Reality Show in the Restaurant

                              Sorry for my hiatus.  I know all five or ten of my readers really missed me.  There's been a lot of things going on in my personal life.  The blog, while a great stress reliever, takes a back seat to all things personal.  This blog is not about my personal life, so that's all I have to say about that.  Just know that I am back.

                               I have never been so glad or in such a hurry to leave work as I was today.  Don't get me wrong, I am always ecstatic when my shift is over.  I usually always do a jig and sing a show tune on my way out the door, but today I was in a particular kind of hurry.

                                The phone was ringing, so I answered.  On the other end of the phone was someone asking for the manager.  She said her name was Brianna.  I asked her to please hold while I went to find him.  I put her on hold and turned to my manager who was actually standing beside me.  I told him that someone named Brianna was on the phone asking to speak to him.  He said it was probably someone wanting to check on an application, to just tell her that he was busy, and ask if I could take a message.  I did as I was told.  She actually was not someone wanting a job.  She was someone involved in a ridiculous reality show for a major television network.  She said that the participants in this reality show were wanting to go out to eat at Pizza Place this evening, but that they needed permission to film there.  I took everything down, along with the phone number she gave me.

                                After I got off the phone with her, I handed the note to the manager along with a warning.  "If I were you, I wouldn't let them film here.  They're not a documentary, they are a reality show.  The people they're filming are scum.  They're only out to make us all look like fools to get ratings for their network.  I promise, It's a bad idea."  Of course, as always, no one listens to me.  He completely ignored my warning.  He called that woman back and told her they could film there tonight.  It was his decision.  When that decision blows up in his face, he can't say he wasn't warned.  There was nothing I could do about it, except to get out of there as quickly as possible.

                                I know I post on a public blog, but I really am a private person.  I'm content with my life.  I don't need fortune or fame to be happy, nor would I want it.  I most certainly would not trade my dignity for my 15 minutes, which is exactly what they're doing.  They're perpetuating the stereotypes associated with living in Appalachia.  If you've read my previous post, you know that really burns my biscuits.  I'm really thankful I work day shift, so I don't have to be bothered with it.  I do, however, feel bad for the servers that were coming in for evening shift as I was leaving.  They were not happy.

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.