Everyone has had one of those days. I feel like working in the service industry, those type of days are unbelievably frequent. I've just gotten home from work, and I'm ashamed to admit. I find myself full of rage. I feel as if I'm about to blow my top in a Mt. St. Helens style explosion. I really try not to bring work home with me. It's not goo for my kids, my husband, or myself. It's just so hard sometimes. That is the reason why I started this blog. My husband says he can tell a major difference. Before I had this blog as an outlet before my frustrations, I would come home steaming from a bad day. I would be snappy and irritable. Not anymore. I can come home from work, shut myself in my bedroom, and type it out. It's as if all my anger and frustrations just flow out of my fingertips and plaster themselves onto this blog in a tangled mess of poor writing and vulgarities.
What has my panties in a bunch today is this bitch that came in right before I was about to leave. She was part of my last table of the day. I was already somewhat aggravated with me being tired because it was my last day of the week. Plus it seemed like every table I had with children spilled whole glasses of soda. There was at least 4 little brats that caused me to get a mop and wet floor sign. After working all week, all I wanted to do was get home and relax. Right before evening shift came in, this god damned bitch showed up. I had to wait on her.
She's not just a random bitch. Her sister waited tables at Pizza Place. The owner suspected the sister of stealing because her cash drawer was always short. The sister was about to be fired, but I guess she got wind of it and quit before they could shit can her. Every time this bitch comes in, she makes a bunch of demands of things she knows we're not allowed to let her have. That way when her server tells her, "I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to do that.", she can get red faced, scream, and occasionally yell profanities at the server. She's also known to want to speak to Lazylardass to let him know her server was very rude. That way she can try to get free shit or get the server in trouble. There's already a few servers who are not allowed to wait on her because of her complaints. I think they are the lucky ones. I don't know why she's so bitter. It wasn't even her who was going to be fired, it was her sister. Plus, it was over a year ago. Get the fuck over it already.
When she came in today, she wanted the pick up and delivery only special. There's only one problem with that. She was eating in the dining room and the special is for PICK UP AND DELIVERY ONLY. I told her I was sorry, but I wasn't allowed to let her have that in the dining room. Her face started turning red, but she said "FINE!" She ordered a pizza and a salad for her and her two dining companions to share. Then she said she wanted a 2-liter of soda for them to share. 2-liters are also for pick up and delivery only. Personally, I could not give a fuck less if she sits the the dining room, drinks 3 2-liters then buys an extra two to shove up her ass. The boss, however, does care. He says it's not allowed, so I'm going to do what he says. I only have to listen to you bitch for an hour tops, but I have to work all day with him. I told her, "I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to sell 2-liters in the dining room either." From the way she acted, you would have thought I had insulted her first born. Her face got even more red, her eyes narrowed, and her head spun around. "Are you fucking kidding me? That's so stupid. This place is fucking ridiculous!", she screeched. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can sell you a pitcher of soda instead.", I replied, trying to remain calm. "Well, no, why the hell would you think I'd want that? I guess I'll just have a water.", she said, her voice getting whinier and whiner with each word. At that point, I just wanted to get away from her before I wrapped my hands around her throat and squeezed with all my might. I got their drinks, took their food out when it was ready, did my check back, got refills, then took them boxes and the check when I figured they would probably be finished. I did the bare minimum. As an insult, when I went to clean the table, she had left two pennies. What she doesn't know is that my kids love when I bring change home for them to put in their piggy banks. So, she inadvertently helped me make my kids happy. The joke is on her. I was secretly hoping she would complain on me so that Lazylardass would tell me I wasn't allowed to wait on her anymore either. Of course she didn't, so it looks like I'm still going to be one of the only ones that gets stuck with her. It really feels like I'm being punished for not getting a complaint about being rude to a customer.
Showing posts with label cunt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cunt. Show all posts
Friday, July 19, 2013
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
POS System=Piece of Shit System
We've been having a butt load of problems with the POS system at Pizza Place. It is ridiculous. Let me count the ways.
