Yearly Archives: 2013

Best Olive Garden Complaint Letter Ever

Best Complaint Letter Ever.

Best Complaint Letter Ever.

Anyone who works with the public and deals with customer service has probably heard a complaint about themselves at one time or another. It is a fact of life that no matter how you do your job, someone will be dissatisfied with your effort. Complaint letters are a dime a dozen but every once in a while, one makes its presence known that is too good to not share with others. Thank you to the anonymous soul who sent me a copy of a letter that made its way to the manger at an Olive Garden. Some people have lots and lots of free time and with all that extra time to fill, they use it to create long-winded and poorly written complaint letters. ( I do the same exact thing but call it “blogging.”) This letter is hilarious and I feel it must dissected line by line, ignoring the non-use of subject/verb agreement, the lack of a consistent tense and overall bad grammar. I will only tackle the ideas of the letter and nothing else.

In the early lunch time hours my girlfriend and I ate at one of your restaurants. We do not know if this was written by a man or woman, but we do know that they ate in the “early lunch time hours,” which I presume to be somewhere between 11:42 and 11:57 AM. For the sake of this blog post, let’s assume the letter came from a man named Bob and they ate at 11:46.

I have to say that I am very disappointed in the way the waitress’s presented themselves for their jobs. Uh oh, poor Bob is disappointed.

Although the uniforms are pretty standard the problem rest in the area of their personal presentation they do have control, and responsibility, over. It’s been a while since I have been to an Olive Garden, but I assume their uniforms are the standard khaki or black pants with an Olive Garden shirt. Maybe Bob was hoping for something more akin to the Hooters uniform of short shorts and boobies but it seems that he is more upset with physical appearance than anything else.

Given the fact this type of job promotes a public image I am also very disappointed with the managements’ relaxed standard. Again, Bob is expressing his disappointment, this time with management for not making sure that the staff is living up to  expectations. So far, Bob seems reasonable, albeit a little petty.

A part from the uniforms it had look as though every single waitress just rolled out of bed, put their uniform on, and left for work without any personal care.  Now we can see that Bob is getting a little bit more specific. He is upset that “every single waitress” looks like crap on a cracker. He wants his servers to get up early and make sure they put lots of time into their personal appearance. After all, don’t we just know that Bob has an hour-long beauty regime every morning before he leaves his house? He buffs his greasy head 100 times with a Shamwow Towel and then he combs his soul patch with a brush he made himself out of an old broom and a razor. He uses a match to get rid of the extra hair that grows on his shoulders and he wears two layers of Spanx for men. It takes him a while, but he looks good when he leaves his house. Or at least as good as Bob can look.

Although makeup for the female staff might be more of a personal choice to them those who did apply makeup gave the appearance of application as if they were only applying makeup as if they did not care because it was a job requirement; Oh, I get it, they need makeup! Some didn’t wear any makeup at all and those who did looked like they put it on in the car on their way to work. Newsflash, Bob: they put it on in the car on their way to work.  I’m sure Olive Garden doesn’t have a requirement that they wear makeup. (Personal note: in 1990, I was wearing makeup at work to cover a big zit on my forehead. One of my customers called me out on it and I told them that the manager required me to wear it so that customers wouldn’t see my big zit when they were ordering nachos. Yeah, I lied to hide my vanity. Of course Bennigans’s didn’t make me wear makeup.)

However, the major problem I notice was the waitress’ hair appearance. I could see very obvious bumps, gaps, and snarls around the base of the head where the hair should have been brushed when being pulled back to be out in a ponytail or clip. Wait, is Bob a fucking hair stylist now? Is he really judging how well someone combed their fucking hair? Watching a marathon of Tabitha’s Salon Takeover does not make you an expert on hair. And what the fuck is a “snarl” anyway? Is that like a cowlick in a bad mood?

Also there were waitress’ who pulled their hair back into a ponytail where the start of the ponytail was coming out at an angle or more toward the side of the head. Oh, hell no! Now Bob is trying to put down the world-famous 1980’s side ponytail. There ain’t nothing wrong with a good ol’ side ponytail, Bob.

Fuck you, Bob. I can work a side ponytail.

Fuck you, Bob. I can work a side ponytail.

