Yearly Archives: 2015

The Correct Way to Open Champagne

partyingI hope you have your champagne chilling because in just a few hours it will be time to obligatorily take a sip of it and then kiss who ever you are dating, married to or just happen to be standing next to at midnight. So many people love the taste of champagne but only have it on special occasions. I say fuck that. Have it whenever you want it. One time I made hamburgers for dinner and served it with a bottle of fine sparkling wine. It really complimented the Costco meat patties, Miracle Whip and American cheese, not to mention how wonderfully it paired with the tater tots.

Opening a bottle of champagne takes a bit of practice so I thought I would share with you my immense experience of opening them. And before you think I am a total alcoholic (I am), this experience comes from six years as a brunch server where I opened about twenty bottles a day. Most people think that successfully opening bottle of champagne means it spews out all over the place in a premature ejaculation kind of way. Not cool. Or you could do it the fancy way with a sword but why risk cutting off a finger?

Here is the right way to open a bottle of champagne:

  1. Take off that foil crap that is all around the cork. Use your teeth if you have to.
  2. Now you want to remove that wire cage thing. You have to put your thumb over the cork in case the pressure has built up and it’s ready to pop. Unless you shook the bottle too much, it’s probably fine. Just don’t point the bottle at your nether regions or eyes. Twist the wire counter-clockwise six half rotations and then take it off. Or leave it on. Whatever.
  3. Now you can put a towel over it in prep to remove the cork. I don’t do that though because I’m a pro. Grip the cork and now start twisting the bottle. Not the cork. The bottle. Kinda pull it at the same time and you should feel it start to loosen and rise from the bottle.
  4. Keep control of the cork even though it’s totally tempting to shoot that bitch at somebody. Don’t do it. It really brings down a party when someone actually loses an eye. You want to let it release with a soft “poofy” noise like the sound a fart makes when you think it’s going to be silent, but it’s not. You don’t want that loud pop.
  5. It’s open. Pour that baby into a beer bong and go to town.

The movies always show people popping the cork and then laughing as the champagne spills all over the place. What they don’t show is what a pain in the ass it is to clean up all that champagne. They also don’t show me sitting in the corner at the end of the night all pissed off because we are out of champagne because half of it is on the fucking floor.

Happy New Year!!

Who Spends $400 for Olive Garden on New Year’s Eve??

2588280655_c27bb327a3In case you don’t know what to do for your big New Year’s Eve celebration, I have found the answer. Forget about house parties or getting dressed up to go to the fanciest club in town. Don’t bother going to wait in the cold in Times Square to see the ball drop with all the other peons. This year, pull out your Platinum American Express and buy a couple of passes to be at Olive Garden in Times Square! There, you can have all the breadsticks you need to keep you warm and you can ride into 2016 on a wave of Alfredo sauce. It will only set you back $400 per person. That may seem crazy, but when you realize that you even get an partially obstructed view of the ball dropping, it suddenly seems worth it, doesn’t it? Yes, this is for real. I can’t imagine why anyone wants to be anywhere near the hell that is Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Having lived her for 22 years, I don’t know one person who would do it. The only time I have been there was when I was waiting tables at Houlihan’s on 49th and Seventh and got to see the shit storm up close and personal. No, it’s literally a shit storm because there is no place to pee and poop.

Wanting to know what kind of person would spend $400 to be at Times Square Olive Garden, I reached out to the company (no, I didn’t) to see if I could interview one of the “lucky” people who will be there. They gave me the name of a customer (no, they didn’t) and I interviewed him to try to understand what is going on his his Chicken Scampi for brains head. His name is Tyrone Washington and this is what he had to say:

Bitchy Waiter: Thank you for answering my questions, Tyrone. Where are you from?

Tyrone Washington: I’m from a little town in Ohio called Orwell and we don’t have an Olive Garden there. The closest one is in Cleveland about 55 miles west, so I don’t get to go there very often. In fact, I just tell people I’m from Cleveland because it makes people think I’m upscale.