-It loses orders. One of us will put an order in and it will just disappear into thin air, never to be seen again.
-When some one is putting in a big ticket, the computer can't handle it. The further along they get into the order, the slower it moves.
-When someone pushes the "Finish" button to send an order through. Another screen pops up where the bill can either be paid at that moment or they can press the "pay later" button. If it's a table, they're obviously not already paying for food they haven't gotten yet. The "pay later" button is really tiny. If we touch the "pay later" button too soon or if you don't touch it exactly right in the dead center, it won't send the order through.
-It adds a penny to some people's check, but not others. Don't fucking ask me why. I can't understand that shit at all.
-The caller I.D. doesn't work most of the time. This is a problem because if someone places a prank order from a blocked number, we wouldn't know. (For Example: Hello, this is Seymour Butts. I would like 20 anchovy and pineapple pizzas delivered to the state police station.) The example is pretty obvious. How about if it was Steven Anderson wanting 20 pepperoni pizzas then how would we know it was a prank? The store would just be out the cost of those 20 pizzas.
-We cannot add the gratuity or a discount to a check before it is split. We have to split it first, then add the gratuity or discount or both to each separate ticket. If I have a table of 20 old people and they all need separate checks, then I'm going to have to split it 20 ways. After that I have to go back into each ticket and add gratuity 20 times. I also have to go back into every check again to add 20 senior discounts. It is a time suck.
-Online ordering never works. Pizza Place has been trying to get online ordering up and running for the last 3 1/2 years I've been working there. They finally got it working and advertised that shit all over the place before they got all the bugs worked out. Every time someone goes to their website and places their order online, it adds $24,000 to their check. They will come to pick up their $13.00 pizza, and the POS will show they owe $24,013.00. Unless that pizza comes with a brand new vehicle or is topped with about 3 carats of diamonds, then that is an outrageous price.
Just today I had a family of three who were apparently on their way to a funeral. They ordered their drinks but weren't ready to order. The man was a Pepsi drinker. The thought of drinking Coke was more than he could bear, so he ordered a lemonade. He sent his lemonade back three times for being "too strong"(what a pussy), all the while refusing to order their food. The third lemonade I took out was actually half lemonade and half water. "Whoa! This is still really strong. I guess I'll just have a Coke instead. *dramatic sigh*" I took him the Coke, and asked if they were ready to order. They weren't because the wife needed to go use the bathroom. I went and asked again when I saw her back at the table. They still weren't ready because the teenage son had decided he needed to use the bathroom. Whatever. When I saw him get back to the table, I went over to try again. Hallelujah and praise the Lord, they were finally fucking ready, just shy of my 100th birthday. The had officially been sitting there for 30 minutes when I walked straight from their table to the computer and put in their order. 10 minutes later, the man walked up to me and asked when their food was going to be ready because they had to get to a funeral. Even though their ticket had only been in for a few minutes, I went to the kitchen to check. His ticket wasn't hanging in the kitchen. "Ohhh fuck, not this guy. Please don't fuck up on these people!! They're annoying in the best of situations. They are going to go god damned ballistic if I give them an actual reason to complain.", I thought as I walked over to the POS. I pulled up the screen that should have had their order on it. It was nowhere. It had been devoured by the computer, just like many orders before it. I yelled at the cooks to make the order on the fly. I then took a deep breath, put on my best fake smile, and headed back out to give him the bad news. I told him that I couldn't find his ticket anywhere, but that I could have it made with a rush on it, and if I did that, then his food would be out in about 7 minutes. He blew his top. He told me again that he had to be at a funeral and to "just forget about it". Had he let me get it made for him on the fly, his ticket time would only have been about 17 minutes. He would have waited that long anyway, even if the POS hadn't eaten his order. I ran back to the kitchen to tell the cooks to put a stop on that order. When I came back out of the kitchen, Mr. Difficult was standing in front of me along with his whole Difficult family. They said they needed to pay for their drinks. I told them not to worry about it, since they didn't get to eat. I apologized to them. That's when Mrs. Difficult decided it was a good idea to scream in my face that they had been there for 45 minutes and it was my fault that they wouldn't get to eat until 6:00pm that evening. Whatever. They had been there for 45 minutes, but they waited 30 of that before they even ordered anything. Plus, if they had just waited the 7 minutes for me to get it made, they would have already gotten their food before Mrs. Difficult was screaming in my face. I just smiled and apologized. Normally I would get mad, but these people were so transparent. They were upset over losing someone. They needed a punching bag to take out their anger and sadness. Who better than a server who's not aloud to push back? Even if the POS hadn't fucked up, they would have found something to scream at me about.