I have to say there was only about two of the female staff seemed like they looked in a mirror while doing their hair or before they left for work. Well, earlier he said something about “every single waitress” but now he is singling two of them out who may have looked in a mirror that morning. I bet all of them looked in the mirror before leaving for work and most of them had this to say when they saw their reflection: “Oh who fucking cares? It’s Olive Garden, who am I trying to impress? That loser Bob and his skank-ass girlfriend?”

Given the fact that your restaurant does not open until late in the morning I find the staff has very little, to no, reason not to spend, at the most, an extra two minutes to make sure the hair looks nice and professional. Now Bob thinks that he knows what time people should be getting up in the morning? What if the waitress closed the night before and she had a table that took the Never Ending Pasta Bowl too seriously? She was at work until 2:00 AM and then had to drive home, wind down, eat some dinner and catch up on Project Runway All-Stars all before having to get some sleep to open the damn Olive Garden again the next morning. Maybe those two minutes you think she should have used to make her hair look nice and professional were put to better use by pushing the fucking snooze button, Bob.

Also if this is the type of care they put into themselves I have to wonder what type of care they put into the customers and how they handle the customers food. Bob, it’s none of your business if those waitresses are putting care into themselves. In fact, it doesn’t matter what they put into themselves. That is a very personal thing. As for what they are putting into the customers, I hope, in your case, it’s a big cheese grater and I hope they are putting it right up your ass. Besides, the way a waitress wears her hair has nothing to do with how she handles your food.

Thank you for sending this letter to me, Anonymous. And thank you to Bob for writing this wonderful letter of complaint. I’m sure everyone at Olive Garden really took it to heart. I bet they all went home that night and practiced hair and makeup on one of those Barbie heads so that when they got to work the next day they all looked like they were about to step in front of a camera for Glamour Shots.

Please share this so that maybe someday “Bob” will see how seriously his letter was taken.

A Comment on Comments, the Trashed Hat Edition

A Comment on Comments

A Comment on Comments

Yowza. Whenever I post something onto the Bitchy Waiter Facebook, I never know what kind of response it will get. Sometimes I think everyone will love it and then it gets no response at all when other times I will post something that I think is funny and it all it does is piss people off and pull the trolls out from the bridge. Well, yesterday was the latter; the trolls put down their pimento cheese sandwiches, turned off the Matlock reruns and let their presence be known. I posted the picture below which told the story of a hat that was left in a restaurant and then thrown into the trash after the guest left no tip on an $80 check. Almost 1,500 people clicked the “like” button and many other folks commented on how they have done the same kind of thing to articles left behind by customers. Many of these articles would find their way to a lost and bin box in the manager’s office and then eventually land in the dumpster anyway. Not leaving a tip can really bring out the worst in a server, it seems. But those comments! Let’s look at a few, shall we?

