Monthly Archives: July 2019

This Is Why You Shouldn’t Let Your Kids Be Barefoot in a Restaurant

A woman in Moscow, Idaho learned this week what exactly can happen when one lets a toddler run around barefoot in a restaurant. Mary Jo Foney took her 3-year-old Joanie to lunch at popular area restaurant, Doug’s Donuts Diner. “We wanted to go to the Applebee’s over on Warbonnet Drive, but I couldn’t find a parking spot close to the front door so we gave up and went to Doug’s,” says Foney. Once inside, Joanie quickly removed her shoes and began wandering around the restaurant completely unsupervised. What followed was a true tragedy.

Long time server, Honey B. Adger, knew it was not a good idea. “The moment I saw that little girl throw her shoes off, I knew it was going to be a problem. Them floors are a mess.”

Within two minutes, Joanie got a splinter on her heel from the well-worn hardwood floors. The tyke began crying and went to seek comfort from her mother. As she walked back to the table, her other foot grazed a piece of broken glass that had been there for two days when a bus boy dropped a tray of water glasses. “I saw it there yesterday, but didn’t get around to picking it up,” confirmed Adger. Now, with both of her feet hurt, Joanie’s wailing became louder and she began to run toward her mother. This is when she stubbed her toe on the high chair she had refused to sit in only minutes before. Coincidentally, this is the exact moment that a child at Booth 10 dropped an entire box of Legos onto the floor which Joanie promptly stepped on. As she fell to the ground, a 9″ rusty nail made it’s way into the arch of her left foot.

“I knew that was there too, but Honey B. Adger don’t care.”

By this point, the youngster’s feet are in severe pain. Suddenly, and without warning, someone across the restaurant yelled out, “the floor is lava!” and began counting down. Five seconds later, for reasons unknown, the floor did in fact turn into hot molten lava. The splinter, glass, stubbed toe, Lego injury, and rusty nail were no longer of consequence as the skin on the soles of her feet began to bubble and burn. Unfortunately at this time, a line cook accidentally spilled a box of salt, most of it landing directly in the wounds.

As the manager of the restaurant tried to assist the child, Mary Jo Foney was seen logging onto Yelp to leave a 1-star review. She also requested that her meal be wrapped up to go and that it be comped for her trouble.

Paramedics were called to the scene and the child was air-lifted to St. Luke’s Regional Medical Center in Boise where she is suffering from third-degree burns, gangrene, tetanus, scurvy, encephalitis, tendonitis, appendicitis, conjunctivitis and an unexplained rash on her neck that may or may not be poison ivy. Says chief of staff Dr. N.B. Carres, “If her mother made her wear her damn shoes in the restaurant, we wouldn’t even be here talking about this right now.”

The little girl is expected to make a full recovery.

A Go Fund Me account has been set up to help with medical expenses. Click here for more information.

Woman Uses N-Word at Restaurant and Is Totally Okay With it

I had no plans to blog today, but sometimes something falls right into my apron just like a piece of ice does every once in a while and I am forced to pay attention to it. I give you Nancy Goodman.

According to WRAL TV in Raleigh, NC, Nancy was none too pleased with two African-American women who were dining at a Bonefish Grill because in her opinion, they were too loud. So Nancy took it upon herself to go tell them to settle down and in the course of not minding her own damn business, she called one of the women the n-word. Of course, it was caught on video because it’s 2019 and if you’re gonna pull some bullshit, racist behavior, you better know someone is gonna record your racist ass.

Once the video made the rounds on social media, WRAL tracked down Nancy to interview her and Nancy doubled down on her behavior.

“I used that word because they forced me into it,” she said. She also said she would use the word again and that she’s not sorry.

That’s where I come in. I want to share the hell out of this video so Nancy will learn that there are consequences to her behavior. Yes, we have freedom of speech in this country but that doesn’t mean that you can float through life and say anything you want without any residual effects of your overall shittiness.

When Nancy chose to use the n-word, she took the situation in a different direction. If she would have called the woman a bitch or an asshole or an ignoramus it wouldn’t have made the news, but she decided to turn it racial. (I also wonder if Nancy would have thought two white women were “too loud.”) 

I hope this video gets shared thousands of times so the next time Nancy is making her way into a restaurant, someone who works there might recognize her as the racist lady from the Internet and decides to refuse service to her. Restaurants do have that option, you know, and that would be just the kind of consequence that Nancy Goodman would understand.