-It loses orders. One of us will put an order in and it will just disappear into thin air, never to be seen again.
-When some one is putting in a big ticket, the computer can't handle it. The further along they get into the order, the slower it moves.
-When someone pushes the "Finish" button to send an order through. Another screen pops up where the bill can either be paid at that moment or they can press the "pay later" button. If it's a table, they're obviously not already paying for food they haven't gotten yet. The "pay later" button is really tiny. If we touch the "pay later" button too soon or if you don't touch it exactly right in the dead center, it won't send the order through.
-It adds a penny to some people's check, but not others. Don't fucking ask me why. I can't understand that shit at all.
-The caller I.D. doesn't work most of the time. This is a problem because if someone places a prank order from a blocked number, we wouldn't know. (For Example: Hello, this is Seymour Butts. I would like 20 anchovy and pineapple pizzas delivered to the state police station.) The example is pretty obvious. How about if it was Steven Anderson wanting 20 pepperoni pizzas then how would we know it was a prank? The store would just be out the cost of those 20 pizzas.
-We cannot add the gratuity or a discount to a check before it is split. We have to split it first, then add the gratuity or discount or both to each separate ticket. If I have a table of 20 old people and they all need separate checks, then I'm going to have to split it 20 ways. After that I have to go back into each ticket and add gratuity 20 times. I also have to go back into every check again to add 20 senior discounts. It is a time suck.
-Online ordering never works. Pizza Place has been trying to get online ordering up and running for the last 3 1/2 years I've been working there. They finally got it working and advertised that shit all over the place before they got all the bugs worked out. Every time someone goes to their website and places their order online, it adds $24,000 to their check. They will come to pick up their $13.00 pizza, and the POS will show they owe $24,013.00. Unless that pizza comes with a brand new vehicle or is topped with about 3 carats of diamonds, then that is an outrageous price.
Just today I had a family of three who were apparently on their way to a funeral. They ordered their drinks but weren't ready to order. The man was a Pepsi drinker. The thought of drinking Coke was more than he could bear, so he ordered a lemonade. He sent his lemonade back three times for being "too strong"(what a pussy), all the while refusing to order their food. The third lemonade I took out was actually half lemonade and half water. "Whoa! This is still really strong. I guess I'll just have a Coke instead. *dramatic sigh*" I took him the Coke, and asked if they were ready to order. They weren't because the wife needed to go use the bathroom. I went and asked again when I saw her back at the table. They still weren't ready because the teenage son had decided he needed to use the bathroom. Whatever. When I saw him get back to the table, I went over to try again. Hallelujah and praise the Lord, they were finally fucking ready, just shy of my 100th birthday. The had officially been sitting there for 30 minutes when I walked straight from their table to the computer and put in their order. 10 minutes later, the man walked up to me and asked when their food was going to be ready because they had to get to a funeral. Even though their ticket had only been in for a few minutes, I went to the kitchen to check. His ticket wasn't hanging in the kitchen. "Ohhh fuck, not this guy. Please don't fuck up on these people!! They're annoying in the best of situations. They are going to go god damned ballistic if I give them an actual reason to complain.", I thought as I walked over to the POS. I pulled up the screen that should have had their order on it. It was nowhere. It had been devoured by the computer, just like many orders before it. I yelled at the cooks to make the order on the fly. I then took a deep breath, put on my best fake smile, and headed back out to give him the bad news. I told him that I couldn't find his ticket anywhere, but that I could have it made with a rush on it, and if I did that, then his food would be out in about 7 minutes. He blew his top. He told me again that he had to be at a funeral and to "just forget about it". Had he let me get it made for him on the fly, his ticket time would only have been about 17 minutes. He would