Again, this is pretty self-explanatory.
Old bitches -
These bitches always order coffee. The trouble with that is that we sell fancy french press coffee, which takes a longer time to prepare than a regular cup of coffee, so when I bring it to the table, the old bitches are a) pissed off that it has taken so long and b) (mostly unpleasantly) surprised to see this foreign contraption arrive at the table when all they ordered was a damn cup of coffee. This indicates another server issue; people don't read the menus. Even if they are illiterate there is no excuse in this case because there is a picture. More than half the time they send the coffee back. After the previously mentioned longer time it took to prepare the coffee, it is highly piss-offable to me when I have to then go pour it down the sink. When we switched to the french press coffee, we were asked to point out to our guests the fact that their coffee would be arriving to the table in a tiny little miniature coffee press and give them instruction as to how to operate it. We weren't encouraged to point out the price of the coffee. Both the work entailed and the price of the coffee pisses off the old ladies, and only on a rare occasion to guests a) give the french press coffee a chance and b) become charmed by the french press coffee.
Old bitches order coffee because they are old and frail and skinny and they have tiny, hollow little bird bones and they need something to keep them warm, which leads me to my list of disadvantages associated with waiting on old bitches: in addition to complaining about the coffee, they complain about the cold. Also, they sit and sit and sit for a long time, not doing anything but making me nervous about whether or not they want me to keep filling their drinks or just leave them the hell alone to talk about their husbands' dandruff or appendectomies or grave markers. Finally, and I hope you will notice a theme starting, the worst disadvantage of waiting on old bitches is that they leave shit tips.
Young, pretty bitches -
I don't have much to say here because this one is generally self-explanatory as well, although I will give a few more descriptive details. These women are skinny, well-(overly?)-groomed, with large nostrils that they often flare in indignation, expect you to read their minds, expect their food to be the best in all the restaurant, prepared fresh by Jesus Christ himself. They drink water with lemon. They order salads. They leave. shit. tips.