Today we are going to be learning a valuable lesson. Ladies and gentleman don’t mess with the people serving you your food.
I have said this before. I never once have messed with a table’s food. The honest truth is that I don’t have the heart. Sure, people can piss me off. But, I find that with a little empathy, a smile and, of course, free stuff, people nearly always keep it cool with me.
Never once, however, have I met three people like the ones who sat in my section Sunday night.
It’s story time folks.
I was about to be cut when my friend Katie, yes the one who gave me the $3 tip table from before, seats me with three teenage girls. We were all goofing off at the hostess stand when they walk in. One had red eye shadow crawling across her face. One looked about 9 years old. And the other looked embarrassed. They were dropped off by one of their fathers and left for me to baby-sit. I think all three were probably 13 or 14.
Now, I remember being young and, yes, obnoxious. I do not, however, remember being dropped off or raised by wolves.
I approach the girls and introduce myself. “What can I get you ladies to drink?” I leave and return with their drink orders. They greet me with about 18 of the most obnoxious questions.
“Do you have chicken tenders,” eye shadow girl asks me.
“Yes.” I point to the menu right in front of her face.
“How much do they cost?” she asks.
I point again to same spot.
“Can’t I just get a side of chicken? I don’t want a whole meal!”
So you’re out to eat and you don’t want a meal? Interesting choice of how to spend the evening. Oh, and interesting choice in make-up, doll.
“I’ll let you order off the kid’s menu. There is a smaller portion there,” I inform her.
“No, I want a lot a chicken!”
So, you don’t want a whole meal, but you want a lot of chicken. Interesting.
“Well,” I say, taking a deep breath, “We don’t have a side of chicken so is the kid’s menu okay?”
This, dear reader, is when the little ho proceeds to huff, turn her back to me, face the wall, and mumble under her breath. I’m sorry; I don’t think I know you. Have we met? I’m Sara, and I am the one who touches your food before you do. Is this really how you want to act?
The girl sitting next to her orders a burger and the other orders chicken tenders off of the kid’s menu. Apparently, she liked my idea. Both look embarrassed. So, I put in their order and bring out their appetizers. The eye-shadow girl says to me, “I didn’t mean to be ignorant.” I accept her apology and, in my own nerdy way, laugh at her incorrect usage of the word ignorant. I then proceed to get their dinners together. At this time a different hostess, Jen, brings out their meals and they, of course, give her a hard time.
It seems that, after six hours of debating the cost of chicken, eye shadow girl didn’t really want chicken. She wanted grilled cheese.
Dear reader, take a deep breath with me now. I’ve had time to digest all of this so I’m not quite as furious as you might be. Are you okay? Alright then, we’ll move on.
Jen informs me of their displeasure. Angry like a retail clerk who has to listen to Celine Dion’s “Because You Loved Me” over and over again on the store’s stereo, I storm out in a fist of rage. “Dear,” I said with all the sarcasm I could muster up, “You did order chicken. And now, you want something else?”
She looks at me with surprise. I don’t think she expected me to give her attitude right back. “I wanted grilled cheese with a side of chicken.”
I remember her mentioning she wanted chicken. Interesting.
“Well, pick one,” I yell to her like her mother should have been doing at his moment, not I.
“Fine,” she huffs. “Grilled cheese,” she claims with a look of defiance.
She thinks she is clever but I will win the war. I take her chicken and I eat it in the kitchen while I wait for the completion of her new order. I could have made it into a side and charged her something for it.
No. I ate it.
Now, this is crucial point for any pissed off server: bringing out a re-cook. I’ll admit that I was tempted to spit in her food. I believe at one point I even asked the cook to. He gave me a look and I told him the choice was his alone. Then, I ate her fries. When the grilled cheese is done, I bring it out.
The girls eat their food. I ignore them. I was so tempted, however, to sit down and pass along some friendly advice.
I image myself saying, “Hun, you really should watch yourself. If you had the bad luck to be seated in any other section tonight, you would have gotten a spitball in your sandwich. Or, dare I say, much worse. So, be careful next time. You got lucky sitting here with me. All I have is attitude for annoying people who are too dumb to read a menu and order food properly.”
A lot of people don’t believe that servers actually will mess with their food. “They wouldn’t dare,” they think to themselves in blissful ignorance (notice correct usage of the word). People look at servers and they think that we are all working for them. Some people, not all, look down on servers.
In truth, it is servers who have the control. Sometimes a burger falls on the floor. Oops! If the people are nice, they get a new burger and an apologetic explanation. If they suck at life, they get a dusty, dirty, juicy burger. Would you like a side of lint with that?
I have heard worse stories though. One guy I work with, we’ll call him Bob, had a lady who continually sent back her martini. It wasn’t cold enough or strong enough or weak enough or whatever enough. Bob got so frustrated that he took her new martini into the bathroom and, let’s say, he dropped the ball (or balls) into her glass.
This one she enjoyed and drank with a smile. Ha!
There were so many more rude and obnoxious things these girls did. The only other one I will mention is my 10 cent tip. But, then again, I expected it. I rather have a dime in my pocket then give pretentious clowns like them any respect.
You think I’m bitter? There are worse out there. Check out bitterwaitress.com
and keep well informed about the people dealing with your food. Happy dining!