have waited that long anyway, even if the POS hadn't eaten his order. I ran back to the kitchen to tell the cooks to put a stop on that order. When I came back out of the kitchen, Mr. Difficult was standing in front of me along with his whole Difficult family. They said they needed to pay for their drinks. I told them not to worry about it, since they didn't get to eat. I apologized to them. That's when Mrs. Difficult decided it was a good idea to scream in my face that they had been there for 45 minutes and it was my fault that they wouldn't get to eat until 6:00pm that evening. Whatever. They had been there for 45 minutes, but they waited 30 of that before they even ordered anything. Plus, if they had just waited the 7 minutes for me to get it made, they would have already gotten their food before Mrs. Difficult was screaming in my face. I just smiled and apologized. Normally I would get mad, but these people were so transparent. They were upset over losing someone. They needed a punching bag to take out their anger and sadness. Who better than a server who's not aloud to push back? Even if the POS hadn't fucked up, they would have found something to scream at me about.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Adventures From Roadhouse, the Restaurant Not the Movie
Today I will take a trip back to the days of yore. A time when I was young, naive, and worked at an even bigger shit hole than I do now, Roadhouse. Roadhouse had 3 manager/owners. Two of them were very professional and tried their hardest to keep the business afloat, despite the third owner/manager's shenanigans. We'll call this hot mess "Myrna". Myrna was a real class-act. She married into the family that actually owned the business, but the family let her and her husband's two sisters run Roadhouse. Whenever I would go to work and see that she was the manager that day, I was immediately in a sour mood. I knew with her there, all of the manager's duties would fall on me, being the crew-leader. Even though she was married with two kids, she also had girlfriends. At the time I worked there, she had two girlfriends. One of them is a good friend of mine, and I could never understand what my friend saw in Myrna. My friend is one of the all around best people I've ever met, and Myrna is gutter trash with a bad attitude. Both of Myrna's girlfriends knew she was married, but had no problems with the husband. The husband, however, knew nothing about the two girlfriends. The two girlfriends would constantly fight with each other, though. When Myrna would be scheduled to work, she would always show up late, like around noon. She would go straight back to her office with one of her girlfriends and lock the door. If any of the servers, bartenders, or hosts would need her for anything, I would have to go back to the office and knock on the door. Without a word, the door would open just a crack. A hand would appear through the cracked door with the manager's key to the computers. This was her way of saying to me, "Just deal with it yourself." So, there I would be, trying to wait tables; keep an eye on all of the servers, hosts, and bartenders; and taking care of managerial duties as well. (i.e. talking to unhappy customers, getting food/drinks fixed that weren't right, adding discounts to tables, settling employee disputes) She would eventually come out of the office when her girlfriend had to go to work. She would walk a lap around the restaurant, shaking her surgically enhanced ass, tits, and lips at all the male employees. After she had shown off, she would grab all of her brown nosing employees that were working, and they would all go sit at the bar and drink, on the clock. By this time, not only do I have to take care of all her responsibilities, but now I have even fewer employees to help share the workload. What. A. Fucking. Nightmare.
I saw Myrna once punch another crew leader in the face for just asking if she could help with a server who had gotten belligerently drunk on the clock. Myrna got angry because that particular server was one of her ass kissers.
Myrna overheard half a conversation one night between two servers on their cigarette breaks. They were talking about a local doctor being sued for malpractice. All Myrna heard in her typically inebriated state was the word "sue". She pulled them inside, screamed at them in front of the entire restaurant, "You're gonna sue me? This is my restaurant! If I want to take a shit in the floor, I'll shit in the floor and make you clean it up!". Then she fired them both without even hearing them out.
