A Personal Love Letter to All of the First of the Monthers

Dear First of the Monthers,

          Thank you all for coming to eat at Pizza Place.  I was really excited to have some business today after the last week or so was more dead than the rat that has been rotting in our air vents.  It wasn't until I got a good look at everyone sitting in the dining room that I consciously realized, "Fuck me, it's the first of the  month, God damn it!"  You're much like my Aunt Flo, you visit monthly, annoy me for a week, give me cramps, then disappear.  I loved answering your questions about how much every item on the menu costs.  If you could have just bothered yourself by looking at the menu (just like I did when I didn't know the price of some of the items), you would have known the answer.  Why do it yourself when you have a servant, er, server I mean, to do it for you, right?  I wouldn't want you to strain yourself, precious.  You are so great, I didn't mind standing there for 10 minutes answering your questions then waiting on you to decide when you insisted you were ready.

(Me:"I'll give you a few minutes to decide."

Woman:"No,no,no, don't go anywhere.  We're ready. Ummmm, hmmmm.  Well, I'll have, uhhhhhhh. I've got it.  Ohh wait, I didn't even see over here where it says you have sandwiches too. "

Me:"It's not a problem.  I'll give you just a couple of minutes and I'll be right back to get your...."

Woman:"No, I've got it.  I would like a small pizza with pepperoni."

Me:"Great choice, and what can I get for you, sir?"

Man:"Well, I was wanting pizza, but she got a small one and that's not going to be enough for both of us....uhhhhh, so now I don't know."

Woman:"Well, we can just get a bigger one if that's what you want, honey.  I just thought you were going to get spaghetti.  What other sizes do you have?"

Me:"We also have medium, large, extra large, and our 30" party pizza."

Woman:"Well, what do you want to do honey?  Do you want to get a bigger pizza, or we could keep the small one to share and then get a salad or appetizer or both and share those too."

Man:"I don't know.  It's up to you.  Just get whatever you want.")

                     By this time, I'm about to grab a butter knife off of the table and just start sawing at my neck until I hit the carotid.  I look around and see that almost every other table in the restaurant is seated with other first of the monthers that need waited on.  I was extremely relieved, after some humming and hawing of course, when you finally decided to get a bigger pizza, salad, and an app.  At least I could then move on to the next table that was going to be pretty much just like you.

                      While I was standing there waiting on you to decide, I noticed a few things about you.  You're dirty.  The both of you.  Your hands were black and you had dirt and grease spots all over you like you had been working on vehicles all day.  How can that be when you're receiving welfare or social security?  (No, I'm not just assuming.  I overheard some of their conversation, and they were definitely receiving a government check.)  Even your baby was dirty, just not as scroungy as you.  Also, there was a definite stench of piss wafting around your table.  At first I thought it was the baby's diaper, but then I realized that the smell was far too robust than what a baby would produce.  I do believe, sir and madam, that one of you had pissed yourself.  There's no excuse for that, unless you're wasted or just laughed a little too hard.  How about you take the money from the tip you didn't leave, go to the dollar store, and buy some soap.  What really got to me was that you were using the napkin holder on the table as your own personal tissue box.  Thanks for trumpeting your nose at the table in front of the, albeit few, decent people who had unknowingly came out for lunch on the first of the month.  You all really keep it classy.

                        By the way, that was a really funny game you played with me when I brought out your salad and apps, and then again when I brought out your pizza.  I asked if I could get you anything, and then instead of telling me you wanted 6 extra ranches; more crackers; two extra straws(God knows why); a cup of marinara; four more clean plates (6 total), so that you could each have one for each of the items you ordered;  and two more fresh cups of soda, just in case you might need them.  You had me make 12 trips.  Then you had me do a repeat performance for each of your boxes and to-go cups for the extra sodas you never drank.  Even though I asked if you if you were sure you only needed one box and you said, "Uh, yeah,  one container for....my....salad.".  Thanks for saying that last part slow enough for me to understand.  Those are very complicated words.  I'm only a servant, after all.

                       I longed for you after you left.  I know, you were in a hurry to get to Wallow-Mart to buy the ridiculously expensive things you can't afford, and will be returning/pawning in two weeks anyway.  Lucky for me, I had the explosion of crumbs and snot rags on the table and floor and your unmistakable odor wafting in the air long after you had gone.  Just so you know.  I pretty much repeated this entire letter with almost every one of the other 28 tables that I waited on today.  See you all again tomorrow, and the rest of the week, until Friday when you have ran out of money and are counting out change to me to pay your bill.

                                                           Longing for you already,
                                                                                                  BoW

Kitchen Soap Operas

                                  Late post tonight because my family has spent the evening mourning Boston.  No, I don't mean the Boston Marathon attacks.  I'm talking about the passing of our 17 year old Boston Terrier named Boston.  Totally original name, right?  He was our baby before we had kids, and he will be forever missed.  In his memory, I'm going to bitch about what Boston hated most in life, people.  I felt a kinship with him in that sense.  In his later years, he would bite a person just for walking past him.  He bit my kids A LOT.  No worries, though.  By the time our kids came along, his teeth had long fallen out.  He was a grumpy old bastard, but we loved him.

                                   Today I'm not going to complain about customers.  I'm going to instead bitch about co-workers.  It's bad when your co-workers have pissed you off more than a day's worth of needy asshole customers.  There is one cook, we'll call her Ethel.  She is in my official "Top 10" the biggest fucking bitches I've been forced to continuously deal with.

                                   At Pizza Place, we have to make all the apps. and salads going to the dining room.  We have three fryers.  Two sit beside the small freezer where the apps. are stored.  The other one sits clear across the kitchen.  The kitchen is small, but has a shit ton of freezers, refrigerators, ovens, and fryers.  So, it's like a maze walking to the apps freezer then across the kitchen to the third fryer.  If you're in a hurry, the other cooks won't say a word when you use the two fryers that are closest.  Yet, Ethel considers them "her" fryers.  The third fryer across the kitchen and through the corn maze belongs to the server's, in her mind anyway.  I usually just go ahead and walk the few extra steps.  I just don't want to hear her mouth.

                               Once, a few weeks ago, I had a table of 30 and there was no one to split it with.  I was stuck with it by myself.  Of course, they all wanted apps. and salads, which are my responsibility to make.  I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get their drinks, apps., and salads out before their entrees were ready.  My plan was to drop all of their apps.  While they were cooking, I was going to make all of the salads then get the apps. out of the fryer.  One fryer can only hold so much at a time.  I filled up the third fryer, but it didn't fit all of the apps. that I needed.  The store manager told me to go use one of the other ones.  So, I went back over to use one of the two of "her" fryers.  She saw me heading toward it and stepped in front of me.  "You need to use your fryer over there.", she snapped at me.  I retort, "Well, Lazylardass told me to use this one because I have a big table, and all their apps. wouldn't fit in that fryer."  She glares at me and rudely says, "Well, I don't care what Lazylardass said.  You can't use my fryer, because I need it."  She didn't.  She didn't use it for the next ten minutes, well past when I would have been done with it.  Believe me, I checked.  She's the crew leader, so what can I really do.  I can tell the store manager that she said she didn't care what he said.  So, that's what I did.  I tattled on her like a little crybaby.  Oh well.  I didn't even feel bad about it because of all of the cooks I've seen her get fired just because she didn't really like them.