You fucked up, Nancy. And then you fucked up again when you didn’t apologize. I’m sorry you have “tremendous anxiety,” but I hope you enjoy your Internet fame. Consequences!

This Woman Was TOTALLY Not Drunk When She Was Cut Off

As servers, we are responsible for a lot of different things. It isn’t just bringing out a freakin’ hamburger and wiping down tables that we have to worry about, we also have to be concerned about over-serving a customer who can’t keep track of their own alcohol intake. After all, if we over-serve a customer who then gets behind the wheel of a car and proceeds to mow down an innocent pedestrian, it’s not only the drunk driver who can go to jail, the server can too.

That’s why this Yelp review from Carrie L. really gets my blood boiling. On June 1, Carrie went to Gastro Grub & Pub in Waukee, Iowa to stuff her gullet with fish tacos, shrimp and grits, and/or pork belly tostones and in the process she had a drink or two. The host, being a fucking responsible restaurant employee, told Carrie that she had reached her limit with the libations and asked if she needed an Uber to get home. Of course Carrie got all pissed off that someone who wasn’t her mother cared about her safety and well being and Carrie did what any non-drunk person would do and went home and immediately gave the restaurant a one star Yelp review.

Read Carrie L.‘s review of Gastro Grub & Pub on Yelp

“Never in my life have I been told someone is done serving me and asked how I was getting home. I could understand if a customer was being drunk and belligerent, but I definitely was not,” says Carrie.

So now Carrie says she will never go back and she would suggest her friends don’t either. Flash forward seven weeks and Carrie goes back to her Yelp account and posts basically the same review again, this time adding “hopefully you learn from this and don’t ever ask another person these questions again.”

You know what Carrie? Hopefully, the restaurant does ask those questions again, because it’s their obligation to make sure their customers are being served in a responsible manner. If you can’t see that they were doing what they thought was best for you, maybe you had had too much to drink. I dunno, since I wasn’t there, but this is what I do know from my experience:

Telling a customer they are cut off is not an easy decision and we only do it when we feel it’s absolutely necessary. None of us want to go there because it’s awkward, uncomfortable and it pretty much guarantees that we will get no tip or a bad review. If the restaurant staff was willing to take that step into the land of awkward customer experiences, they probably had good reason to do so.

Carrie should be grateful that she went to a restaurant that truly cares about the people who dine there. If the staff misjudged the situation, that’s not a reason to be angry. It’s an opportunity to say thank you to Gastro Grub & Pub for being observant and willing to ask uncomfortable questions in order to make sure a customer can get home safely.

Grow up, Carrie. If you were drunk, it’s fine. If you were sober, it’s fine. It just seems like you got called out and you couldn’t handle it so the only choice you had was to try to shame them on social media with a bad review. Well guess what: I can do the same thing. Cheers, girl.

 

Attention Servers: Do NOT Do This to a Receipt

Every server wants a decent tip. I mean, it’s why we do what we do, right? It’s certainly not for the joy and fulfillment we get from burning off our fingerprints and having the smell of honey mustard permanently embedded into our clothes, hair and souls. We give good service with the hope that our customers will find it in their hearts to toss a few meager dollars our way so that we can pay our bills and maybe have a few pennies leftover to purchase a much needed cocktail.

And then came Emilee, a server in an unnamed establishment who wants the tip just as badly as any of us, but got a little bit desperate for it. You see, Emilee thought it was a good idea to write in a suggested tip at the top of the receipt so that the customer would know exactly how much Emilee thought she deserved. No, Emilee. That’s not how it works.

If a restaurant has a suggested gratuity factored into the bill and it’s automatically printed at the bottom of the receipt, fine. A customer may or may not see those numbers, and if they do they won’t think much about it. However, if the server personally writes a suggested gratuity down on the receipt next to a half-assed “thank you,” it comes across as rude, disrespectful, and needy. I can guarantee you that any customer who sees it will be turned off and may end up leaving less than they had originally planned.

Emilee, here’s why it’s wrong:

  • You’re assuming that the service you gave is worth at least an 18% tip. That’s not your decision, it’s theirs.
  • It makes the customer think that you think they aren’t smart enough to figure out how to calculate 20% of their bill. Never make a customer feel stupid.
  • It’s just tacky as fuck.