No one knew this except me at the time, but on top of a husband and two bickering girlfriends, Myrna was also sleeping with one of the local police officers. She was in the office with him one day, I thought discussing business or security. I had no idea what was really going on in there. One of the servers needed her to talk to a table. Since neither of her girlfriends were there, I didn't bother knocking and just walked in. There they were, laying across the desk, bumping uglies. It was like I was frozen. I wanted to shut the door and run as fast and as far away as possible, but I couldn't move. I just stood there in shock, mouth agape. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Get! Out! Now!!!" , she shrieked as she threw a stapler in my general direction. "Uhhh, sorry?" , I said as I backed out of the doorway and shut the door. I went back out to the dining room, still stunned. "Well, is Myrna coming out to talk to table 28?", the server asked me. "uhhhh, no I don't think so. I mean, she's busy. I'll take care of it." I couldn't look at her for weeks. She never said anything to me about walking into the office without knocking. I guess for fear that I'd tell her husband, her husband's family, or her two girlfriends.
Myrna loved to show off. Not only did she have surgically enhanced tits, lips, and ass, but she also always wore about a pound of make up on her face. She would always wear lots of jewelry. Her clothes were always covered in glitter, sequins, and bedazzling. Anything to have people look at her. Any attention was good attention for this woman. She loved to show off her ridiculous vehicles like a pink Cadillac SUV, a pink and black tiger striped Harley Davidson that I swear she didn't even know how to drive, and a bright yellow Mustang with every bell and whistle they could cram on or in it. She always had her groupies surrounding her, mostly restaurant workers that knew they would get free shit out of her if they sucked her ass. She would come into at least once a week when she wasn't working and take the days deposit out of the safe to take her pack of followers out to eat, shopping, or to a bar/club. She also got a weekly paycheck. Yet, often when I would go to the bank to get my $12 check cashed, there wouldn't be enough in the store's bank account to cash my check. I would have to drive back to roadhouse and have them get it out of the safe for me.
Myrna finally pushed me too far one night when my husband came to pick me up from work. Him and my son were sitting outside in our vehicle waiting for me. She saw them out there and told me that they were no longer allowed on the property. I told her that they never even came inside, that we both worked, and only had one vehicle. If he didn't drop me off then pick me back up, I wouldn't have a ride. He worked shorter hours than me, but he's the main bread winner. He couldn't quit his job just so I could drive myself to and from work. She said that she didn't care, that it looked bad for someone to just be sitting in their car in the parking lot. I asked her to explain how it looked bad for my husband to pick me up from work. She then proceeded to tell me that it looked like he was waiting to sell me drugs. My own fucking husband?! He had the baby in the car, for Christ's sake!!! She went on to say some nonsense about how we were bad parents for letting our son sit in the car, in his car seat, with his dad and wait on me to get off work. She said a car could have pulled into the lot too fast and hit our vehicle and he could have gotten hurt. Yeah, that's likely. About as likely as a gaggle of geese flying out of my ass. She asked to search my apron. No problem. I took it off and handed it to her. I also went on to bunny ear my pockets, shake out my bra, and then asked her if she wanted to search my purse. She smugly said, "No, it's fine." "No, it's not fine.", I said. "You have drug tests sitting right there. Hand me one and I'll piss in it right now!" Then she said, "No, that's not necessary" I knew right then, this wasn't about anything looking bad. It was her way of exerting her power while trying to embarrass me in front of my co-workers. "Whatever, just take my cash out. I'm leaving." "You can't leave yet. Your not finished." she said with a smirk on her face. I'd had enough, "Yes I can, because I quit. I'm not putting up with someone treating me or my family this way." I sat my cash out down, then made her count it right then so that she couldn't say later that I'd shorted them. FUCK YOU, Myrna.