                               This leads me to today.  There was a lady cook that hadn't been working with us that long, we'll call her Jan.  She was a nice lady if you took the time to actually talk to her.  She was kind of shy and backward.  She wouldn't speak unless spoken to, and you would have to actually have to ask her continuous questions to hold a conversation with her.  By me taking the time to talk to her, I learned that both of her adult sons are in prison.  Her sons had wives and kids.  The wives were more useless than Jan's sons.  When the sons went to prison, the wives packed the kids up and took them to Jan's house.  They dumped their little ones with "Grandma" and said, "See you when I see you!"  This lady had a lot of personal problems, but I never heard her complain.  She never called off even though she was now responsible for her four grandchildren, nor was she late.  Ethel never took the time to find out about this woman.  Ethel saw Jan was quiet and deemed her as "weird".  Ethel decided within a couple of hours that she did not like this woman.  At that moment, it was decided.  Jan's employment with Pizza Place was going to be brief.  Ever since that day, Ethel has nit picked everything Jan has done.  Jan could not do anything right in Ethel's eyes.  If Jan swept the cooler, Ethel would decide she missed a spot and make Jan re-do it.  If Jan made a pizza, Ethel would decide that it didn't look right/didn't have enough toppings/had too many toppings, and Jan would have to re-make it.  If Jan stocked the pizza bar, Ethel would decide everything was in the wrong place, and make Jan re-organize it.  You get it.  I guess today Ethel realized that her snide remarks nor the extra work piled on Jan were going to make her quit.  Ethel decided to stoop even lower today than her usual hunched-back self.  No, today was the day Ethel stooped so low that her knuckles drug the ground as she walked.  Everyone, including Ethel, knew that Jan HAD to be out of work at exactly 4, at the very latest.  Jan had to be out at that certain time because she only had childcare for her grandchildren until then.  If something needed to be done, she didn't care to come in later, but the daycare she used closed at 5pm.  Ethel in in charge of giving everyone their "outs".  "Outs" are the work one needs to get done before one can leave work.  Ethel assigns them, then writes everyone's "outs beside their names on a piece of paper, and gives the paper to Lazylardass.  Ethel thought, just for spitefulness, that it would be fun to give Jan Ethel's own "Outs".  That way, when Jan thought she was done for the day, Ethel could go to Lazylardass and complain that Jan was trying to leave without doing her "outs".  Jan would get in trouble, have to do extra work, and Ethel wouldn't have to do her own "outs", because they would already have been done by Jan.  A win-win for Ethel, in her mind.  It was all going as planned up until Lazylardass called Jan to the office to bitch at her for trying to leave without doing her "outs".  Jan said that she was sick of the childish shit for which Ethel is well-known.  She didn't need this shit, and he could consider their conversation her official two weeks notice.  Jan told Lazylardass that she already did the "outs" that Ethel had assigned her at the beginning of their shift, and if he didn't believe her, to watch the cameras.  Lazylardass did, and realized what Ethel was doing.  After apologizing, he let Jan go home.  He then called Ethel to the office, played the video footage, and told her that he knew what she had done to Jan.  He made Ethel do all of the "outs" that Jan was supposed to do.  Those particular "outs", obviously, were the worst, most time consuming, most monotonous "outs" that we had, because she was expecting Jan to have to do them when she needed to leave.  Lazylardass also told Ethel that he would be watching her.  If he caught her bullying Jan, or any other employee for that matter, she would be terminated.  He said that the only reason he didn't fire her today was because he had picked her himself as crew leader.  If this got out, it would look bad on him with the owner.  If it got out that she was bullying employees, that would also make him look bad.  He can't have his sparkling reputation tarnished.  Of course, he doesn't care about us.  He only cares about saving his own ass.  The way I see it, they're both miserable bags of cunts.  Fuck.  Them.  Both.

Side Note:  It's that time again where I have two glorious days off work to spend with my family.  We need to have some fun after our loss of Boston.  Man, I'm going to miss that little fucker.  Anyways, I won't be posting until Monday.

The Elderly Say the Darndest Things

                           Anyone who knows me in "real life" knows that I have this love-hate relationship with the elderly.  For the most part old men are a love, the exception being that one rude curmudgeon.  Old women, on the other hand, you just never know what you're going to get with them.  Some are sweet as sugar, and others not so much.  I don't even mind if an elderly person is a grumpy grumperson.  Maybe they're in pain from their arthritis flaring up.  Maybe they're just coming to terms with the fact that they're going to die soon. Either way, if it was me, I would probably being a bit grumpy too.  What really burns my biscuits is for them to be rude or right out mean.

                           There are three little biddies who come in every Sunday.  Two of them order Diet Coke with extra lemon and two ham "sammiches".  The third woman orders a cup of hot water because she brought her own tea bag and broccoli with cheese.  It never fails.  Unless you come up to them as soon as they walk through the door, follow them to their table, and stand there while they get situated, then they've been sitting there for 20 minutes and no one has waited on them yet.  As soon as I would get their food order I would go straight to the computer and put it in, as is typical.  You can guarantee, though, that within three  minutes of leaving their table, they are going to be stopping every server that walks by them.  "Excuse me miss, can you check on our food?  We've been waiting a very long time, and we believe that she forgot about us.", they say in their nasally voices, faces frozen in permanent scowls.  They are also the type of women that stick their noses up in the air at you as if to say, "We went to church today and you didn't.  God loves us more."  Whatever.  IF I wanted to go to church I couldn't because your fat asses are parked in my booth.  Like I said before, it's mostly old women, but there is the occasional old man that will give you trouble. Of course this incident also happened on Sunday afternoon, a particularly busy one at that.  Every table in the restaurant was seated.  I had a table at 8 with two elderly women and two elderly men.  The two women seemed nice enough, as did one of the men.  The other man was being a little grumpy as I greeted them and got their drink order, but I really didn't even pay it any mind, at first.  He was making some smart ass comments, but nothing that really bothered me.  That is, until after I brought out their entrees.  He had some sort of sandwich and an order of onion rings.  I gave them their food then went back for the two minutes check back.  I asked them if everything wias to their liking.  He looks at me like I had just insulted his first born.  I knew I was in trouble with that look alone.

Old Man: "Can I ask you something?"
Me:"Of course, what can I do for you?"
Old Man: "Did you just give me the onion rings that were left over from last night?"
Me:"Absolutely not.  We make them to order, so I can assure you that wouldn't happen."
Old Man: "Well, these onion rings are ice cold."
Me: "I'm sorry, if you would like, I can take these and get you another order made right up."
Old Man: "Yeah, why don't you do that, and make sure this time, you bring me something I can actually eat!"