  • Scooter says: completely and totally unprofessional. I would fire anyone who did this. Well, Scooter, I am pretty sure that this has happened in your restaurant too, but it’s probably not something you fucking knew about. Do you think any server is going to go tell their boss that they just exacted some delicious fucking revenge on a guest? No, I doubt it. So if you want to fire someone for inappropriate behavior, you kinda have to see it happen. Good luck with that.
  • George says: Not surprising you got stiffed. Obviously you deserved it. George is assuming that this happened to me. What George is forgetting, which is surprising because he’s clairvoyant, is that every day people send me dozens of photos. They just show up in my email and I decide which ones to use. Some of them I post and some of them I don’t. He also seems to think that the server got stiffed because he threw away the hat rather than the hat was thrown away because the server was stiffed. George, please pull your clairvoyant head out of the black hole you call an ass and stop trying to see the future and just see what’s in front of your face.
  • Joe says: I have seen drivers licenses and credit cards thrown away. Also saw a 64gb iPod touch go through the dish tank before it went to the lost and found. This tells me that this situation is not unheard of. It also tells me that some servers get really mad when they get stiffed. It’s one thing to toss a gross $1.99 polyester hat into a trash can and quite another to run an iPod touch through a dishwasher. Either way, maybe you should just tip your fucking server, you think?
  • Bill says: So petty. Maybe this page should be called Entitled Waiter. If you guys weren’t so entitled and didn’t have the mentality petty 8-year-olds, people might trust you with something more than just fetching food. None of you are entitled to customers’ money. You walk plates to tables, you don’t cure cancer. Bill can eat a bag of caramel covered dicks. Actually, since it’s the holidays, maybe I should just hang piece of fucking mistletoe over my butt so he can kiss my white ass.
  • Wendy says: Years ago a couple stiffed me on a $100 check but left their car keys on the table — we had a trash compactor– yep!! See, it happens. Just tip, bitches.
  • Stephen says: Who cares about an $80 check? that’s like 1.5 heads. lol NEXT. I don’t know what this means and it kinda scares me. Does Stephen know the cost of heads? Does he go to some weird grocery store where heads cost $53.33 each and $80 will buy him exactly one and half of them? I don’t get this.
  • Chad says: Probably a white waiter and the hat belonged to a black man. This customer was obviously a black man and the white waiter wanted to “exact revenge” on them for not leaving a tip for an outrageously priced check. There is a lot of assumption in this comment. A lot. Why is it obvious that the hat belonged to a black man? Is Chad saying that only black men wear dark knit hats? That sounds racist to me, Chad. We also do not know that the waiter was white. And how does he know the check was outrageously priced? None of us saw an itemized bill so it could have been for a party of twenty which would mean that the bill was actually very inexpensive. Chad, I don’t know you, but if you can jump to conclusions then so can I and I jump to this one: you’re a fucking idiot.
  • Monte says: I suggest that for the next 5 years, this page be re-named ‘Whiny Cunts Who Wait on Tables and Bitch like retarded Five Year Olds’? Sorry, Monte, but Bill has already suggested that the page be renamed Entitled Waiter. Besides, a Facebook page with the words “cunt” and “retarded” in the title can be really offensive to some people and I wouldn’t want that, you retarded cunt, you.
  • Danny says: to me it just makes you a shitty server if dealing with people pisses you off to the point you damage their belongings you should prob do something behind the scenes. its prob why most of you are middle aged and still doing the same job you were at 16 though just a thought. Yeah, the person who can’t deal with people should do something behind the scenes, because in the kitchen is where nothing bad ever happens. It’s all butterflies and rainbows back there, Danny. And for your information, I do not have the same job I had when i was 16 years old. When I was 16, I was a busboy and dishwasher. My career has room for growth, sir, and now I am a waiter.
The truth ain't pretty

The truth ain’t pretty

Thank you to everyone who posted a comment. I read every single one of them while I was at work last night. It was a rather slow night at the restaurant and reading your comments is what got me through the night. Well, that and the beer tasting we had.

Worlds’s Most Desperate Blogger (and It’s Not Me)


Desperate blogger, Sarah Lockard

I call myself a blogger and I am the first one to admit that I shamelessly promote myself almost to the point of nausea. It’s not easy being a D-List blogger and craving to be on the C-List. This week, another D-List blogger stooped even lower than I ever have (not really) and did something that I have never thought of doing. I don’t know if she makes me sick with her self-serving needs or if I have a severe case of the envy’s since I didn’t think of it first.

A woman named Sarah Lockhard (see photo) runs a website called which has its own Facebook page with 5,074 followers and Twitter account with 9,600 followers. This week, Sarah decided that rather than cook her own Christmas Eve dinner or go out and pay for one with her own money, she would send out an email to Philadelphia restaurants and give them the chance to host her family for dinner in exchange for some really awesome perks. Here is the email she sent out:

From: Sarah Lockard
Date: December 9, 2013 at 9:17:32 PM EST
To: undisclosed-recipients:;
Subject: Host the Awesome Lockards on Christmas Eve!

Good Evening!!!

Every Christmas Eve my family enjoys an amazing night dining out and this year I am offering you the exciting opportunity to be our restaurant that hosts us!

The host restaurant will receive approximately $1,000 in PR with AML:

1) 2 Facebook posts on AML’s Facebook page promoting t (sic)

2) 5 instagram photos during the dining experience

3) 2 AML enewsletter (sic) ads in Jan and Feb 2014 (reaches over 3,000 unique individuals)

4) listed in our Christmas Eve dining guide published Dec 10th, 2013 on AML.

We are asking for the following in turn:

Dinner for 5 drinks and food compensated, we will tip according to the value to the server.