Last I heard, their business is still going under. They would have been long gone if the family didn't have other successful businesses that they didn't let Myrna touch. They were constantly transferring money from their other businesses to Roadhouse's account just to keep it afloat. They got in trouble for insurance and tax fraud, so the government seized those other businesses. Roadhouse is definitely going down now, after years of circling the drain. I talked to a friend who recently went to work there. She said that she had worked a double the day before and only walked with $26. I feel bad for her, even though I felt some morbid joy for Myrna's losses. Without that money, she won't have her looks, her ridiculous vehicles or clothes, or her "friends". She's insufferable. Her groupies are only around for the free shit she was throwing at them. If there's nothing more to gain, you can bet your bottom dollar she won't see them anymore. The way I see it, what goes around, comes around. I hope Myrna gets a big double heaping helping of humble pie. I'm so glad that I got while the getting was good. I've moved on to greener pastures, and I couldn't be happier. Pizza Place might not be perfect, but at least I know where I stand with the people who own it. I don't have to worry about them deciding they want to show off by treating me like shit, nor do I have to worry about them mixing business with personal shit. They actually know how to tell the two apart.
Myrna was by far the worst manager or owner I've ever had. What's your most horrifying manager/owner, manager, or owner story?
I saw Myrna once punch another crew leader in the face for just asking if she could help with a server who had gotten belligerently drunk on the clock. Myrna got angry because that particular server was one of her ass kissers.
Myrna overheard half a conversation one night between two servers on their cigarette breaks. They were talking about a local doctor being sued for malpractice. All Myrna heard in her typically inebriated state was the word "sue". She pulled them inside, screamed at them in front of the entire restaurant, "You're gonna sue me? This is my restaurant! If I want to take a shit in the floor, I'll shit in the floor and make you clean it up!". Then she fired them both without even hearing them out.
No one knew this except me at the time, but on top of a husband and two bickering girlfriends, Myrna was also sleeping with one of the local police officers. She was in the office with him one day, I thought discussing business or security. I had no idea what was really going on in there. One of the servers needed her to talk to a table. Since neither of her girlfriends were there, I didn't bother knocking and just walked in. There they were, laying across the desk, bumping uglies. It was like I was frozen. I wanted to shut the door and run as fast and as far away as possible, but I couldn't move. I just stood there in shock, mouth agape. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Get! Out! Now!!!" , she shrieked as she threw a stapler in my general direction. "Uhhh, sorry?" , I said as I backed out of the doorway and shut the door. I went back out to the dining room, still stunned. "Well, is Myrna coming out to talk to table 28?", the server asked me. "uhhhh, no I don't think so. I mean, she's busy. I'll take care of it." I couldn't look at her for weeks. She never said anything to me about walking into the office without knocking. I guess for fear that I'd tell her husband, her husband's family, or her two girlfriends.
Myrna loved to show off. Not only did she have surgically enhanced tits, lips, and ass, but she also always wore about a pound of make up on her face. She would always wear lots of jewelry. Her clothes were always covered in glitter, sequins, and bedazzling. Anything to have people look at her. Any attention was good attention for this woman. She loved to show off her ridiculous vehicles like a pink Cadillac SUV, a pink and black tiger striped Harley Davidson that I swear she didn't even know how to drive, and a bright yellow Mustang with every bell and whistle they could cram on or in it. She always had her groupies surrounding her, mostly restaurant workers that knew they would get free shit out of her if they sucked her ass. She would come into at least once a week when she wasn't working and take the days deposit out of the safe to take her pack of followers out to eat, shopping, or to a bar/club. She also got a weekly paycheck. Yet, often when I would go to the bank to get my $12 check cashed, there wouldn't be enough in the store's bank account to cash my check. I would have to drive back to roadhouse and have them get it out of the safe for me.
