Friday, January 7, 2011

Day From Hell

Fuck this day.

Let's not talk about the fact that our ice machine was broken this morning and General Manager had to give it a hot water enema to get it working again.  Let's not talk about the table that smiled and acted like everything was fine, I mean they were really nice even though it took their appetizer a while to come out, and then left me $2 off of a nearly $50 ticket.

Let's get right to it.  Let's talk about a group of Old Bitches with an old-poop man.  BAB (Bad Ass Bartender) took them to their seats, and she comes at me with "Good luck, Amber." which is exactly what you want to hear just before you approach a table. 

I have to say, before I start things off, that, generally, they were nice.  They weren't crotchety or anything, but, well, just let me tell you:

First things first, they wanted to let me know before they even ordered to be sure to give them their military discount, plus an old person discount (their words) plus any other discount I could give them.  Great.  They put in their drink orders, one of the old ladies orders coffee.  I didn't even bother to warn them that it would be coming out in a french press, and that it would be costing them $2.99.  I figured I was going to be dealing with hell anyway, so why put in any effort to avoid a tiny bit of hell?  This was definitly an effort-to-avoid-hell-is-futile sort of table.  Before I leave the table to put in their appetizer order and get their drinks, they have a question.  They ask me about two million ways to sideways how to share a 9 oz. ribeye and still get a salad and potato. For both.  And pay as little as possble. They keep asking, over and over again, "Does a salad come with it?" No. "Does a potato come with it?" No.  "Can I get a salad with it, does that come with the steak?" No. "So a salad doesn't come with it?" No.  "But a potato comes with it?"  No.

Now, you have to understand, that in between each of these little exchanges, I didn't just say "No."  I mean, I'm a woman of few words at a table, but I did explain to them, repeatedly, that each entree comes with a choice of side.  We don't force a salad or a potato on you; if you want one, you can order it.  You get one side for free, then you can add on as many sides as you want for two dollars each. 

Anyway, so they order their steak and potato to share, along with two salads.  The two other ladies order their entrees, I forget what, who cares. 

Then they become total freaks about having dishes on their table.  They want their appetizer platter gone.  NOW.  They want the little plates they use to eat their rolls gone, NOW.  They keep shoving stuff at me when I come by.  Admittedly, it is part of my duties as their server to do what we call "pre-bus" their table of extra debris, however I like to wrap one thing up before I start another, and I had another table that had left earlier and still had dishes sitting on it.  I was going to bus that table completely "down to wood" and then start pre-busing the Old Bitches.  They acted as if they thought that if they had any plates on their table from their appetizer that the food, the real food, wouldn't come.

So I was standing at the table that had left, trying to strategize how to carry the dishes to the back with minimal likelihood of dropping any, when the old geezer dude leans back, shoves a side dish (a small little side dish! what the fuck? you can't handle that on your table? really? for five damn seconds???) at me, and makes some sort of gutteral noise. 

I was about to blow it, I really was. 

Of course they did the other things, like questioning whether or not they have dressing on their salads, which isn't all the way their fault, because since they've started putting the dressing directly on the salads instead of in a ramekin on the side, everyone has been doing that.  They also asked for napkins.  I have no idea why having people ask me for napkins pisses me off so much - it's an honest and valid request - but it does. 

Their entrees come out, and they eat.  About 3/4 of the way through the meal, when I go to ask if they want dessert (please no, just get the hell out of here so I can leave), I can't get the question out of my mouth because one of the Old Bitches wants to complain about her steak, which is not, in fact, a ribeye, as she ordered - it's a sirloin.  She Knows.  She thought she was going to fuss at me because she thought I had put in an order for the wrong steak.  She asked me what I put in, and when I told her I had put in for a ribeye, that's when she decided to question the honesty and integrity of the piece of meat on her plate instead of my own honesty and integrity (also sanity and lack of general idiocy) as a waitress.  I offered to have them cook another steak for her, which she declined, so I told her I would get the manager, which is waitress speak, in case you don't know, for "Shut the hell up- I don't want to deal with you anymore now and I'm going to pass you along to my superior."

For a final fuck, they left me $4.  Total.  A buck a bitch.

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