy.

Does anyone else see this happen at their job? I want to know. I also want you to CLICK HERE to vote to get me on a billboard in Times Square. Easy with no sign up or registration. Just a click.

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Asshole in Times Square



In my never-ending attempt to gain fame, fortune and a new pair of shoes that don’t come from Payless, I have come across a new contest that could help satisfy my craving for attention. About Me is a new website that lets us do more of the same shit we all do on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, You Tube, Tumblr, Flickr, Vimeo, WordPress, Blogger and Friendster: promote ourselves. However, About Me is having a contest to choose someone to be on a billboard in Times Square and of course I want to win it.

Believe it or not (I’m walking on air) it would not be the first time I have been on a billboard in Times Square. I speak the truth. About four years ago, I came across an add on Craigslist that was looking for people who were willing to have their butts photographed for an ad campaign for a new toilet. I submitted for it and was called in to do a test shoot for a hundred bucks. I thought it would be totally weird and creepy but it ended up being just a little bit weird and creepy. At the studio were two women and two men who were going to shoot my ass. They gave me a robe and pointed to a little room where I was to go change. Once undressed, I was escorted to the camera area. They had arranged it so that there was cardboard surrounding every thing except where my butt would be seen and they told me whenever I was ready, I could disrobe. “Am I really doing this? Is this crazy? Is this going to end up on a website for people obsessed with average asses?” I dropped the robe and mentally prepared. The photographer gave me two pieces of direction; bring your legs a little closer together and don’t clench. “Great,” I thought. “That was his way of saying I can see your balls and you look like you’re holding in a fart.” I did as I was told and three minutes later we were done. I looked at the shots and I was pleasantly surprised that my ass looked kinda nice. I’d never seen a picture of it. They paid me with five crisp twenty dollar bills and told me they would let me know if they would be using the image.

Three weeks later, the call came that I never expected to get. They picked my butt. I would be paid an additional $500 and my ass, along with a few other average assholes, would be on a website for Toto Washlet and also a print campaign. See the picture above? Yep, I am number three, five and six. The print campaign tuned out to be a Times Square billboard. Yes, my ass was in Times Square but not without controversy. The billboard was directly over a church who believed it was inappropriate. They took the matter to court to have it removed and it ended up in the news a lot. My butt was famous. Eventually, a big black bar was painted over the asses in the ad, but there is still evidence of what it looked like before the censorship. Click here to see the ad in Times Square. That’s mine on the corner with the blue background. Famous, my ass.

But now I want to be on a Times Square Billboard again but not naked. If you click here, you can then vote for my profile to move me into the twenty finalists. Is it ridiculous and self-serving and altogether silly? Yes. Yes, it is. And I thank you for understanding. It’s simple. One click, no registration. Click here and vote. Thanks.



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