Myrna finally pushed me too far one night when my husband came to pick me up from work. Him and my son were sitting outside in our vehicle waiting for me. She saw them out there and told me that they were no longer allowed on the property. I told her that they never even came inside, that we both worked, and only had one vehicle. If he didn't drop me off then pick me back up, I wouldn't have a ride. He worked shorter hours than me, but he's the main bread winner. He couldn't quit his job just so I could drive myself to and from work. She said that she didn't care, that it looked bad for someone to just be sitting in their car in the parking lot. I asked her to explain how it looked bad for my husband to pick me up from work. She then proceeded to tell me that it looked like he was waiting to sell me drugs. My own fucking husband?! He had the baby in the car, for Christ's sake!!! She went on to say some nonsense about how we were bad parents for letting our son sit in the car, in his car seat, with his dad and wait on me to get off work. She said a car could have pulled into the lot too fast and hit our vehicle and he could have gotten hurt. Yeah, that's likely. About as likely as a gaggle of geese flying out of my ass. She asked to search my apron. No problem. I took it off and handed it to her. I also went on to bunny ear my pockets, shake out my bra, and then asked her if she wanted to search my purse. She smugly said, "No, it's fine." "No, it's not fine.", I said. "You have drug tests sitting right there. Hand me one and I'll piss in it right now!" Then she said, "No, that's not necessary" I knew right then, this wasn't about anything looking bad. It was her way of exerting her power while trying to embarrass me in front of my co-workers. "Whatever, just take my cash out. I'm leaving." "You can't leave yet. Your not finished." she said with a smirk on her face. I'd had enough, "Yes I can, because I quit. I'm not putting up with someone treating me or my family this way." I sat my cash out down, then made her count it right then so that she couldn't say later that I'd shorted them. FUCK YOU, Myrna.
Last I heard, their business is still going under. They would have been long gone if the family didn't have other successful businesses that they didn't let Myrna touch. They were constantly transferring money from their other businesses to Roadhouse's account just to keep it afloat. They got in trouble for insurance and tax fraud, so the government seized those other businesses. Roadhouse is definitely going down now, after years of circling the drain. I talked to a friend who recently went to work there. She said that she had worked a double the day before and only walked with $26. I feel bad for her, even though I felt some morbid joy for Myrna's losses. Without that money, she won't have her looks, her ridiculous vehicles or clothes, or her "friends". She's insufferable. Her groupies are only around for the free shit she was throwing at them. If there's nothing more to gain, you can bet your bottom dollar she won't see them anymore. The way I see it, what goes around, comes around. I hope Myrna gets a big double heaping helping of humble pie. I'm so glad that I got while the getting was good. I've moved on to greener pastures, and I couldn't be happier. Pizza Place might not be perfect, but at least I know where I stand with the people who own it. I don't have to worry about them deciding they want to show off by treating me like shit, nor do I have to worry about them mixing business with personal shit. They actually know how to tell the two apart.
Myrna was by far the worst manager or owner I've ever had. What's your most horrifying manager/owner, manager, or owner story?
Monday, July 1, 2013
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
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
Friday, June 28, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
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."
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."
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, June 24, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
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.
Monday, June 17, 2013
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.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
"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!!
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Stone Cold Bag of Cunts
This post is not going to be about me. My day was wayyy too shitty, and I'm still far too angry over my thieving greedy lard ass manager stealing from me AGAIN for the third day in a row to even begin to recount today's events. No, no, this day's post will be about a former co-worker of mine, with some bitching about how those of us in the service industry are treated worse than bellybutton lint. The pizza place I work for delivers. We had one delivery driver, we'll call him Adam. He was the best. Not only did he do his job well (showed up on time, worked late when needed, did everything asked of him, yada yada, blah blah blah, so on and so forth), but he also was ready and able to help out anyone else who happened to need it. I can safely say he was one of the better employees they had. You get the point. He was working a 10 hour shift not long ago, because some one had called off. Everything was as usual. He had a delivery, so Adam got the customer's food all gathered up. He then tucked all of the ordered items safely away in the heated delivery bag that he had been assigned that day. After that Adam proceeded to call said customer to inform her that her food was ready, and he was on his way with it. Just for fun, we'll call this said customer Wretched Bitch. I'm almost positive that's what her name was anyway. Adam then leaves the store with delivery bag in hand on his way to Wretched Bitch so that she can gobble it all up in one fail swoop and grow her ass a few inches wider. When Adam arrives at the house, he walks up to the door, food in hand, and knocks on the door. Wretched Bitch answers. As I was not present for this interaction, I will describe this conversation as I was told it happened.
