There’s a Special Place in Hell For Some Restaurant Customers

There is a special place in hell for customers who come into the restaurant moments before closing time. Especially the ones who know that it closes at 10:00 and show up at 9:58, all out of breath because they sprinted just so they could squeak in right before the doors are locked for the evening. And when they do it, they always look so smug and proud of themselves like they are expecting a goddamn participation trophy for showing up. “Whew, we just made it,” they always say, solidifying the fact that they have no care or concern about those of us who will now have to stay at work and wait on their sorry asses. That place in hell is even more special for the people who do it when the restaurant is completely empty, therefore keeping an entire staff solely for them. These are the people who think the world revolves around them and who only care about their own needs. Now, before someone jumps down my throat about closing times and how restaurants should just have different times for last seatings and for the kitchen closing, let me say this: bite me. This is my blog and I can bitch about what I want and how I want. 

This happens to all of us and you know what we do when it happens? We deal with it. We slap that fake ass grin onto our faces and pray that they aren’t going to order the roasted chicken or something else that will take more than twenty minutes to prepare. We visualize that they don’t want appetizers or desserts and we hope to god they don’t want any fucking coffee because that shit got dumped fifteen minutes ago. And we cannot be held responsible for how we feel if they order a cappuccino. But still, we deal with it. We can complain about it to our coworker, bitch about it to the kitchen, fart all around their table and write a blog post about them, but it’s our job to serve them even when they show up right before closing time. But these customers will have a special place in hell when they show up there and the devil will be so excited to seat them.

Satan: Welcome to hell! Are you one of the people who showed up to restaurants right before closing time?

Karen: Well, that happened once, but it was an accident.

Satan: Lies! I saw you that time, Karen. You ran a red light and then took up two parking spaces because you didn’t think you had time to park like a regular human being. Then you raced to the front door of Chili’s at 9:57 knowing you only had three minutes to get your fat foot into the door.

Karen: You saw that?

Satan: I see everything, Karen! I also know about all the times you peeled off the organic stickers from the avocados at Whole Foods and then replaced them with the stickers from the non-organic avocados. 

Karen: But avocado toast gets so expensive!

Satan: I have a special place for you here in hell and you’re gonna love it. It’s right back there by the toilets and underneath the ceiling fan. You’ll be at a two-top but you’ll be seated with 49 other people. The toilet is literally part of the table and the wi-fi password is THERE-IS-NO-WIFI-IN-HELL. Your waitress will be Ava Braun who has a mad case of diarrhea and will be using you table-toilet with much frequency.

Karen: There are ceiling fans here in hell? Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.

Satan: Bitch, the ceiling fans in hell don’t blow air, they blow fire so say goodbye to those wonky ass eyebrows and put on some fucking sunscreen. Enjoy your stay.

Karen: By the way, I’m gluten free.

Satan: I know. That’s why your waitress will be force-feeding you a gluten smoothie as soon as she’s done taking a dump. Bye, girl.

Customers, if you’re going to stay in a restaurant after it’s closed, at least try to speed it up a little bit. And tip us nicely. 

Discussion

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