Servers, if you’re reading this, please don’t be Emilee. Writing a tip suggestion onto a check is the equivalent of standing next to a four-way stop sign with a squeegee and a bucket of water with a cardboard sign asking for money. Give good service, be polite and earn your tip. If a customer chooses to not leave a tip, don’t dwell on it and focus on your next table. Too many people already look down at us for what we do, so let’s not give them another reason to think we’re lowly beggars. And if you absolutely feel the need to have a suggested gratuity added to the receipt, let the restaurant take care of that so we can at least pretend we had nothing to do with it.

When Love Blooms at the Gyro Restaurant

Once upon a time in Tuscaloosa, Alabama there were two men who loved each other very, very much. One of them may or may not have worked at a restaurant called Glory Bound Gyro Co. Actually, they both may have worked there, or maybe neither one of them did, but it’s not important to the story. What is important is that these two men were very much in love with one another and wanted to share an intimate moment together. Or maybe they barely knew each other and after a few too many happy hour frosés, their mutual attraction became too strong to ignore and they played a game of hide the pickle with a side of walnut sauce, all the while someone was recording their sweet and/or anonymous lovemaking. See the video below.

The restaurant did release a statement about it:

This is (my completely made up version of) their story:

“Damn, that BBQ Ranch Gyro was really delicious,” said Peter as he wiped away the last few drops of ranch dressing that hung delicately from his plump, pursed lips.

The bartender, Dick, handed him an extra napkin. “Yeah, you really seemed to like it. Can I get you anything else? Some fried pita chips tossed in cinnamon and sugar topped with ice cream drizzled in caramel, maybe?”

“I’m stuffed,” replied Peter. “But what’s it topped with? I love a good topping.”

Their eyes met as Dick reached toward Peter’s unshaven face to blot one more drop of dressing from his sculpted chin. “You missed a spot,” he told him.  “It’s topped with a drizzle.”

“A drizzle of what?”

“A drizzle of caramel sauce, but I could probably find something else to drizzle it with if you’re interested.”

Peter considered the offer for a moment. “I don’t think I have it in me for dessert,” he told him.

“You don’t have it in you, huh? Does that mean you don’t have room for anything else in you?” Dick smiled, his teeth a pearly white, just the color of vanilla ice cream.

“Well, I guess I could find a way to squeeze a little something else in me.” Peter returned the smile, his eyes bright and eager and the color of freshly picked avocado, just ripe enough to eat with a spoon.

“What if it’s not so little?” Dick asked. “Would that be a problem?”

“Trust me, I can manage,” replied Peter. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

At this point, the restaurant was relatively empty with closing time approaching in about five minutes. The few random tables had already paid their bills and were heading out and the bar only had one other customer sitting at it. Dick hurriedly walked over to a large bell hanging on the wall and clanged it with a metal pipe. The sound of it sent shockwaves though the restaurant, echoing against the walls and ceiling.

“Last call, everybody. Last call! We’re closed. Get out. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Peter excused himself to the restroom as Dick closed out the last checks and used three or four Wet Wipes to freshen up. “I’ll do all the sidewalk,” he told his co-workers. “And tell the kitchen I’ll break everything down. Just go home and have a good night, everybody!”

Ten minutes later, Peter emerged from the mens room. “‘So about that drizzle,” he said.

“So about that topping,”Dick replied.

Happy 70th Birthday To Yanna Avis Who Was So Damn Rude To Me

Six years ago, I wrote a blog post about Yanna Avis, a rich Manhattan socialite who fancies herself an exotic, international, smoky, chanteuse. She treated me like dirt and I don’t like her. When she was eventually arrested for shoplifting and I saw her tight face splashed all over the newspapers, it made me happy. Well, I heard through the grapevine that she did another show earlier this week and as she was walking onto the stage, she tripped over a microphone cord and fell, pulling a music stand down to the ground along with her dignity. Since she turns 70 years old in a few days, I decided it was time to repost this magical story of my encounter with Yanna Avis. Happy 70th birthday, Ms. Avis!  xo, BW

(This story was originally posted on November 11, 2013 when she was 64 years old. Now she’s 70.)

Sometimes bad things happen to good people. We all know this and accept it as part of our lives. We like to believe in karma and hope that people will get what they deserve; all the kind people will find twenty-dollar bills on the street and all the assholes will get to their cars to find dead batteries. Many times when we have someone who sits in our station and treats us like a turd taco all we can do is send out to the universe that we would like for them to fall into a pile of dog crap. Well, the universe heard me because someone who was a notorious byotch from hell to me showed up in the papers this week for a wee little problem she has regarding shoplifting.