BW: Have you been to New York City before? What all are you going to do here?

TW: This is my first time here so I’m gonna do all the usual stuff, you know. Go to the Empire State Building, ride the horse and carriage through Central Park, look for famous people. Heck, I dunno. I’m just so gosh darned excited to be here, I don’t care what I do.

BW: What makes you want to spend $400 to be at Olive Garden on New Year’s Eve? That seems like a lot of money for Olive Garden.

TW: To be honest with ya, I would have paid twice that. It’s Olive Garden! In Times Square! On New Year’s Eve. Come on, it does not get more perfect than that.

BW: Will you be with any friends or a special someone that night?

TW: Nope, just me. I don’t have a girlfriend yet so I just treat myself. I figure my right hand is basically my girlfriend, if you know what I mean, so I may as well treat it to some breadstick pepperoni pizza! Woo hoo!!

BW: Okay, are you telling me you masturbate a lot?

TW: Yes. All the time. Like, as soon as we are done talking I’m going to start again.

BW: Umm, okay. Do you know that you won’t really be able to see the ball drop from the Olive Garden? The view is obstructed. Is that alright with you?

TW: It’s fine with me. As long as I can eat all the pasta I want and get some fancy wine or something, I’m good.

BW: And what do you hope to be doing at midnight?

TW: My goal is to be in the bathroom with just me, my right hand and some Chicken Carbonara so I can ring in 2016 just like I do every new year: sad, alone and choking my chicken. The only difference this year is that I will be choking Chicken Carbonara!!

BW: Any resolutions for 2016, Tyrone?

TW: Yes. To finally move out of my mom’s basement, to get a promotion at Radio Shack and to find a girlfriend who loves Olive Garden as much as I do. No offense to my right hand, but I’m tired of masturbating all the time.

BW: Well, thanks for taking the time to speak with me, Tyrone. Happy New Year.

TW: You too. Thanks!

And there you have it folks. A 100% real and not made up interview with someone who has spent $400 to be at Olive Garden in Times Square on New Years’ Eve.

This Might be the Worst Customer of 2015

Screen Shot 2015-12-28 at 4.37.36 PMAs 2015 gasps for its last wheezing breath, we have one more entry for Asshole Customer of the Year. We don’t have a lot of details about it, but thankfully, we do have video and isn’t that all we really need? It happened at a Denny’s in an unknown town but it matters not since whenever you walk into Denny’s it feels exactly the same no matter what part of the country you’re in. The video is all kinds of excellent.

Here is the breakdown: some (alleged) skanky, drunk, gutter whore is cursing too loudly which offends another guest who then asks the waitress to ask the manager to ask them to simmer down. It all goes downhill from there resulting in broken glass, name-calling, racial tension, the cops being called and the exposing of a super classy tramp stamp.

 

I have watched the video about 100 times and want to discuss some of my favorite bits, second by second:

0:01 The offended customer tells the manager that her husband is black and she does appreciate the apparent use of the “n-word” coming from the table beside her.

0:14 When the manager goes tot he wrong table, both the customer and her waitress signal for him to go to the table closer to them. This is the first chance we see the waitress getting really into it.

0:22 Our drunk superstar expresses her need for more marinara, specifically asking for “at least three” because we know this chick is one of those customers who wants everything they can get that they don’t have to pay for. In the background, we hear the waitress saying she will get it because she really wants to be a part of this thing.

0:28 A moment of total professionalism from the manager.

0:40 This is the moment that her date realizes he is hooking up with one fucked up chick. She claims that her heritage lets her say whatever the fuck she wants.

0:55 The waitress returns with two marinaras which is exactly the reason why she will be getting a shitty tip since they asked for at least three.

0:59 We now learn that this girl is black since her mother is half black and her grandfather is black. This, she says, is what allows her to say whatever the fuck she wants. She cares not for forty acres and/or a mule. She is more focused on being able to spew profanity at a Denny’s.