I was getting ready to apologize to him, grab the onion rings, then go have him some more made.  Before I could do so, he picks up the basket of onion rings and throws them at me.  I caught the basket, but some of the onion rings hit me in the chest and then fell on the floor.  I turned around to see the entire restaurant was staring at me in dead silence.  I felt my face getting hot and turning red from anger and embarrassment.  I was frozen.  Finally one sassy little gay men breaks the silence by exclaming, "Psssht, ruuUUuude!", and an exaggerated eye roll.  At that moment I was even more in love with the gays than usual, because everyone went back to their food and conversation.  I went straight back to the kitchen and made the second order of onion rings myself, so I knew they would be scalding hot for him.  I took them straight out of the fryer and to his table.  I said, "Here you go sir, I made these ones myself so I know they are hot."  He followed with, "Well, they better be."  What a charmer.  At this point, I'd had enough.  I said as sweetly as I could muster, "Well, I couldn't tell if the first ones were hot or not because I don't stick my fingers in your food to test the temperature before I bring it out to you to eat." I smiled so they would think I was joking, then asked if I could get anyone anything else.  Everyone with him said no and kept their heads down for the rest of the meal.  I can't blame them.  I would be mortified if someone I was having lunch with acted like as big an asshole as this guy did.  Before they left, the nice old man from table 8 came up to me and apologize for his friend 5 times, asked me if I was okay 3 times, then promised to never bring him back out to eat again.  I told him it was not his fault and that I was fine.  He reached out to shake my hand.  I shook his hand and when I pulled back, I realized he had slipped a $50 bill into my hand.  It always seemed like the meanest and the rudest of the elderly came out on Sunday.  I no longer work Sundays, and for that I am thankful.

                        Today I had this old couple come in to eat.  Not only are they regulars, but my dad went to school with their daughter and they were friends.  My dad and their daughter even dated briefly.  They remained friends afterward and my mom and dad would have dinner at their house regularly.  The old woman was even my elementary school principal.  So, basically, the old couple have known me all my life.  They're always very sweet, easy to take care of, and they tip well.  After my experience with them today, though, I believe they're going senile.  They started off by calling me Stacy the entire time.  My name isn't anywhere near Stacy, nor does it even start with an "S".  I corrected them the first time.  After that, when they continued to call me Stacy, I just said, "Fuck it."  They always want to chat, which I'm fine with, but they were asking me questions that were way out in left field.  Like, "How old is your son now? 15?"  Nope, he's 5.  or, "How's your mom?"  Been dead for 20 years.  I was slightly confused by their behavior, but they're so sweet that I didn't want to embarrass them.  So, I just told them I'd be back in a few minutes to check on them.  The rest of their meal was uneventful until I brought them their check.  The woman looked at me and said, "I don't know what it is you're doing, but you're much prettier than you usually are."  I had to pick my jaw up off the floor.  I had already decided that she had me confused with someone else, but I just could NOT believe that she would say that to someone.  My mind was officially blown.  I didn't know what to say, so I just kept it simple.  "Well, thank you, have a great evening."

What Comes Around Goes Around

                       Sorry for the late post.  My children were taken to this magical land called "Grandma's".  "Grandma's" only accepts children about once every three months.  So, I used the couple of hours of kids-free-time that I had to take an extraordinarily long, hot shower and a nap.  Now that my little darlings are back, I'm going to do something extra productive, like blog.

                     I'm going to start off by saying I hate kids.  I know this topic has been done, done again, and over done on every other serving/restaurant blog out there.   Most of the blogs that I have read about the dislike of kids has been written by the childless.  The opposition always says, "You only don't like kids because you don't have any!"  Well, I'm going to step up and say, "I am a mother of two, and I still hate you and your kids."  Just because there is a miniature person tagging along wherever you go, you are not entitled, nor are you special.  About 370,000 are born every fucking day.  That means about 369,999 other screamin' demons were popped out of the womb on the same day you grunted out your little bundle of hell.


                     You may think I'm heartless, but I couldn't give a rat's splooge less.  Even if we are in a "kids friendly" restaurant, I don't want to see your crotch spawn.  I have two that I am responsible for making sure they don't act like yard apes.  I don't need your little fucker coming up running around my table and talking to my kids and myself while you stare off into your cell phone or tablet without a care in the world.  If I am eating in a restaurant and your hell spawn is running circle around my table, I will stick my foot out and trip the little bastard.  It will be a complete "accident" I promise, but he really shouldn't be running around in the first place.  I don't need your obnoxious child asking me a thousand questions about every topic known to man.  Like I said, I have two kids, so I already have to answer about 2,000 questions at any given time.  I will smile pleasantly, bend down, and whisper in its ear(as to not let my kids hear me say any "bad words"), to shut the fuck up and go sit back down before I sew their goddamned mouth shut.  You see, when we are eating in the same restaurant and you're letting your dumb ass kid run around while you pay no mind to anything it's doing, I am going to feel a hint of responsibility for child.  Trust and believe in me when I say that you really do not want me to be responsible in any sense of the word for a child in which I have no maternal instincts or love.  It's only going to turn out very, very bad, I promise.

                      If I am serving you and your ugly heathens, I still hate you both.  I have to smile politely while you let your child talk to me like shit and run me to death.  It's not "sooo cute", as you so eloquently put it, it is god damned rude.  Every time it screams at me, I want to pick something up off your table and "accidentally" elbow it in the fucking teeth as I turn around.  I won't though because then I would have to elbow you in the mouth as well for letting it act like that and if I did it twice, it might look suspicious.  You tell me to hurry because your brat is starving and can't wait 5 extra fucking minutes for its goddamned kids meal.  Even though, after you leave, every fucking last crumb is either spread across the table or in the floor.  There's also ketchup spilled everywhere.  Often the little darling has even drawn us a little picture on the wall-with the crayons you gave it to "keep it busy"-to remember it by.  Seeing how you let the bastard run wild without even batting an eye, I would bet money it acts like that no matter where it is.  You are a lazy cunt who can't be bothered to teach her own offspring right from wrong.  Unless you are fortunate enough to have a maid, which I doubt since you're eating at Pizza Place, I would hate to see how god damned disgusting your home is.  

                   Your ugly as sin miscreant is far from "adorable", nor is it "funny".  You are teaching your child to be a rude, thoughtless, uncaring, selfish little pig.  You will one day regret your decisions as a parent.  You may think it looks "cute" or "funny" now, but that small child will one day be an adult with the same attributes.  When your God awful child does become an adult, you will be a shriveled up old hag.  The child whom you raised to have no empathy will be choosing your long term care.  You can bet your bottom dollar that selfish, greedy little piggy will stick you in the cheapest, nastiest nursing home they can find and leave your ass there to rot. How do you like them apples?  I bet they're bitter.