Adam: Hello, my name is Adam from Pizza Place. I have the food you ordered. Your total is $33.90.
Wretched Bitch: Why the hell does it cost so much?! The special said it was only $27.50!!
Adam: Yes, ma'am, but that was before you added the extra toppings and before tax.
Wretched Bitch: Well, I guess I'll pay for it, but you're not getting a tip!!!!
(she then hands Adam the money and demands exact change back, so Adam digs it out of his pocket and hands it to her awaiting grubby shrew hand)
Adam: Well, that's your choice, I guess, but I don't think that it's fair for you to punish me for something I have no control over.
Right after Adam said that, that horrible fucking cunt reared back and open hand slapped Adam across his face with all the strength she could muster. Adam immediately turned around, without saying a word for fear of getting shit canned, or worse, arrested, and walked back to his car. He got in and drove back to work. By the time he had gotten back, Wretched Bitch had already called and told our manager that Adam was EXTREMELY rude to her. Therefore, upon entering the establishment, he was immediately pulled into the office and grilled by our Glorious Leader, dickhead, thieving, lard ass Store Manager. Adam carefully explained everything that had transpired. He told him every word exchanged, and about the slap. Our genius manager then proceeds to fire him anyways for "being rude to a customer." He then calls Wretched Bitch back to kiss her greasy cottage cheese ass for a bit, then offer her a free meal nest time she orders. So, my thought is, not only does this horrible excuse for a human being get away with assaulting Pizza Place's employees, she also gets rewarded for doing as such. I'm calling bull shit!! I shutter at the thought that, as an employee in the service industry, we have no rights to defend ourselves against verbal or physical abuse. We just have to stand there with a blank stare and a fake smile and take anything a "Guest" wants to throw our way for fear of losing our jobs and the way we support ourselves and families. The shitheads on top of the pyramids don't care. We are just another number, and there is an endless line of other punching bags they can get to take our place. I bet Adam wishes he would have just knocked that stinky twat out cold and went home. I know I would.
Adam: Hello, my name is Adam from Pizza Place. I have the food you ordered. Your total is $33.90.
Wretched Bitch: Why the hell does it cost so much?! The special said it was only $27.50!!
Adam: Yes, ma'am, but that was before you added the extra toppings and before tax.
Wretched Bitch: Well, I guess I'll pay for it, but you're not getting a tip!!!!
(she then hands Adam the money and demands exact change back, so Adam digs it out of his pocket and hands it to her awaiting grubby shrew hand)
Adam: Well, that's your choice, I guess, but I don't think that it's fair for you to punish me for something I have no control over.
Right after Adam said that, that horrible fucking cunt reared back and open hand slapped Adam across his face with all the strength she could muster. Adam immediately turned around, without saying a word for fear of getting shit canned, or worse, arrested, and walked back to his car. He got in and drove back to work. By the time he had gotten back, Wretched Bitch had already called and told our manager that Adam was EXTREMELY rude to her. Therefore, upon entering the establishment, he was immediately pulled into the office and grilled by our Glorious Leader, dickhead, thieving, lard ass Store Manager. Adam carefully explained everything that had transpired. He told him every word exchanged, and about the slap. Our genius manager then proceeds to fire him anyways for "being rude to a customer." He then calls Wretched Bitch back to kiss her greasy cottage cheese ass for a bit, then offer her a free meal nest time she orders. So, my thought is, not only does this horrible excuse for a human being get away with assaulting Pizza Place's employees, she also gets rewarded for doing as such. I'm calling bull shit!! I shutter at the thought that, as an employee in the service industry, we have no rights to defend ourselves against verbal or physical abuse. We just have to stand there with a blank stare and a fake smile and take anything a "Guest" wants to throw our way for fear of losing our jobs and the way we support ourselves and families. The shitheads on top of the pyramids don't care. We are just another number, and there is an endless line of other punching bags they can get to take our place. I bet Adam wishes he would have just knocked that stinky twat out cold and went home. I know I would.
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