1:07 The waitress is again all into it; we can see her hand waving and her head shaking. This girls wants to be a part of this so bad. This is also when they are told to leave.

1:15 Poring water onto the table is fun, but the waitress takes the glasses away right quick because she is a part of this!

1:26 Shattered glass is fun! And our waitress makes the best decision of the night by saying, “we need to call the cops.”

1:37 Now we see how drunk this girl really is. She probably had far too many kamikaze shots or buttery nipples because when she stands up, she can barely do it.

1:41 We learn her name is Ashley (of course it is…) and we also see her boyfriend begging then to not call the cops. It is also the moment that he begins to mentally practice his breakup speech.

1:43 Bitch eats the floor and when she gets up up we can see, in all its glory, the beauty of her tramp stamp.

1:55 Our waitress crosses her arms and stands guard in front of her customer. She is the hero of the day, y’all. She cares about her customers and is not scared to put her own life on the line.

2:05 One last pearl of wisdom from the drunk, pancake eating, slime bag when she slurs out, “Bitch, fuck you. You need to fucking grow up.”

2:19 We see one of her friends attempting to apologize to the manager. We can’t hear what he says, but it’s probably something like, “She says she’s black, but we totally don’t want her.”

Thank you, Ashley, for starring in such a perfect video. Your parents must be so proud.

 

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This Elf on the Shelf Knows What You Are Doing at Work

elf-on-the-shelf-e1384447891694Hey, everybody. My name is Spunk and I’m am Elf on the Shelf. You’re probably thinking that Spunk is short for Spunky since I’m so full of energy and such a go-getter. Well, you’d be wrong. They call me Spunk because when I was in college at the North Pole (actually, it was just a vocational school where they taught us to make Jack in the Boxes) I got really drunk one night on mulled wine and ended up on the receiving end of a reindeer train, if you know what I mean. From that moment on, Rudolph and Blitzen called me Spunk. It’s short for Spunk All Over My Face. They’re assholes. Anyhoo, most of you probably know me from sitting around on various shelves being all creepy and shit as I spy on children to report to Santa. It’s not the best job, but I wasn’t good at making toys and the only other job I was qualified for was a Reindeer Handler and after that night with Rudolph, I never want to handle another reindeer for as long as I live. So, I sit on shelves and judge people. Most everyone assumes I only watch children, but I’ve been watching you servers too and I took a few notes that some of you might want to pay attention to.

Tamara in Houston, Texas: I saw you grab a dirty spoon and use it for Table 106’s coffee. I know you didn’t want to wait for the dishwasher to run some more silver, but you can’t do that. It’s nasty and I told Santa so you can forget about getting anything from Victoria’s Secret because I’m pretty sure you’re getting a big ass lump of coal.

Gary in Denver, Colorado: I saw you pocket that extra $20 bill last week. You work in a pooled house, asshole. It’s only you, the bartender and another server and they’re both honest. You can’t steal tips in a pooled house, Gary. I told Santa what happened and he told me to tell you that you were already on the naughty list for just being an asshole in general. Thought you should know.

Terri in Quonochontaug, Rhode Island: Last month, you gave someone regular coffee who asked for decaf. Don’t worry, she didn’t die or anything, but she did stay awake all night. She didn’t fall asleep until 5:30 the next morning and then she slept though her alarm and ended up getting to her job at Wal-Mart an hour late. She was on probation for tardiness and that was her last chance. She got fired, couldn’t find another job, wasn’t able to pay her rent and now she lives in her car in a Stop & Shop parking lot. I hope you’re happy, Terri. Santa was going to give you a flat screen TV, for Christmas, but now you’re getting one of his farts in a Ziplock baggie.