Shitty Day, Shitty Tips, Shitty Customers, Shitty Floor

                                         Today was evidently "Stiff/Annoy Your Server Day", but some one forgot to send me the memo.  Had I know ahead of time that today was going to be an avalanche of shitty tips, needy bitches, and shitty pants, I would have just called off this morning and went back to bed.  I had a table of three business women (of course, it's always women) that sat as far as possible from the kitchen door/service stand as they could get without sitting outside.  Them sitting that far away means that I'm going to have to walk a mile to check on them.  If they need anything, then I have to scale a mountain then walk four miles uphill in the snow both ways.  Of course, seeing as they're they type of people that sit that far away, they're also the type of people who want to send you for one thing at a time when they need 4 or 15 things.  They sat back there for 3 fucking hours.  They might as well have applied for residency.  One of the women decided she was going to be a "big shot" and pay for everyone.  She paid with a card then sat there for another hour.  When they finally left, I went back to get the credit card slip.  No tip on the card or the table.  Big. Fucking. Surprise.  The most difficult usually tip the least.  That was my first table today, so I could see how things were going to go for the rest of the day.  All but three of my tables couldn't be bothered to tip even a goddamned nickel.  This was the shittiest day I've seen in the 3 1/2 years I've been at Pizza Place.  It was pretty dead, but the people that did come in were cheap ass skanks.
                          An old man came in after lunch.  At first I thought he might have been limping, but once he got closer, I realized he was kind of hopping from one foot to the other as he hurriedly came down the sidewalk and in the front door.  When he got inside, I realized he was not only hopping from foot to foot as he walked, but he was also slightly leaned back and clenching his ass.  Of course he made a bee line for the restroom.  I watched on our security cameras as he went the back of the store to the restrooms and knocked on the door.  Some one must have been in there, because he continued to stay there hopping and clenching.  I had a couple of tables that I had to get to, so I went to it.  I had forgotten all about the man, when a horrible stench wafted up to the service stand.  I looked around to see who sharted, but, alas, I was the only one around.  I make it a rule to NEVER seek out the source of a stink, for fear of being the one who has to clean up whatever is producing the offending odor.  I don't do nasty.  I just don't.  I don't get paid enough to clean up body fluids or whatever else disgusting shit finds its way into a restaurant from time to time.  A few minutes later, the other server comes up and asks, "What is that smell?"  I told her I hadn't the slightest.  She decided to be the hero and search it out.  Not 30 seconds later, I hear a scream.  Having a feeling I wouldn't be the first to find the stench, thus not being the one responsible for cleaning it up, I let my curiosity get the best of me and went to see what was so bad that it made a grown woman scream.   It couldn't have been that bad, right?  She had to have been just being a drama queen, right? Nope.  As I turned the corner and started toward the back of the restaurant, the smell was so bad it could gag a maggot. By the time I walked through the door to the bathroom my eyes were watering, stomach was churning, and I felt my esophagus get about 2 inches shorter.  I held back my urge to vomit and looked over at my co-server who was white as a sheet and was pointing to behind the door.  I peek around the door to see what was going on.  Lo and behold, there is diarrhea EVERYWHERE.  It covered the toilet, the floor, and was even splattered up the wall.  Evidently, Mr. Hopandclench hadn't made it to the toilet in time.  Of course, being the excellent employee that I am, I immediately announced that I would not be the one cleaning that up.  Fuck that noise.  "There's no fucking way I'm touching that.  It can sit there for the rest of the god damned day for all I care.  If LardAssManager wants it cleaned up, he can do it his self.  I don't get paid enough for this shit." I proclaimed.  With that, I turned around and went back to leaning against the service station.  LardAssManager wound up convincing a couple of the cooks to cleaning it up.  Good luck if you ate at Pizza Place today, because the hands that made your food are the same hands that, not 3 hours ago, were scrubbing shit off of everything in the restroom.  I wish I had the power of seeing into the future.  Had I been able to this morning, I would have avoided working all day for a measly $12.00, and I wouldn't have been forced to witnessing an old man's "accident" in the men's room.  I need a vacation.

Barefoot and Illiterate

                                     I haven't posted about where I'm from because of the stigma that comes along with it, but I do now and always have resided in the heart of Appalachia.  It is a beautiful place to live, with lofty mountains, bountiful wild life, and lush greenery.  I am proud of where I come from. With that being said, whenever traveling, I find myself somewhat reluctant to answer when people ask where I am from.  People have this stereotype in their mind, and I would like to see that stereotype put to rest.  Don't get me wrong, there are some that fit that stereotypical mold.  They are the minority.  I, at least partly, blame the news.  Whenever there is a big news story breaking in our area, I'll be damned if the reporter doesn't always find the dumbest, loudest redneck they can find to interview.  People see this idiot spewing nonsense on their television and assume we all must be like that.  In my 8 years of serving, I have had a barrage of ludicrous questions hurled at me.  If anyone out there is ever fortunate enough to visit this beautiful part of the country known as Appalachia, I have a list of questions to NOT ask your server.

These are all questions I have been asked by out-of-towners.  I have also been kind enough to answer them.

Q: Wow!  You're wearing shoes?
A: Well, by golly, mister, I saved up my monies and got myself some of these fancy new foot cover things.  Of course I wear god damned shoes.  I'm not a fucking animal.  Would you want to walk around on this nasty ass floor barefoot?  Yeah, me either.

Q: You actually have teeth?  (This was seriously a question some one asked)
A:  Yeah, we actually do have toothbrushes and dentists.  I know, shocking, right?

Q:  Wasn't the movie "Wrong Turn" filmed somewhere around here?
A: No, even though they have the movie "set" in West Virginia, it was actually filmed in Canada.

Q:  Don't you all marry your cousins?
A:  No, we do not.  Not only is that completely vile, but it is also illegal in this state.  If you are interested in marrying your cousin, you can always go to California, New York, New Jersey, Vermont, or Rhode Island, just to name a few, where it is completely legal.

Q:  I didn't know you all could read.
A: Yes, I can read and write.  Fascinating, isn't it?  I am also college educated, as are most of the other people that live here.

(And last, but not least, my most favorite and most frequently asked question):
Q:  What's it like living in western Virginia
A:  I don't live in western Virginia.  I live in West Virginia.  West Virginia is it's own state, and not, not, not, NOT the western part of Virginia.

I can not believe that some adult men and women who are supposedly so much smarter and more educated than us "dumb hillbillies" do not know that West Virginia is a state.  The people that live here are kind, giving, intelligent people.  We are not the toothless, shoeless, ignorant, rednecks who bathe in rivers and drink dirty  creek water.  Which is some people might have you believe.

I'm only talking about the ridiculous things people really do believe about us.  I'm not talking about jokes.  I do love a well placed hillbilly or redneck joke, but not that stupid "you might be a reneck if..." shit.  If you're going to make a joke about a stereotype, make sure it is well placed, thought out, and intelligent.  Otherwise, you just sound like an ignorant jerk off.

