Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Fuck-Ass Musical Chair Bastard

First, allow me to briefly mention the woman with the crazy-ass teased lion hair. I mean, she looked like one of those animals from mythology that was a blend of two (or more) animals, so, she was a human woman blended with something that had hair-wings, also a crest on the top of her head.  Her hair screamed at me every time I went to the table.  It said, "The last time I had any fun was in the 1980's."  Her hair and I could've had a conversation about it, maybe I could've helped her, but I didn't have time, or the kind of balls it would take to call a woman on that sort of thing without a reality show to back me up on it.

Now, on to the next:

Dear Old Man,

I'm sorry that you are an old man.  I'm sorry that you are in here with your lady friend who is at least ten years younger than you and that you want to impress by being tall and manly, if not verile.  (By the way, if you wanted to impress her, maybe you should've shown up on time instead of making her wait.  That's sort of a lady thing to do, anyway.) I'm sorry that the booths at our tables have been sat in so much, and by such large guests, that they sink down when you sit in them.  I'm sorry that the booth that our hostess took you to sank down, and I'm sorry that the next booth over that you got up and tried with your flat, wrinkly (probably, I certainly didn't look) geriatric ass did the same damn thing.  I tried to offer you a table, but instead you wanted to try another booth that wasn't cleaned off yet.  Please don't do that.  It bothers us.  It bothers us as much as feeling small in front of your lady friend bothers you, probably.  If a table isn't cleaned off, it's because I haven't had time and, really, I barely have time for you at all, especially after all this ass-plopping musical chairs shit.  I'm glad I finally got you sat down, though, so I could get your damn order, attend to my other guests (did you notice those?  maybe not, they were sunk down in their seats), and get you the fuck out of my restaurant. 

Sincerely,

Your Much-Perturbed Waitress.

And next,

Dear Less-Old Lady,

I see that you are here with an Old Man.  That's lovely.  I hope you enjoy your lunch.  I'm here to make this as pleasant and fast (mostly fast) as possible, so please do cooperate.  As your relationship with Old Man grows and you come to maybe have more influence on him, please try to dissuade him from trying his ass in every booth in the damned restaurant.  If anyone can do it, you can, and I thank you.  Now, on to the things that pissed me off about you.
You noticed, clearly, that we have lamps hanging over each table.  Those are so you can see.  Sometimes the guests like to see the menu.  Perhaps you also notice that these lamps did not have a switch, or a nob, or a chain or anything else that you could use to turn the lamp off.  That's because we turn them off using the switches behind a little curtain we have.  That means we do it, not you.  We operate the lights.  We like to do that. It's our restaurant.  I mean, you're here for a while, and apparently that entitles you to reach up and unscrew the lightbulb so that you can sit in darkened ambiance with your old man and not so much hold as fondle his hands across the table and gross out your waitress, but please, please don't do that.  It makes me go around to all of my co-workers and talk about you - the annoying old people at C-2 (C-2 is the name of your table).  Also, that little bit where you asked me to go back and get you something every time I came to the table to see if things were okay?  Not cute.
Finally, along the lines of any future influence you may have with Old Man, please at some point gently clue him in to the fact that his tips are not quite at the twenty percent mark, and if he hopes to keep ass-hopping around all the booths in all the restaurants in the county, he might want to raise the bar in that arena or else he may one day come across someone that doesn't put up with his shit. 
He really was a lovely man, though.  Really.  You should be proud.

Sincerely,

I think I was Even More Perturbed with You

You know, I'll probably be old one day.  and bitter.

2 comments:

BluntBlog said...

That was a great read, Amber. I especially love the rant about the money-grubbing "Not-as-old Lady". She's probably just biding her time until the old fart kicks the bucket, so she can screw his biological children out of their well-earned inheritance. You made me laugh. Can't wait for the next SHOCKblog. :)

BluntBlog said...

Oh, and I kinda used your idea for my own blog. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, or so they say.....
By the way....Who are "they". Hmmm?