Katharine in Brooklyn, New York: Wash your fucking hands, bitch. You see the sign in the bathroom that tells you to do it, but you blatantly ignore it and once you even gave it the finger. Really, Katharine? You’re giving the finger to a sign? Grow up. And enjoy the sound of Santa as he flies right past your chimney on Christmas Eve. When he calls out “ho, ho, ho,” he’s going to be referring to you and your two roommates.

Ron in Portland, Oregon: Remember that man who told you he was deathly allergic to peanuts and he ordered the Chinese Chicken Salad with no peanuts to go? Well, you left off the peanuts, but you forgot that the dressing had peanuts in it too. That man died, Ron. His throat swelled up and he died thirty seconds after taking his first bite. He didn’t even have time to get his EpiPen® out of his pocket. And for that, you will not get anything for Christmas except a lifetime supply of Cracker Jacks so that every time you see a peanut you will remember how important it is to take allergies seriously. Also, Rudolph and Blitzen will be paying you a visit on December 26th so be ready. Buy lube. A lot of it.

Marlene in Jersey City, New Jersey: We all know you like your hair, but you need to wear it in a ponytail. A few days ago, when that woman found a hair in her gravy, you knew it was yours and you lied. You blamed it on the cook and the woman believed you. She was really grossed out by the whole thing, because the hair was in her mouth when she found it. She pulled it slowly and it just kept on coming and coming. (Just like Rudolph and Blitzen…) Ordinarily, I would tell Santa how you have no respect for the rules, but that woman was a bitch. She deserved that hair and more, so your secret is safe with me, Marlene. You will still be getting a crate of vodka for Christmas.

Merry Christmas, everyone. In just a few days, my job will be on hiatus and I will be on vacation in Palm Springs. If I can find a job there, I might stay because I can no longer take the horrible abuse from those damn reindeer. Not only did Rudolph and Blitzen violate me on multiple occasions, Dasher and Dancer chopped off my feet. I fucking hate reindeer games.

This Customer Does Not Know How Restaurants Work

Screen Shot 2015-11-10 at 7.17.08 PMAhh, Facebook. It’s that wonderful place where people spout out their opinions without a care or concern as to whether it makes any sense or not. A woman named Colleen came to the Bitchy Waiter Facebook page to do that very thing. I guess there was no one around to answer her riddles before she let them cross her bridge so she had nothing better to do than to troll my page:

Yeah, I love walking into a restaurant that’s only half full and all the empty tables are dirty. I’m supposed to stand there? No. I’ll go to a table, move all the dirty dishes to another dirty table and stare at the server until they come over and wipe it off. Somehow it is the customer’s fault that the staff isn’t doing their job? Guests leave, clear the fucking table and get it ready for the next! PS – if you have a bunch of dirty tables and the only clean ones are by service stations/kitchen door, guests will probably choose to sit at a dirty table rather than listen to all of that crap their entire meal.

Oh, Colleen, Colleen, Colleen. Bless your poor little “I dunno what the fuck I’m talkin’ about” heart. I can only imagine how many times this sad creature has ingested the mucous of some put upon server after Colleen gave them the death stare while sitting at a dirty table. There are so many things wrong with Colleen’s statement so I need to break them down line by line:

Yeah, I love walking into a restaurant that’s only half full and all the empty tables are dirty. I’m supposed to stand there? Yes, Colleen. As long as your ankles can support the weight of your stupendously thick head, you do need to stand there and wait for someone to seat you. That’s how restaurants work and if you don’t like it, go back to your bridge and eat a handful of dead flies.

No. I’ll go to a table, move all the dirty dishes to another dirty table and stare at the server until they come over and wipe it off. What you fail to realize, you miserable troll of epic proportions, is that the reason the table is dirty is because someone did not have time to clean it. If you move the dishes to another table and then sit there giving everyone the crusty eye, it will not suddenly give everyone free time. In fact, it will probably do the exact opposite. If they didn’t have time to clear the table, why will they have time to do it now that you are sitting at it? It makes no sense. Imagine that someone wanted to cross your bridge but not answer your questions after they crossed it. Your mind would explode because that’s not how it works. Then again, if your mind exploded it wouldn’t be much of big deal. Sorta like a water balloon with a slow leak.