I don't mean to sound like I'm standing on my soap box, but I had a table of 8 today that treated me like garbage.  It wasn't even the typical "I'm better than you because you're just a lowly server who bring me food."  kind of table.  I'm mostly used to that kind of table, even though it still kind of pisses me off.  They acted like I was unable to understand them or anything, really.  They were here on their vacation, but lived out of state.  Every one of them made sure to talk real slow for me so that I could understand what they wanted to eat and drink.  I can't blame them.  I never would have understood that they wanted a pizza, 5 salads, and a pitcher of soda with 8 cups of ice if they hadn't dumbed it down for me.  They were beyond rude the entire meal.  After they had gotten all their food, I went back to make sure everything was alright and check for refills.  Before I could even say anything, they were yelling "waitress!" and either shaking or pointing at their 3/4 full drinks (that's right, I can even do simple math).  I probably took them their check a little too soon, but I was tired of being treated worse than a chicken at a tyson farm (allegedly).  They paid their $60.00 bill with a credit card.  After they left, I went to get the credit card slip.  I was completely surprised to see a $5.00 tip.  8%, really?  Even us ignorant hillbillies know that a 15-20% tip is customary.

A Word for the Not So Wise, for Your Cheep Ass

                           I cannot stand for someone to truly believe they deserve something for nothing.  You're not special, bitch.  You are no more special that me, Jane Doe, Joe Blow, or the homeless woman that mutters to herself and growls if anyone gets near her.  Anything that doesn't already come on or with the food you ordered is considered extra.   If you order something EXTRA, then you are going to have to pay EXTRA for it.  If it's just one or two cups of ranch that I can get myself, I won't charge for it.  Unless, of course, my manager happens to be breathing down my neck.  In that case, I will have to charge you.  When it comes down to having to hear you bitch about it for the next 30 minutes until you leave, or having to hear my manager bitching at me about it for the rest of my shift, I'm going to choose pissing you off.  I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.  If you run me to death because your table of 10 needs 5 extra cups of dressing with each salad, and two cups of ranch per person to dip their pizza in, I'm going to charge you for every fucking drop.  My hassle=your cost.  If you want something that I have to get a cook retrieve for me, I will always have to charge you for that.  The cooks are not going to do anything more than their bare-minimum job requirements, so their not looking to do me, or you, any favors.  They're not going to hand over a bread crumb without a ticket.  In order for them to have a ticket with what they need to send out, I have to put that shit into the computer, thus charging you for the item you had wanted.  You would think all of this would be common sense, but, sadly, it is not.  People still become unbelievably irate when they see that $0.30 charge on their bill  for the cup of extra ranch that they ordered themselves.
                                 
                                         Once, about two years ago, a well-known high school teacher and coach in my town came in with his family to eat one night.  Him and his family would always order one large pizza to share for their meal and one large salad to share for their app.  Pretty simple.  The only problem was that they wanted two dressings a piece for each person, but only one salad.  Our large salad is not abnormally big and only comes with two dressings, so they were also getting 6 extra dressings along with the two that come with the salad.  It says in every portion of our menu how much extra dressings, pizza toppings, sauces, cheese, etc. costs.  It's not like I was trying to be sneaky and run his bill up unbeknownst to him.  Unless you're illiterate (and he just may be considering all of the stupid kids that I see coming out of that high school), ignorance is no excuse.  Anyway, I was trying to be nice and only charged him for three instead of the six extra dressings they had eaten.  Everything was great, until the bill came.  He saw the $0.90 charge for extra dressing, and he made a HUGE scene.  The way he acted, you would have thought there was a gratuity for $600.00 on there.  He screamed and yelled, stomped his feet, and got red in the face.  Basically, he looked like a bald, fat two year old throwing a temper tantrum.  And this is some one in charge of molding our youth?  That's it, I'm sending my kids to private school.  There's no way I want this immature piece of mildew getting his hands on my kids.  He wound up wanting the manager.  Of course, Dip Shit wound up taking it off the bill, but told him, "I took it off this time, but next time you'll know so you'll have to pay for it." Yeah, right.

                                  This kind of scene happens more likely than you would think, unless you work in a restaurant.  Just today, a woman called wanting to place an order for her and her co-workers to come in and eat.  She ordered for her co-workers first, then herself.  She wanted a small order of our 3-Layer Breadsticks, and wanted ranch with them.  Pizza sauce normally comes with them.  If they want to substitute the pizza sauce for something else, there's no extra charge.  However, if they want the pizza sauce and another sauce, they're going to have to dig deep in their pockets and pay that darned $0.30.  I know, expensive, right.  How can anyone ever afford that?  When the lady told me she wanted ranch, of course I asked her if she just wanted the ranch or if she wanted pizza sauce and ranch.  Three ranches total.  So I charged her $0.90.  That should not have been a big deal, but it was.  They came in and ate.  When they were ready, I split off their checks and took them their bills.  The lady never said anything about it until she came up to pay.  My manager was standing beside me as a cashed them out.  She asked me why I charged her for the ranch.  "Because, that's what you asked for ma'am.  You said that you wanted pizza sauce and ranch when I took your order over the phone, so I charged you for the ranch.  The small breadsticks only come with one sauce.", I replied.  She scrunched her nose, squinted her eyes, and pursed her lips.  Her face looked like she'd smelled shit.  She then prepared herself to win the award for biggest over-reaction ever and said, "NO, I did NOT!  You are a liar.  I told you I only wanted ranch. Had I known you were going to charge me, I wouldn't have gotten both."  I'm thinking whoa, whoa, lady, calm down. you are getting way to amped up over $0.90.  You contradicted yourself too, by the way.  Which is it? Am I a liar, or did you not know that it would cost you extra for extra ranch?  Before I could say anything, manager stepped in and took off one of the ranches, because either way, she still got two extra.  She seemed happy saving $0.30, whatever.  I'm just thankful that she got the fuck out of there.  I couldn't imagine being such a raving fucking lunatic that $0.30 got my panties all up in a bunch.  Chill the fuck out.  It's just a condiment.

Hello, Hello, Can You Hear Me Now?

