Every once in a while, someone sends me a message relaying an experience they dealt with at their restaurant. This story came from someone who wishes to remain anonymous but I decided to share it exactly as she sent it to me because it is such a perfect explanation of what we servers so often go through at work. -BW
This is the story of the Old Bitch and the Baked Potato. I work at a Cheddars Scratch Kitchen (I’d prefer not to disclose the location as there is only one location in the city that I live in and we can be fired for complaining about customers on social media.)
Me: “Hi, welcome to Cheddars Scratch Kitchen, my name is-”
Old Bitch: “Water with lemon. The same for my husband and we’re ready to order as well.”
Me (politely ignoring the fact that my name is not, in fact, water with lemon): “Okay, no problem, what can we get started for y’all today?”
Old Bitch: “I’ll have the Lemon Pepper Catfish with very little seasoning but make sure the fish is extra cooked, almost crispy on the edges, and on the side I want an extra hot baked potato make sure it’s EXTRA HOT because last time it was so cold and no cheese on the EXTRA HOT baked potato and also a side of broccoli but with no butter and steamed extra long.”
*internally* (Well the kitchen is probably going to fuck up this order.)
Me: “And for you, sir?”
Old Bitch’s Husband: *opens his mouth to talk*
Old Bitch: “He’ll have the Grilled Salmon but cooked the same way as mine, and the same sides made the same way.”
*internally* (Well the kitchen is DEFINITELY going to fuck up this order now.) I put in every last detail of the Old Bitch’s complicated order and go about my business doing my job. I see that a coworker has run out the Old Bitch’s food, so I go over to check on Old Bitch and her husband.
Me: “How’s everything tasting so far guys?”
Old Bitch: “I specifically said no cheese on these baked potatoes!”
The Old Bitch then proceeds to pick her baked potato up off of her plate and place it directly on the table (which is disgusting because this means that I have to pick up her baked potato with my hands.)
Me: “I’m so sorry about that guys, I’ll bring a couple of new ones right out.”
Old Bitch mumbles under her breath about the offensive baked potato. A few minutes later I bring back two baked potatoes 86 the cheese.
Me: “Here y’all go, I’m so sorry about that guys. Is there anything else I can get for y’all right now?”
Old Bitch’s husband smiles and shakes his head so I start walking away from the table.
Old Bitch: “Um excuse me, I need to test my baked potato before you leave!”
*internally* (test it for what exactly? It’s a potato.) Old Bitch digs into the baked potato prodding and inspecting it, takes a bite, spits it out.
Old Bitch (yelling): “This potato is COLD, I specifically asked for an EXTRA HOT baked potato!”
Old Bitch proceeds to pick her baked potato up off of her plate and THROW THE DAMN BAKED POTATO AT ME. Luckily, I had a tray under my arm that I was able to catch it with.