This is a VERY innovative and effective way to promote your restaurant on this very competitive evening and reach tens of thousands of local foodies through AML’s channels.

Please note this is first come, first serve.

I am excited to hear from you!

Be THE top restaurant we recommend this Christmas Eve to our HUGE audience!!!!

Your friend,

So let me get this straight. Sarah thinks that her massive audience of social media followers is enough to influence restaurant owners to give her and her family of five free dinner and drinks on Christmas Eve when chances are pretty good that every restaurant open on Christmas Eve will already be packed? She claims it’s approximately $1000 worth of free PR, but I don’t see how that adds up.

  • Two posts on her Facebook page of over 5000 people but only has 63 people “talking about it.” That means that no one gives a shit about your Facebook page, Sarah. Worth: $10.
  • Five Instagram photos as they eat, like anyone wants to see some amateur food porn of a slice of ham covered in gravy. If anyone wants to see that, they can go look at Kim Kardashian’s Instagram and admire any one of her endless selfies. Worth: $5.00
  • Two ads in her “enewsletter” which is probably an email that goes right into a spam folder. Worth: $2.00.
  • Listed in her Christmas Eve dining guide to be published December 10th, 2013 on her website but if it was going to be listed on December 10th and she sent the email out on December 9th at 9:17 PM, I hope those restaurants snapped up their golden opportunity. Worth: -$17.00.

Grand total of worth: ZERO.

I just love how she refers to her family as “awesome” like that will make restaurant owners want to pour free booze down their awesome throats. And her use of exclamation points makes my eyes hurt!! At least she mentions the tip, but it’s a bit vague, don’t you think? I don’t know what tipping “according to the value to the server” even means, but I have a feeling it’s not good. Since the whole thing was a first come, first serve chance, who knows who the lucky winner was. According to reports, she has not responded to comments and I can’t imagine that anyone took her up on the offer.

However, if they did, please read following:

Hey, my name is Bitchy Waiter and I want your restaurant to host me for a Christmas Eve cocktail. All you have to do is pour me drinks until I am sufficiently buzzed and in that perfect place between a happy drunk and a mean one. In exchange for the cocktails, I will drunk-live-Tweet about it and then put  a picture of myself on my Facebook page trying to hold in a burp after my seventh margarita. I’m not awesome, but my hair is!!! I will not put any ads up on my page because I don’t really know how to do that but I do promise to not throw up in your bathroom. First come, first serve but I’m not limited to just one restaurant. I can go to however many are are willing to supply me with drinks. (The later in the evening it goes, the less I am willing to stand behind that whole “I promise to not throw up in your bathroom” thing.)

I am excited to hear from you!

10 Things Your Restaurant Won’t Tell You? Whatever.

No shit.

No shit.

A special shout out to ABC News for writing an article called “10 Things Your Restaurant Won’t Tell You” which could also be called “Ten Things We Pulled Out of Our Asses Since We Don’t Work in Restaurants.” It’s the same old tired shit that people write about the service industry and I feel it’s my duty to respond. They broke the points down into three different categories and I would like to dissect each of them:

The surprising:

The second-cheapest bottle of wine is marked up the most: This may or may not be true since I have never had the opportunity to set the prices on the menu. If it is true, I have to say it’s pretty fucking genius because I know lots of people order the second least expensive bottle of wine so they don’t look like cheap ass. Good job, restaurants.

Wait times are made up: Of course we make it up because how else are we supposed to know what time that bitch at Table 9 is going to finally take the last bite of her salmon that she’s been making love to for the last forty-five minutes? We tell customers it will be “about 15-20 minutes” because we are making a guess based on previous experience. We aren’t psychic  and that Magic 8 Ball has a crappy track record. “Oh, Magic 8 Ball, is that lady at Table 9 ever going to be finished?” “Ask Again Later.”

Restaurants re-use your half-drank bottle of wine: In my 75 years of restaurant experience, I have never seen this happen. So they’re saying if a customer is going to leave a half bottle of wine that we will serve it by the glass the next day? No way. Maybe I’m wrong, but that just does not happen. Then again at the places I work, I don’t have enough room in my reach-in for a half-empty box of wine. At least in New York State, customers are allowed to carry it out with them if the bottle is corked and in a bag but I’d be really surprised if any restaurant owner took that bottle back to the bar and started to sell it again. If anything, the server will drink it, but even that is unlikely unless your name is Bus Tub Connie and you’re cool with eating and drinking the leftovers of customers.