                      Today was a pretty boring Wednesday.  The only thing that was happening was the stupid Antique Telephone Club that has a standing reservation for our party/meeting room every single fucking Wednesday.  I don't understand what they could possibly have to meet about every god damned week.  They start calling as soon as we open to place their food orders for dine-in, all separately.  They order plenty of salads and apps., that I have to hurry and get made before they arrive at 12pm.  Once they arrive, I have to try to get everyone's drink order while they all chat and laugh it up, completely ignoring me the entire time.  They are all standing and moving around the room the whole time, so it's hard to tell if I've missed some one or not.  If I accidentally do miss someone, because they were too busy jacking their jaws and didn't hear me the 5 times I asked if I had gotten everyone's drink order, they act like it's my fault.  When I come back to the meeting/party room with everyone else's drinks, there's always at least one deaf idiot that bombards me.  "Well, where's my drink?  You got everyone else's drink.  Why didn't you get mine?  I need a diet Coke!  I'm so thirsty!  I can't believe YOU forgot MY drink when you got everyone else's!"  Well, shitbird, had you not been too busy yucking it up with Mr. Asswipe over there to bother yourself with my silly questions, then you would have your fucking diet Coke.  So, after I get the first round of drinks, I have to go get a second round for the one's who don't listen, and then possibly a third for the people who can't show up on time.  Once everyone finally has their drinks, I let them know that I'm going to go get their food on trays, so I'll be right back with it.  At this point, as I'm walking out of the room, someone yells out at me, "Excuse me, but I didn't know we had to place our orders ahead of time, can I give you my order now?"  And sometimes one or two more pops their heads out of their asses also, and lets me know they need to order too.  Seriously, you all do this shit every week, even though I don't understand what's so pressing about antique phones that they need a weekly meeting to discuss it.  How in the fuck do you not know by now that the rest of the club orders ahead of time?  I turn around and get the orders of the people that didn't know, after two years of weekly meetings, the rest of the club orders ahead of time.  I put the late bloomers orders in the computer.  I then go ahead and take out the people's food who were smart enough to have phoned it in.  Of course, there's always unclaimed food, because their too busy talking about the 1940's rotary wall phone they just bought, or whatever it is they talk about, to listen to me asking who's food I had in my hands.  I just sit the unclaimed food down on a table to the side and move on to the next dish.  I know as soon as I get everything else passed out and start to walk out of the room, there will be at least 2-3 people yelling at me that I forgot their food.  By that time, everyone has already sucked down every last drop of their sodas and stored it in their humps, just in case, so I have to get all 30-40 of them a refill.  After everyone has a fresh, full drink in their hand, it's time to take out the imbecile's food.  Then refills, again.  Then refills, again.  By now, everyone has gorged themselves, so they're ready for their 30-40 separate checks all at once.  Let me remind you that they mostly all ordered their food, sans drink, ahead of time.  They waited to order their drinks when they got there, and since I can't put a face to a voice on the phone, it's hard to put the right food with the right drink.  If they all just got fountain sodas, it wouldn't be a big deal because all fountain sodas cost the same, but they don't, of course.  Some get fountain soda, some get tap water, some get bottled water, some get tea, and some get lemonade, all of which has different prices. So, I decided that I would just leave it all on one bill.  That way, when they come up front to pay, they could just tell me what they had to eat and drink.  I could split it off of the bill right there, tell them the price, take the payment, give them a receipt, tell them to have a nice day, and they could get the fuck out of my face. On to the next person.  Wash, rinse, repeat.   Sounds fairly simple right?  I thought so too, but then we would both be wrong.  As it turns out, a lot of people don't remember what they crammed into their pie hole.  It's not like I just went ahead and brought them out whatever the fuck I felt like taking to them.  If that was the case, they'd be sitting back there talking about old phones with a whole lot of air and nothing else in front of them.  They had to ask me for what they wanted.  They ordered it themselves, then ate every last bite.  So, how is it that 30 minutes later you can't remember what you ordered?  Describe it to me?  Paint me a fucking picture?  Anything?  Obviously these people have nothing but rotary dials, busy signals, and cow excrement between their ears.

Sticky, Sticky, Grubby Little Fingers

                   Nothing of interest happened again today, not that I'm complaining.  Since nothing pissed me off today, I would like to talk about a very serious problem in the restaurant industry.  Why is it that customers steal?  I know anyone who has ever worked in a restaurant has seen this happen about a gajillion times.  They will take anything they can get their grubby little hands on.  I've seen salt/pepper/parmesan/red pepper shakers, menus, ketchup/mustard/steak sauce bottles, sugar/artificial sweetener packets, sugar caddies, menus, decorations, condiment caddies, and probably a thousand other things I can't think of right now, taken without so mush as a single fuck given to whom their actions might affect.  It doesn't bother me that my fat cat owners have to pay to replace that shit.  They wipe their ass with that.  What bothers me is, when I show up for work every morning, I have to go to every table, take an inventory of what's been lifted the day before, and replace all of that shit!  It's not fun, and takes about an hour to do.  Most of the things, I just have to grab out of the stock room and put back on the tables, but the shakers are a whole different breed of dog.  I have to get the shakers and the lids from two separate places, then get the shit to fill them up from a third and fourth place.  I then have to fill them all up with whatever is appropriate, wipe them down, and finally put them back on the tables.  It's annoying and monotonous, and not how i would choose to start my morning!  Just go to the god damned dollar store, since you're so fucking cheap, and buy your own for only a few cents a piece.  They're not that fucking expensive.  I don't come to your job at the whore house and steal all the condoms from your night stand, so don't come to my place of employment and make my job harder than it already is.  Don't you realize that having to look at you, for 30-45 minutes at a time, is hard enough on me?  Of course you don't, because that would require some empathy.  For example, one night, an old man came out of the bathrooms at Pizza Place as I was coming out of the dining room to the side.  I followed him through the main dining room, walking back to the front of the store.  He didn't know I was behind him.  Right as we passed Table 33, I watched him reach out, grab a parmesan shaker, and shove it into his pocket .  What gall!  He didn't even look around to make sure no one saw him.  He had no shame. He just went back to his family at another table and finished his meal.  He probably stole the shakers off that table too.  My thought?  "God damn it, now I'm going to have to replace that mother fucker.  There goes 5 minutes of my life down the fucking drain.  Thanks, grandpa."