According to the New York Daily News, Yanna Avis, 64, was arrested for stealing a pair of gloves from Loehmann’s. Her age is not really important to the story, but I can tell by her pinched face and colored hair that she is entering her golden years against her will, so I want to make sure that her age is loud and proud. Yanna Avis is 64. Sixty. Four. Like, that means she was born in 1949 when Harry Truman was president and a stamp cost three fucking cents. Yanna Avis is French and the heir to the Avis Rent-a Car empire. I had issue with Avis Rent-a-Car a few years ago when they jacked me over on a car rental in Houston, Texas so I really hated her before I even knew who she was.

I have had the displeasure of working around Yanna Avis, 64, on more than one occasion. She did not sit in my section, but performed at one of my jobs and I had to assist her many times. She does not know the meaning of the words “please” or “thank you.” I came to dread when she would be in the room because dealing with her is like trying to squeeze a zit on your back. No matter how hard you try to get rid of it, it always pops up somewhere else. For her show, she wears this ridiculous top hat because she thinks that fancy rich cabaret singers look good in them. When I get to to work to begin setting up the room, she is there rehearsing, which seems too little too late. I mean, the show is beginning in an hour and no amount of rehearsal in the next sixty minutes is going to suddenly make her vocal cords have the ability to, you know, actually sing. She is in a tizzy about her hat because it has gone missing.

“Where eez my hat? I cannot find it, do you know where eet eez?”

“I’m sorry, I just got here. What are you looking for?” I ask.

“My hat. My top hat. Someone must have moved it. Eet is gone! I need eet right now!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m the server and I just got to work. I’m not sure where your hat is.”

At this, she turns in a huff and goes off to find someone else to find her stupid fucking top hat. Of course no one knows where it is because we were all doing our own thing like making coffee and getting ice. We don’t deal with the performers. Ten minutes later, she comes to me again.

“Do you know where eez my hat?”

“Umm, no ma’am. You already asked me and I still don’t know.”

I can tell that she has no idea that she has already asked me. In her eyes, I am just another member of the help. She again, stomps away from me. As I begin to arrange the tables, I find the stupid fucking top hat that has fallen onto the floor and rolled under a table. I pick it up and go find Yanna, 64. When she sees me approaching, she grabs it out of my hands.

“Zer eet eez!”

No thank you or recognition. Five minutes later, she asks us to move several of the tables out of the room so that she can make a grand entrance to the stage without having to walk around the tables. Moving the tables means they all have to be unset and then carried downstairs. It’s fine, we do it plenty of times. I open the curtains that separate the lobby from the showroom so I can move the tables downstairs. As I begin dragging the tables out of the room, she yells at me from the stage where she is still “rehearsing.”

“Shut zoze curtains! I can be seen!”

“Well, I’m moving the tables out of the room as you requested,” I tell her.

“Shut zem now!”

“I can’t move the tables through the curtains. Do you want the tables moved out or not?” I ask her.

“Yes!”

“Well, the the curtains have to stay open until I can move them then.”

She throws her hands up in disgust and continues “singing.”

Every time she has performed at the club, she is rude, condescending, elitist and an overall beech. I don’t like her, so imagine my glee when I saw that she had been arrested for shoplifting! According to Yann Avis, 64, it was a misunderstanding, but according to a Loehmann’s employee, she saw the sixty-four year old songbird “remove one pair of gloves from a display and conceal the items in a bag.” My favorite picture of her in the paper is when she is leaving the courthouse concealed behind a scarf because it reminds me of the time she made us hold the curtain open so that she could hide behind it as she slipped down the stairs unnoticed by her adoring fans of friends and other socialites with faces pulled back tighter than drums.

Yanna Avis, 64, hides in shame.

Yanna Avis, 64, hides her tight face in shame.

Yanna Avis, 64, will be cleared of all charges once she completes one day of community service. I hope she has to go clean up the garbage in Central Park or serve food at a soup kitchen. I’m sure she had other ideas for for community service:

“Your honor, what eef I geev my maid some of my old clozing, oui? Non? Err, okay zen, ‘ow about eef I make my own bed tomorrow, oui? Non? Okay, zen, what eef I ‘ave my cook take zee day off and I make my own sandweech zat day? Oui?”

None of that is going to work, Yanna. You will have to take your sixty-four year old ass out of your Fifth Avenue condo and do some community service, Hopefully those gloves you stole aren’t the only ones you have because you might have to get your hands a little bit dirty. It truly feels good when bad things happen to bad people.

Au revoir.