Flip the F***ing Papyrus


Today’s guest post comes from Miles Teenstra and you can visit his blog at www.milesteenstra.com. Thanks!  xo, BW


You like that picture? It’s based off the first known restaurant in Cairo. The naked homie on the left was clearly one of the servers. This is before us servers had clothing rights. Hey, we may not be able to feel comfortable taking bathroom breaks and are made to feel that we have to hide behind the dumpster to eat a cracker and sip on our stolen Fiji’s, but at least we can wear our shitty uniforms with pride. Progress my brethren, progress.

Shout out to my friend, and bartender of our establishment, Eric Potenciano. One of our many entertaining rants lit the spark for this one. Yaeeyaae!

The ego is a weird thing. We would laugh at a child if they threw a blanket over themselves and said they were invisible. Point out that they’re not, and you might get some huffing and puffing. It’s acceptable though because we know how loose of a grip they have on reality and how fragile their egos can be. We humor them based off the understanding that within time, they’ll figure it out. Nothing wrong with it, I mean we all play pretend at one point and grow to know that Oz is just a man behind the curtain. And with this being said…

I should never have to humor you like a child when you can’t figure out how to flip a fucking menu over. And this drooling Zoloft-filled zombie had the gall to say that it was the restaurants fault that she couldn’t figure out what sides we offered. Like we were a city council that neglected to sprinkle in a few stop-signs in the neighborhood resulting in nine car pile ups. The audacity to assume that every possible error on her part should be catered to ahead of time on our part. What am I, the world’s first clairvoyant waiter? Although, I did predict that shitty tip. So who knows. Thanks for the free consulting by the way. Yes, I’ll let management know right away to reprint the menus with a small note on the bottom letting people know that there’s a whole new world on the back. Right after I go fuck myself.

Since the dawn of menus, people have one by one successfully figured out on their own that menus are sometimes, two sided. I’m talking shit written on parchment, papyrus, shit even animal hides. “Hey pendejo, turn the moose skin over I want to know what’s on happy hour!”
I don’t know where that reference came from by the way. Something tells me the use of “pendejo” may not coincide with where moose usually hang out. Whatever, use your imagination.

Human curiosity should kick in and compel you from the fucking start. Were this a more cruel and unforgiving environment, your lack of awareness would have resulted in death. Not even exaggerating. You should have been filtered out of the gene pool back when your great-great-great-great-great shithead grandfather nearly died from trying to fuck a wildebeest. Yet here you are.

But I am not an unsympathetic person. I don’t want you to ever feel embarrassed, nor do I enjoy wasting my daily equivalent of 10mg of patience on trivial shit. So, here is a short list of times when you shouldn’t look to explore your options:

  1. If the menu is written on an etch a sketch, do not flip. It’ll erase it.
  2. If it’s written on…a…stone tablet, you won’t want to because…holy scripture, it might be holy scripture and you don’t want to break it in case of a holy war or…

That’s it. That’s all I got.

So please, before rattling off questions, just do your due diligence to look things over. If something isn’t spelled out clearly, or you just require simply a more in depth answer, I understand. I’m more than happy to help. It’s only when someone acts so incredulous to think that because they weren’t able to figure out something minor, that everyone else must have the same issues. No booboo. I never learned how to ride a bike, but I’m not petitioning that bicycle technology be revamped to be more idiot friendly. It works just fine. Just like dual sided menus. Sometimes, what is really in order is a small dose of humility and common sense.

You know, I’m gonna flip the script on this one. Think I’m going to fill out a stack of post-it notes. Write “fuck your mother” on the back of every single one, and stick them to every bill, court document, letter, application, essentially anything I hand out. Watch how fast they get flipped. What?! How dare you assume there was another side, let alone the nerve of you to assume I should account for you knowing that there might be something on the back of that post-it note. Let me speak to your manager. See how that works?


I wait tables and bitch about it on my blog, The Bitchy Waiter.

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