I was up in the air about whether I would discuss my workplace. I didn’t know if I wanted that much about me out there. Sure I discuss my kids every so often and I’ll throw in a post about school here and there, but usually I try to remain slightly mysterious. An enigma even. But when I go to work and observe what’s happening I think to myself “Holy shitballs!There’s a lot of material here.” And there is a ridiculous amount. If only I could put into words…
First let me start by saying that I “wait” tables, but don’t call me a “waitress”. I’m a server. A cheap prostitute, if you will. I make nice with strangers for a few extra dollars in my pocket. Previous to Lil’lady that was my profession for about 13 years. Now I’m back at it. It’s actually what I’m good at and what I know how to do. The restaurant where I work is a decent place, but not because of the customers. They pretty much suck ass. My employer and his management staff are just top-notch people. They do a lot for our community in the way of giving back and treat most of the employees with the utmost dignity and respect. I actually like working there.
So, anyway, I’ve decided to regale you all with tales from behind-the-scenes and on the floor. People annoy the shit out of me and since I can’t tell them to shove it, I’ll just tell the stories. It’ll be downright therapeutic for me (and maybe make you wonder about your favorite eating establishment– which will make me laugh and giggle). You might think that this can’t be the least bit interesting considering my over-the-top rants about politics (which are fewer now because I recently overdosed on the subject and just can’t feel the passion right now), but you’ll soon come ’round to my way of thinking.
In our restaurant, which is pretty big, we have tables and booths. The difference between the two is the chairs at tables can be adjusted and booths are bolted to the floor. Most of our booths seat 4 + people (up to 8), but we do have a few 2 tops. The 2 tops are incredibly small and really don’t hold much and the booths aren’t very wide. They’re good for single diners or a couple of kids eating just appetizers. Still, our hostesses will seat anyone there and then we, the servers, have to make sure they don’t have one thing sitting on their table that they’re not using.
So, one day I’m in a section full of these 2top booths. The hostess seats me and I go greet my sorry couple. The lady was very large. She was literally stuffed into this booth– her butt was hanging off the edge of her seat and her boobs were sitting on to of the table. She didn’t look the slightest bit comfortable. She wasn’t very pleasant when I greeted them.
She grunted her order to me without so much as looking in my direction. When she ordered her steak I said “Medium is hot pink in the center, is that ok?” She whipped her head around and glared at me.
“Medium, medium, MEDIUM“, she growled, her face turning red (I’m not really sure if she could even breathe in that booth). It’s my job to help prevent recooks and one way I do that is to make sure everyone knows what at what temperature they’re ordering their meat. I explained that to her. She turned her head and looked away– refusing to speak to me further.
She was like that throughout her meal. When she wanted more tea, she wiggled her glass. When she wanted more bread, she practically threw the basket at me. Her husband was no help either. He just shrugged his shoulders at me and went about eating.
Then I saw her talking to a manager. What the hell was she going on about? I did everything right, made sure she was as comfortable as I could possibly make her without greasing her down with butter and somehow managed to not dump a gallon of tea on her head. I walked up to the table and asked what the problem was.
“It has nothing to do with you,” she hissed. So, I hunted down my manager to see what she was going on about.
“She’s pissed because she got sat at that booth,” he told me. “She doesn’t think that should even be allowed in the restaurant and she’s pissed because no one asked her if she wanted a table. She told me she couldn’t even enjoy her meal because she can’t even move in that booth.”
“Really? Why the hell didn’t she ask for a bigger table? What the fuck? She was pissy with me the whole time and it’s not even my fault.” I was almost mad. But then I laughed. I’m pretty sure if my boobs were sitting on top of the table and my ass was hanging over the side of my seat I would ask to be put somewhere else. Apparently, this woman wanted a psychic seater who would just assume she wouldn’t be offended if she was offered a bigger seat. We did have a good laugh at her pride and stupidity, though. And, no, she didn’t get a free meal.
So, because this woman was too proud to ask for something else when she eyeballed the table, she sat for a good hour stuffed into her seat, unable to enjoy her meal, and undoubtedly ended up some indigestion when she went home. And I got to be abused for an hour and ended up with a shitty tip.
Moral of the story: If you can’t fit in the table your hostess initially takes you to, ask for something else. You know if your ass and boobs will fit into that space. If you find yourself unable to breathe and properly digest your food, ask for a bigger table. Save yourself the humiliation of being stuffed in there to begin with. Otherwise you will be miserable and we will laugh at your expense (the price of pride and all that).
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I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.