I think everyone should be a waiter for six months of their lives. It would make the world a much better place, I just know it. Most people have never waited tables or if they have they forgot how goddamn shitty it can be to depend on total strangers to pay your income. Do you know what waiters usually make hourly? Less than minimum wage. I make $4.60 an hour. That means if I work 40 hours, I would only get $184 for the whole week. That does not even pay for my internets and phone service. Out of that humongous sum of money, I have to pay taxes on tips (whether I get them or not) and my paycheck is usually zero. That’s right, I said zero. Waiters pay taxes on a percent of their sales even if they got stiffed on a check. If I ring up a $75 check and Cunty McCuntcunt decides to leave only $5, the government is still going to tax me as if I had gotten a 15% tip. Uh huh. I pay taxes on tips I don’t even get. It sucks. Which is why customers must leave at least 15% for the tip. Some people are too stupid to figure it out, so they just leave 10%. Ignorance is not an excuse. If you need help, just double the tax so you would be leaving about 16%. Out of the tip that we are given then we have to tip out of it to the bartender and the food runner and the busser. I worked at one place once and we had to tip 40% of what we made. That sucked and I only lasted there for three days. But plenty of people work there and have to tip out the coffee girl, the guacamole maker, the hostess and the ass-wiper in the bathroom. If you have a crappy waiter, sure, maybe they don’t deserve more than 10%. But a good one deserves 20%. I deserve 25%.
Sometimes people think that when they come into the restaurant they are in their own kitchen and I am their personal chef for the day. No bitch, that is not how it works. We have this thing called a menu. M-E-N-U. It is this really great idea that someone came up with that tells you what we have to offer. You should read it. Someone was paid to create it and make it and print it. And then that girl at the front who showed you to your table gave you one for you to look at it. It is not for your devil spawn children to draw in or for you to use to flag me down. It is for you to choose what you want to eat. Some ass came in the other day and threw himself into a booth without being seated. Then he complained the table was sticky with syrup. (He HOPES it was syrup.) So he didn’t have a menu and he ordered a chicken parmesan. Seriously? Does this look Bella Italia or The Olive Garden? No, ass, we are a diner. Burgers, salads, meatloaf. I ain’t got no fucking eggplant rollatini so don’t ask for that shit either. So I told him we don’t have it. “What, you out of that today?” I suggested that he order two fried eggs with hash browns and toast because that is what we do. Or maybe a burger with a side of pubic hair because that is what he was about to get. This other douche bag came in last week and started ordering all this ala carte crap without looking at the menu. He ordered two eggs just like his friends. Fine. That comes with hash browns and toast. Then he says he wants French Toast too. Okay, we have that. And then he wants sausage. And coffee. And orange juice. It all came out, he ate it and then got his bill and had a fucking pissy bitch fit. He wants to know how three orders of eggs can cost more than twenty dollars. I told him it was simple mathematics. One order is $6.95 and when you multiply that by three it comes out to more than twenty dollars. See? It’s easy, douche! He thought there was a better way I could have rung up his food so he did not have to pay for everything. I took him a menu. MENU! I showed him each thing he ordered. I asked him, “Is that what you had? Did it come to your table? Did you eat it all?” He answered yes to all these things. Then here is your bill. End of story. Read the fucking menu people and make both our lives a little easier, but I will still want to drop pubes in your burger, just so you know.
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Have you ever been in a restaurant enjoying the company of good friends and savoring the taste of food that was made just for you when you are suddenly overcome with a rancid odor? An odor that surely came from the depths of hell where the devil lives in a palace of rotten boiled eggs, cabbage and asparagus. If it seemed to come out of nowhere and then fade away just as quickly, there is a very good chance that your server just farted at your table. Every server has done it but few will admit to it. I freely admit that I will fart at any table that gets on my nerves. So basically what I am saying is that I fart at every table I serve. All of them. I had about 40 tables today so I farted at least 80 times because I always do it at least twice for each check. Some may call it passive aggressive while others will call it immature but really it’s just a basic human function when a reflex expels intestinal gas through the anus so get the fuck over it. If a table is being a supreme asshole than waiters will do what is known as a “Hippopotamus Fart”. This is when all the servers at one time manage to get near the asshole’s table and let one at the same time and then walk away. So the next time you smell that familiar funkity funk, don’t blame it on the gruyere cheese that came on your Croque Madame. Blame it on yourself, because you probably pissed off your waiter and were paid back with a good old-fashioned Hippopotamus Fart.
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The restaurant I work in is not for children. I don’t like kids. Cute ones are not any better than ugly ones, they all suck. However, people have in their head that our restaurant is for their children and constantly bring them in. When they come in with their offspring in the giant strollers and push furniture around to accommodate themselves it really pisses my shit off. For two Wednesdays in a row we have had a fucking Mommy and Me group overtake us. Nine women come in with at least nine strollers and then get all upset that there is no place to park them. Really? Why don’t you park it up your fat asses, ladies? They take over a whole section and barricade themselves in behind the strollers. It’s like the freaking Great Wall of China but instead of brick it’s made of stroller and baby. And I can’t get to the table to do the job that I don’t want to do anyway. I have to navigate through the Stroller Wall being careful to not wake the little darlings just so I can take nine orders of salads with everything on the side and low fat dressing because they are all trying to lose their baby weight. Heads up ladies, the low-cal dressing that I am serving you is actually full fat because I don’t give a shit about your baby weight. And you can all choke on the slices of lemon that you want for your water. You sit in my station for two hours and ignore your bratty crying whore children and ring up a check for 75 bucks and then tip me 10%. We don’t have a children’s menu, we don’t have crayons or paper, the music is going to stay loud because that’s what we do and we do not have American cheese. Get over it. Take your ugly baby and roll it down to McDonald’s for a kiddie meal and while you’re there get yourself a large number 5 combo because that baby weight is here to stay and you may as well live it up.
I have noticed lately that more and more people feel perfectly fine bringing in their own cups of coffee to my restaurant. Do they not get how incredibly rude that is? We sell coffee. I have to French press it every time it’s ordered so it’s not like it’s some skanky ass sludge that we call coffee and then overcharge for it. We charge two bucks for good premium coffee that we make to order. But every day some whore comes in straight from the Starbucks across the street with her grande mocha frappe fuckacino and sits in my station. It’s always a women. Men don’t do that. Would you carry in a Pizzeria Uno pizza to a Pizza Hut and eat there? No. Or would you order a frosty at Wendy’s and then go eat it at Dairy Queen? No. But with coffee, people think it’s okay. Stop it. What I hate most about it is if a bitch brings in her own coffee, when am I supposed to spit in it? A couple of weeks ago, when I brought the food to the table one lady was not there anymore. Her friends said she would be right back but she had to run an errand. Bitch showed up two minutes later with three cups of coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. What? For real?? I should have sold those three cups of coffee, increasing the check by $6.00 and therefore increasing my tip by a dollar. THEY ARE STEALING MY TIPS. Maybe next time I should just ring their food in to go and tell them I assumed they wanted to go eat it somewhere else.