The not-so-surprising:

Your server is probably lying to you: True. Depending on what we’re talking about, we might be. I worked once for a fancy as fuck celebrity chef-owned place that was peppered with famous people. One night we had a white truffle pizza as an appetizer that was $125. Every customer asked how it was and I told every single one it was the most delicious piece of pizza I have ever had the pleasure of putting in my mouth. Do you really think the kitchen made a few extra $125 pizzas for the staff to try? Of course they didn’t, so yeah, I lied. I also lie every time a customer asks me how I’m doing and I say “I’m good.” Other lies I have said at work: “My pleasure,” “I love working here,” and “The coffee is fresh.”

And your server knows when you’re lying to him: True. If you tell me that you come in all the time and you know the owner, I’m not going to believe you unless I see you in the restaurant all the time and you know the owner’s name. And don’t tell me you’re allergic to gluten as you stuff that fifth roll down your throat.

Homemade can be more like half-made: True. Anyone who eats at a chain restaurant and believes that Grandma’s Chicken Pot Pie was actually made by a grandma is an idiot. It came from Costco or Sysco and was thawed out by Miguel who then peeled it out of it’s aluminum tray and placed it lovingly on a plate that was garnished with a sprig of parsley to give it that “fresh from the garden” look. Fresh from the walk-in is more like it.

Your lemon water is kind of dirty: Duh.

The obvious:

Servers procrastinate, too: Basically, the article is saying that on slow nights we might not be as attentive to customers as the customers would like because we are doing other things like side work or eating dessert. I don’t know how that makes us procrastinators but I do know that plenty of us are putting off getting another job, going back to school or figuring out what we want to do with our lives. So, yeah, I guess maybe we are procrastinators.

That coffee you ordered for an energy boost post-dinner is probably decaf: It’s a fact of restaurant life that at the end of a shift you want to start getting ready to go home and dumping the regular coffee is right up there with blowing out the candles and hiding the silverware that you’re too lazy to roll. I would never give someone regular who wants decaf, but if it’s the other way around who the fuck cares? Decaf is magic. Like I was in college, it goes both ways.

The menu is designed to make you spend more: News flash here, but restaurants are in the business of making money. So just like marking up the second cheapest wine bottle, they are going to design that menu to make the most expensive things sound and look the best. I’m glad this is under the “obvious” category but they should have just made a fourth category called “No Shit, Sherlock.”

Thanks for the words of wisdom, ABC News. Your crackerjack staff has really upped the ante on this breaking news story. Your Edward R. Murrow award is in the mail and I have filed the paperwork for your Pulitzer. They should both be there shortly. In the meantime, please allow me to pour you some fresh coffee and I will go slice you a piece of Aunt Betty Sue’s famous chocolate cake. It’s homemade, you know!


The Bitch Turns Five

I'm Five. Hurray.

I’m Five. Hurray.

Once upon a time, there was a little bitchy waiter who worked at a diner on the upper East Side on Third Avenue in New York City. Maybe, it was Second Avenue, he doesn’t remember. He worked there about four days a week with Bill and Lauren and Laura and it was good. They would sip mimosas during brunch and enjoy each other’s company. After each shift, the little waiter who was a bitch would put a frozen margarita into a plastic cup and ride the bus home back to Queens while copping a buzz.

One day, the waiter had a parent in his section who asked him to turn off the television because she didn’t allow her precious bundle of poop, boogers and ill manners to watch TV while they ate dinner. This parent did not care that there were other people watching a football game. She did not care that she was not at home. She did not care that the bitchy waiter did not care.

“I’m sorry, I can’t turn off the TV. It’s always on and there are a lot of people watching this game,” he told her.

The woman accepted his explanation, but when she left she decided to show her dissatisfaction in the form of a crappy tip. The waiter was very upset and went home to write a story about her and place it on the Internet. That night, he started a blog and called it The Bitchy Waiter. That day was December 8, 2008 and that waiter was me, bitches!