Somehow it is the customer’s fault that the staff isn’t doing their job? Well, it depends. If a server doesn’t have time to reset a table because they are doing something else for a customer like separating the check for eight people and putting ridiculously tiny portions of leftover food into to-go boxes, then yes, it is totally the customer’s fault.

Guests leave, clear the fucking table and get it ready for the next! Yes, that is how it works in a perfect world, but the world isn’t perfect, Colleen. Just like your bridge, sometimes there are obstacles that make the path bumpier than it should be. It doesn’t mean people can’t cross your bridge and it doesn’t mean customers won’t be seated. It just might be as smooth as we would like.

PS – if you have a bunch of dirty tables and the only clean ones are by service stations/kitchen door, guests will probably choose to sit at a dirty table rather than listen to all of that crap their entire meal. Fuck you, Colleen, really. Fuck. You. Everyone hates you and your ass face.

Bottom line: if you go to a restaurant and seat yourself at a dirty table, all that you will be accomplishing is putting your server further into the weeds. Have some patience and let the restaurant get caught up so that they can serve you the correct way. Sitting at a dirty table and being pissed off about it is only going to make things worse and do you really want to start off your meal with your server already disliking you?

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This Might Be The Most Clueless Customer Ever to Eat At Olive Garden

dumbassEating out is hard, y’all. There are so many questions and rules to remember when you dine in a restaurant and no place is more confusing than eating at Olive Garden. While perusing the Olive Garden Facebook page, I came across a customer who had one of those very difficult moments in life when you just don’t know where to turn to. It seems that David went out to eat at Olive Garden and, by some atrocious human error, someone forgot to bring out his child’s second side dish. David did now know what to do. Now I wasn’t there, but I can only imagine how this went down:

Kid: Daddy, I didn’t get my spaghetti.
David: Oh. My. God.
Kid: Daddy, I want my spaghetti, I’m hungry.
David: Sweet Jesus. The spaghetti didn’t make it to the table, now what are we gonna do?
Mom: Oh. My. God. Our baby’s gonna starve to death. What should we do?
David: I guess I could give him a bite of my Baked Parmesan Shrimp, but isn’t he allergic to shellfish?
Mom: He is allergic, but what choice do we have? The waitress forgot to bring the spaghetti. My God, this is inhumane!
David: If only there was some way to get that spaghetti. Like, if there was a person who would come over to our table and ask us if we needed anything, but we’re in a restaurant. Does that even happen here? I dunno.
Kid: Daddy, there’s the waitress, why don’t you ask her to go get it?
Mom: Shut up, son! We are trying to figure out what to do and all your chit chat is distracting us.
David: Here, my child, eat this shrimp. It might make your lips swell and close up your throat, but we have no choice. Your spaghetti didn’t come to the table! My GOD!
Mom: I’m Googling what to do, but I can’t find an answer. What are we supposed to do when the waitress doesn’t bring all of our food? This is America! Why is it so hard?
Kid: Umm, that shrimp was good, but my eyes hurt. And my lips are tingling. I can’t feel my tongue. Is this real life?
Mom: Help! Help!!! My baby didn’t get his spaghetti and now we are forced to feed him poison! Help us, somebody!!
David: Here just eat some more shrimp, son, until I can go to the Olive Garden Facebook page for help. Facebook has all the answers. Son? Son? Wake up, son. Wake up. You need to eat some more shrimp. Son?
Mom: Oh, my Five Cheese Ziti al Forno is delicious.

Oh, David. Just ask your fucking server to go get the side dish. And if it was a to-go order, you call the restaurant and tell them what happened and they comp you a fucking piece of cheesecake next time. It ain’t fucking brain surgery.