A Walk Down Nightmare Lane

                          Nothing noteworthy happened at work today.  No news is good news, I guess, so I'm going to share with you a story from the vault.  It was about 5 years ago, and I was working at this shitty (even more so than Pizza Place) corporate restaurant with a "roadhouse" theme.  One of the biggest companies in our area was holding a HUGE outdoor concert about 3 miles up the road, as part of a big PR scheme, and they actually had a lot of big names in music scheduled to be there.  They were expecting about 100,000 people to attend.  The brilliant owners of Roadhouse decided since there would be quite a few vendors at the concert, no one would want to come eat at the closest restaurant with booze.  Geniuses right?   The only people the had scheduled for that day,since we'd be soooo dead, was 1 manager, 3 cooks, 1 bartender, 1 host, 1 supervisor(me), and 3 servers. We only had enough servers to open half the restaurant.  We were all working open-close, because we were the only ones who hadn't asked off to go to the concert, and the intelligent owners decided to give the day off to everyone who had asked for it.  As soon as the doors were unlocked, people rushed in.  Not only was the half of the restaurant we had opened full, but every table in the entire store was full.  We couldn't even get the tables cleaned when people left before another one would sit down.  It wasn't just a lunch then dinner rush. The lunch rush started as soon as the doors opened, and it NEVER stopped.  Seriously, every table in the restaurant stayed full until we locked the doors that night.  One of the servers was new, and he just couldn't hack it.  He did it for about 3 hours, then walked out on us.  I can't say I blame him.  He was probably the only smart one that day, because the rest of us stayed.  When he left, the rest of us had to split up his table.  The table I got stuck with was a 6-top.  They had already ordered and received their drinks and app, but he hadn't put in their order, nor could he tell me where he had written their order down at.  At this point, they were almost finished with their app and it was taking at least an hour for anything to come out of the kitchen.  I knew I was in for it.  I took a deep breath and headed over to them.  I said, "Hello, my name is BoW, and I will be taking care of you now.  I am very sorry, but your previous server left without putting your order in.  If you want to go ahead and give me your order, I promise I will get it to you as quickly as possible.  I really am very sorry for this, but I promise I'll take good care of you."  They said they didn't want to wait any longer, which was perfectly understandable, seeing as that jackass left them sitting there for so long without putting their food in, and knowing how long ticket time was.  So I said, "Okay, I completely understand, and once again, I'm VERY sorry about all of this.  I'll just go print your ticket for your drinks and the appetizer you got, and I'll be right back."  I went straight to the computer, pulled up their check, and pressed print.  As the ticket was printing, the manager came up to me and told me they were making their way to the door, and that he thought they were going to leave without paying the ticket.  I really couldn't blame them for wanting to leave without paying, considering how bad their prior server had fucked up.  The problem was that their ticket was now in my name, so I was responsible for it, and Roadhouse had a policy that if a table walked on the bill, the server had to pay their tab.  That's right, the whole ticket, with no discount, was to be paid by the server.  So, I grabbed the check and made a bee line to the front door to try and catch up with them.  I did catch them, right outside the door.  I said, "Excuse me, I've got your ticket for your drinks and appetizer.  The total is $21.77."  The man turned around to face me, he had a toddler on his hip, and it wasn't until just then that I realized how big this man was.  He towered over top of me, and was at least 3 times as wide as I was.  He said, "I'm not paying for that shit!"  I looked up at him, determined not to back down, and said, "I understand that your meal was messed up sir, and I'm very sorry about that, but you did get a perfectly good appetizer and 6 drinks.  The other server is gone, and now I'm the one responsible for your bill.  If you don't pay for it, they're going to make me pay for the food and drinks that you all had."  I was hoping he'd realize he was punishing some one who was innocent and didn't deserve it, but of course not.  He says, "I don't give a damn if you have to pay for it or not!!!"  That did it for me, I was trying to be understanding and extremely polite, but if he didn't give a fuck about me, then I didn't give a fuck about him, his cunting wife, or his ugly as sin kids.  By this time, my manager was standing behind me, and the bartender had saw me running and heard the commotion and he was standing beside me.  The bartender took a step towards them and I said, "That's alright, I'll just call the police on you for stealing!!  We'll get them here and let them sort it out!!"  The huge beast of a man looked at me, his face turning red as a beet.  He literally dropped the toddler onto the ground and said, "Ugly wife, get the kids, I'm beating this bitch's ass!!!"  I turned and ran back into the restaurant faster than I think I've ever ran before, I ran all the way to the back into the kitchen.  I was crying as I told the cooks what had happened.  They all ran out the side door to the front and had him surrounded before he could realize what was going on.  I was terrified.  I stayed in the kitchen.  After looking around and seeing that there was men all around him, he wasn't so tough anymore.  He quietly handed over $22.00 to one of the cooks and took his morbidly obese family home.  He was all eager for a fight when there was only 3 women standing in front of him.  What a coward.  I'll bet he beats on those hideous wife and kids of his.  I know the tab wasn't that much, and had I known I was at risk for physical violence, I would have just sucked it up and paid for it myself.  While every little bit counts for me, no amount of money is worth risking my health and well being.  I was young and never could have imagined that someone would have become so irate over paying a $21.77 bill.  I'm so thankful to now work for a place that understands that, every once in a while, someone is going to dine and ditch.  Hopefully I'll have something more current tomorrow.  I hate reliving the nightmare of working at Roadhouse.

"Super Server" conquers evil villain "Thieving Lard Ass"

                Today was a shit storm on so many levels.  We had a heavy thunderstorm move through our area knocking out power and making people crazy.  The powerless poured into our restaurant like they would never be able to eat again. We even had a wait at one point.  That's right, at the shitty pizza place in a small town, we had a wait.  It is absolutely unheard of, and why anyone would EVER want to wait for the food at Pizza Place, is beyond my comprehension.  Once again it was up to only me and one other waitress to feed the masses.  I think my shitty store manager does this on purpose so that when lunch rush hits, he can take a few of the tables and make some tips.  Not today!!!  Not on my watch!!!! And not ever again!!!  I am fed up!!   I was determined when I entered the door to work this morning that I was not going to let him take a penny out of my pocket.  The lunch rush hit with the force of a tsunami, and after a few (or six) tables a piece, the other waitress said she was too far in the weeds and could not take another one until she got caught up.  I'm sure when lard ass manager heard this, he wet his panties with delight.  So, Dumbass, Greedy, Fuckwad Manager waddles out to the dining room and starts getting drink orders.  I let him do so while I made and ran a few salads and apps to a couple tables.  When he comes back with drink orders in hand, I was waiting for him.  I said with a smile, "I'm caught up now, so i'll take those.", and snatched them out of his hands.  I only had to snatch maybe a couple more drink orders out of his hand before he got the hint.  The only problem was, once he realized I wasn't going to let him steal any of my tips, he refused to help us at all.  The other server and I were getting deeper and deeper in the weeds, but I was determined to make my point.  I was absolutely, under no circumstances, going to let him defeat me.  I didn't care if I had to take every table by myself.  I was going to do it, and do it well.  By having even one complaint, he would have won.  And guess what?  I did it!!  Without having to call on him for ANYTHING!!  Only one of my tables had any complaints, and it was all in their heads.  They were the type of people that were looking for something to complain about as soon as they walked in the door.  I'm not exaggerating, as soon as they walked in I heard the obese ape man grumble, "The Pizza Place in Soandso is sooooo much better than this one."  Whatever, man, if it's soooo much better, then drag your ass to that one and leave me the fuck alone.  There was 6 of them, 5 whores and one ape man.  Every table inn the restaurant was full at that point.  Any normal functioning adult human brain would think,"Hmmm, this place is packed, we might have to wait an extra five minutes on our food since all these other people were smart enough to get here before us.", but no these dipshits expected their entree within 10 minutes of sitting down even though they had all ordered salads AND apps.  After I got their orders, I put them in the computer then dropped their apps.  I then took out their drinks, then their salads and apps along with two other tables that I had picked up at the same time as I had them.  After dropping off the third tables salads and apps, I was on my way to the expo window to pick up the whores and ape man's food when I feel someone grab onto my clothing.  So, I stop and turn around and it's none other than Ape Man himself.  He has this ugly "I smell shit" look on his face and I ask him if there's something I can get for him.  He yells like the Ape Man he is, "I'm not impatient or anything, but is our food going to get here anytime soon?!"  His ticket had only been in for 10 minutes at that point, believe me, I checked.  So I tell him very nicely that I had been on my way to get his food when he stopped me and that he would already have it if he hadn't been so "not impatient".  So I slowly make my way there, since he's sooooo "not impatient".  I make sure to stop at another table close to them that had heard him screaming and apologize for the over grown man child making a scene and ask them if I could get them anything.  They say they're fine and that THEY are sorry that I have to deal with people like that.  I smile and tell them that if they need anything, just let me know.  THEN, I went and got the food for the "not impatient" table.  I deliver it and then ask them if there's anything else I can get for them, they said no, so I continue on.  About five minutes later I hear one of the whores at the "not impatient" table screeching at me, "WAITRESSSSSSSS!!!!", so I reluctantly walk over.  That whore and the whore sitting next to her had ordered a sandwich to split.  Our sandwiches come on oval plates and I had brought them each a round plate with their sandwich that they were splitting.  They had taken their sandwich off the oval plate and they each had a half sandwich sitting in front of them on a round plate when I walked over.  I notice each of their halves of sandwich have about 3-4 bites taken out of them.  Whore #1 tells me there is a hair on her half sandwich.  I look and it is laying perfectly on top of the top piece of bread.  I was thinking, "Are you fucking serious?  You mean to tell me you didn't notice it when you got the sandwich, took it off the original plate, or when you took 3-4 bites of it and it never even fell off the top of the sandwich either?"  Whatever!  I was soo done with them long before this.  I took both plates with both halves of sandwich off the table and told them I'd have it taken off their bill.  I then brought them boxes and the check sans their stupid sandwich.  I was done.  I didn't want to see or hear from them anymore.  When they came up front to pay, they asked for Lard Ass the store manager so I went and got him.  They were mad that their bill wasn't comped over one hair on one half of one sandwich, even though there was 6 salads, 6 apps, and 5 other entrees that were perfectly fine.  Whore #1 seriously told my shit head manager, "Finding that hair on my sandwich ruined the whole dining experience for everyone.", in this really dramatic voice.  He basically told her tough shit and that he had taken the sandwich off, but they were going to have to pay for everything else.  Smartest thing I've ever heard him say in the 3 years I've worked there.  They paid, but weren't happy about it.  My thought, good, maybe they won't come back.  Those people were crazy, and that's not my fault.  The nice table that told me they were sorry I had to deal with people like that left me a $20 tip and it was only a two-top, and the other waitress working with me called me Super Server when recounting the day to second shift.  So seeing as I only had one complaint from people that were clearly out of their minds, I made close to $100 on  a lunch shift including a $20 bill left by a two top, and I took so many tables by myself that it warranted me the title of "Super Server" with little to mostly no help from my thieving, lard ass, douche bag store manager, I deeply believe that I won the battle and live to serve another day!!