Today is the five year anniversary of this blog. When I wrote that first blog post, I sent it to a couple of friends thinking they would get a kick out of it. Well, that simple blog post has grown and grown and now look at where I am: at a different restaurant and still bitching about the same fucking shit that bothered me in 2008 and now dozens of people read this blog instead of four. I have come so far! (No. No, I haven’t…)

I just want to say thank you to everyone who spends any time reading the drivel that spews from my brain. Without you, there would be no blog and without this blog, I would probably have stuck a fork into a baby’s ass by now. This blog is therapeutic for me. That’s not to say, however, that I don’t worry that someday I may lose my cool and actually poke a baby in the ass with a fork. Until that day, please keep reading. I love reading comments so if you want to wish me a congratulations, please do so. You may also tell me any of the following:

  • Get a real job.
  • You’re an asshole.
  • Get over yourself.

Or you can just click the “like” button so I know that someone gives a shit, even if it’s just my mom. Thank you.

I’d Like to Propose a Toast

December 5, 1933

December 5, 1933

It’s a very important day in our country and one that is too often ignored. On this day in 1933, the government came to their senses and realized that they had made a horrible mistake thirteen years earlier by prohibiting the sale and distribution of alcohol. On this day, eighty years ago, Prohibition was repealed with the passing of the Twenty-First Amendment and people could go back to drinking Bloody Mary’s, Bahama Mamas and Cosmos. It’s kinda like my favorite day ever.

I was at dinner last night with a group of nine people who were invited to break bread with one of the higher-ups in the company I work for. Apparently, every other employee had a commitment and they got to the bottom of the barrel for employees to invite to the dinner and they scraped me up. So, there I am sitting next to the vice-president (or some shit…) of a multi-million dollar company and trying to think of things to talk about other than sidework and the lady who has yet to come back and pay her check from three weeks ago. We finally found common ground when the conversation turned to the Real Housewives of Wherever the Fuck. I was watching my language but my biggest fear of last night was that I would choke on my food and embarrass myself by having to have a waiter Heimlich me. When I was a senior in high school, I was a class officer and went to fancy dinner at Siesta Mexican Restaurant in Victoria, Texas. Sitting next to me was our principal who was also the mayor of the city. About halfway through the meal, I swallowed wrong and my food “went down the wrong pipe” and I ended up choking and gagging for air. I was mortified. Ever since then, I have had some kind of weird throat/gag reflex thing that sometimes makes me choke for no reason and I did not want it to happen last night while I was on my best behavior. I did not choke, but guess who did: the higher up vice-president lady. She choked on a piece of bread and was coughing and gagging. I could see that she was able to breathe so it wasn’t like I needed to help her, but in my head all I was thinking, “at least it ain’t me.” After that settled down, I saw my boss order a second glass of wine which was my cue to order a third.

When our drinks came out,a toast was made. It was too good friends, making new connections, relationships, a prosperous 2014, etc. As glasses were clinking and I was drinking, someone explained to me the origin of clinking glasses and I found it quite interesting.

Legend has it that people began clinking glasses when there was an intense fear of being poisoned. By clinking a glass and letting some of each drink spill into the other glass, you were letting that person know that you were not trying to poison them. For a second I wondered why my boss didn’t actually let his glass touch mine and thought he might be trying to poison me but then I figured he knew I was an impatient bitch and didn’t have any time to wait for no stinking clink before pouring the wine down my throat. Since someone was sharing interesting facts about drinking, I decided to remind everyone about the importance of December 5th.

“Well, you know that tomorrow is the 80th anniversary of being able to legally drink in this country, right? Woo hoo! Thank god they did away with Prohibition. I mean, what would be doing right now if liquor wasn’t legal? If I didn’t have two glasses of wine in me, I don’t know what the fuck I would be talking about right now, you know?”

I took a deep swig of my wine, giving thanks to the Twenty-First Amendment and when I looked around at the table, I saw a lot of polite stares that were telling me to shut the fuck up. So, I did.

But, I would like to propose a toast: thank you to the lawmakers who realized that alcohol was invented for a reason, the reason being to drink it. Thank you to those who wrote that amendment and gave us back the delicious nectar that so many of us end our day with and that some of us start it with. Happy anniversary, Twenty-First Amendment. You’re right up there in my top three favorite amendments ever.