Definitely Fed Up!!!

Today was another really busy day, although not quite the shit storm yesterday was.  We got slammed for lunch rush with only me and another server.  The other server had gotten several big tables, but I didn't have any big groups, so I was busy but fine.  The store manager started going to tables before I could get to them and getting their drink orders, but instead of handing them over, he kept them!!  All of them!! Then kept the tips!!  He was running up to them before I could ever get the chance.  It's not like I had left them sitting there either.  He would run up to them as soon as they would walk through the door and follow them to the table so that he could get there first.  He has a new boy toy and I have a feeling that's what behind him turning into this little greedy monster.  If I had any doubts yesterday about going to the owner on him, I absolutely have NONE now.  What a dick head!!!

He broke the Cardinal Rule!!!!!

Today was SUPER busy, but it started out like any other Monday.  We had a retirement party scheduled with 20-25 people supposed to attend.  No big deal.  Parties are usually pretty simple.  They typically order a few big pizzas and a few pitchers of soda.  They have cups, plates, napkins, silverware, and straws already back there, so we take them a big bucket of ice with their pitchers of soda, and they're able to pretty much take care of themselves.  Except for the occasional refill on a pitcher.  All servers take care of scheduled parties so that everyone can continue to take their own tables.  The autograt is added and at the end all servers taking care of the party clean up and split the autograt.  This is only on scheduled parties.  On all other tables, the server who waits on the table gets the tip.  So that's the breakdown of the policies at the pizza place.  By the time everyone got there, a total of 60 PEOPLE had shown up.  We weren't expecting that kind of turn out, so there hadn't been anyone else scheduled for day shift.  It was only me and one other waitress.  So, I took a deep breath, and thought "It'll be okay, we can do this".  WRONG!!  Instead of pitchers, all 60 people decided to order individual drinks.  Instead of a few big pizzas, they all decided to order individual sandwiches and pastas.  Instead of the host paying for the ticket, they ALL wanted separate checks.  47 separate checks to be exact.  We needed help, so the store manager helped us get all the drinks out.  We then got their order and took all the food out ourselves.  We got all their refills ourselves.  When they got ready to go, we took them boxes, split off the checks, and took their checks to them ourselves.  The manager cashed them all out at the register while the other server and myself cleaned up all the mess ourselves.  The autograt was $108 dollars!!! "AWESOME!!!", I thought.  WRONG AGAIN!  Instead of splitting the gratuity $54 for me and $54 for the other serve, he split it $36 for me, $36 for the other server, and $36 for his own greedy fucking self!!!  That greedy fucking bastard!!!  I couldn't believe it.  I was fucking speechless.  For those of you who do not know, that son of a bitch broke the Golden Rule for the service industry.  A manager should never, under any circumstances, take any tip money.  His job is to help where he's needed.  That's why he makes the big bucks, while we're stuck making $2.13/hr. I usually stay out of everything, and I have never told on anyone for anything, but I'm seriously considering going to the owner on this.  By taking that tip, he took money away from mine and the other servers family, and I won't stand for that.   Even if it makes thing a little more difficult for me when it comes to that manager.


On a side note, sorry for the later-than-usual post.  I had to work over today due to it being so busy plus we're severely understaffed.

Act Your Age, Not Your Shoe Size

Well, today was a shitfest.  It was dead all day, and the tables that I DID get were cheap assholes.  I have three women gorge their fat jaws, then leave me $3 on a $65 bill.  Not to mention that I had to make all three of their salads and their 3 apps by myself!  Mind you that I work at a pizza joint, so it takes A LOT of food to make a $65 bill.  Those bitches didn't come in until 30 minutes until I was supposed to leave, took FOREVER to order, ran me to death, and then put down roots and camped out an extra 30 minutes after they were done eating.  All for a goddamned $3 tip!!!!! I had three women earlier in the day today come in so I ask them what they want to drink, two were nice and ordered and then the third won't even look at me, uh-oh then she snarls at me, "Ughhh, diet PEPSI, I guess" and rolls her eyes.  What a bitch.  So I very nicely say "Ok, I'll be right back with that".  I go get their drinks, then come back to get their order.  The two nice ladies order with no problem, then the bitch says that she wants an order of our brownie bites, and she wants a dipping sauce with them, we have several, so I ask her which one she would like, explaining her options.  She seriously told me she didn't know which one, and for me to go get my manager and ask him which one she likes.  Are you kidding me?  With all of the people we handle on a daily basis, how in the hell is he supposed to know?  So, I go get him, tell him the deal, and he says to me exactly what I had thought, "how is he supposed to know?".        He goes out and speaks with them anyways, just to humor them, then goes into the kitchen and gets them one of each.  My thought, though, is how have you made it all the way to adulthood when you can't tell the difference between raspberry, chocolate, caramel, and vanilla?  Especially since you had already eaten them before!!  The rest of my day was VERY uneventful, unfortunately, because that meant I only walked out the door with $20.  Bluhh, hopefully tomorrow will be better, and I'll have a super awesome, amazing story to share.  Until then!