December is the month of the cowboys. Hundreds of thousands of men in nut-hugging jeans and $500 cowboy hats flock to Las Vegas so they can watch other grown men wrestle animals. These men spend a shit ton of money on their cowboy gear. Those giant bedazzled belt buckles aint cheap – Neither are the matching shirts that their mullet-sporting, PE coach wives wear. The price of some of those fancy shit-kicking cowboys boots could even purchase an entire village in Cambodia. These facts become even more annoying when these inbred hicks reward awesome service with a 5-8% tip. In their defense, I doubt whatever one-room-school they went to taught them how to calculate percentages. I suspect that their high school diploma requirements are just proving that they can brand a cow and impregnate a cheerleader. Even if my suspicions are correct, I know for a fact that they realize how shitty their tip is because as soon as they pay they scurry away from the table like cockroaches when you turn the light on.

My first table today was a cowboy couple and their crying, asshole toddler.

Before you judge me for calling their child an asshole, I should rephrase that to say something like, “their kid was being an asshole and probably isn’t always an asshole.” I’m a parent, myself, so I am well aware of a child’s ability to exhibit asshole-like behavior. I also take my son on play dates, which means that I know some kids are assholes ALL of the time. There is a difference between an asshole child and a child who is just acting like an asshole, but in either instance it can almost always be traced back to their asshole parents. In this instance the child was being an asshole because his asshole parents had neglected to feed him before noon and then chose to take him to a restaurant instead of a food court, prolonging his hunger even more.

The cowboy couple and their asshole child arrived several minutes before I did. They walked past the hostess stand, where several dozen people were waiting for tables, and sat down in a closed station (my station). Then they frantically flagged down another server to ask for menus, while telling her they were in a hurry. When she suggested they get a table from the hostess since there wasn’t a server yet, they refused. Instead of waiting on them or forcing them to move, the server told them someone would be with them shortly and avoided them until I clocked in. On a good day, I would have done the same. On most days, I wouldn’t have even given them menus. I would probably even tell their new server to avoid them. People who can’t even be bothered to follow basic restaurant rules, like waiting to be seated like everyone else, are NEVER worth waiting on. This behavior carries on all the way through the entire meal and their disappointment in everything you do is reflected in their 5% tip. Nothing you do is fast enough. The food is never hot enough. You can never smile or be nice enough. These people always find fault where regular diners see none.

After I clocked in, I walked over to the table and offered them water. The man replied, “What you can do is take my order.” I wrote down their order, complete with several special instructions. After the table ordered, the man asked how long the food would take. I gave him my standard answer, “15 to 20 minutes.” He rudely told me to “Tell the kitchen to light a fire under their asses. We’re hungry.” Two minutes after I rang in their order, the man flagged me down to ask me where his food was. I nicely explained that when I said 15-20 minutes, I really meant 15-20 minutes. I also told him that it takes longer than 2 minutes to cook a steak “extra, extra well done – there better not be even the slightest amount of pink whatsoever.” I did this in the nicest possible way, while smiling.

The wife demanded crackers for their asshole child, who was loudly crying and shredding paper napkins into little pieces and throwing them on the floor. When I returned with the crackers, the man asked me if I had instructed the kitchen “to light a fire under their asses.” I told him that his food would be out as soon as it was finished cooking. He wasn’t entirely happy with this answer. He wanted to hear something like, “Yes, you are their sole responsibility. Your order is much more important than all the other people who waited in line and ordered before you. It will be done in 47 seconds and it will be extra, extra well done.”

While waiting for their food, every minute or so the man made eye contact with me and shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he was still wondering where he food was. He occasionally held up his hand and tapped his watch. When his food arrived (15 minutes after he ordered it), he said “Thank God, maybe my son won’t starve to death.” (FYI: The son was pretty chubby and in no danger of starving. It would be more likely that someone nearby would beat him to death for being so fucking annoying.) The party ate their food, while the man loudly complained that his extra, extra well done steak was kind of dry. A few minutes into eating, the man requested the check. I removed it from my apron pocket and placed it on the table. The man’s new complaint was that his check was already prepared when he requested it. He insisted I was trying to force him to leave as soon as possible. It’s true I wanted this fucker to leave, but I didn’t just assume he wanted his check. He asked me for it; I gave it to him.

Without looking at the check, he placed $20 on the table and told me he was ready to pay. I looked at the total and told him that he didn’t give me enough money. The check was $36.

Him: I gave you $20.
Me: I know. The total is $36.
Him: $36????? For two meals?
Wife: $36? that’s ridiculous. (snatching the check) Let me see that.
Me: That’s how much it is. I will give you a few minutes to look over the check. I will take it whenever you are ready.

The wife scrutinized the bill, looking for any erroneous charges. Seeing none, she instructs her husband to give more money, while loudly complaining that they could have eaten three times for that amount. Her husband hands me $100 and instructs me to bring change back. After receiving their change, the man quickly puts all the money in his pocket and the family of assholes runs out the door as quickly as possible – stiffing me completely.

I hate December.

He declined because they were going to M&M World afterward and everyone already had a milkshake.  Jokingly, I replied something like “Yeah, It’s probably better to space out all that sugar.” The kid then shot me a “fuck off and die, whore” look.  I honestly have never seen such a look of disgust and hatred on someone so young. I was so caught off guard that the only look I could counter it with was genuine surprise.  I walked away and watched the table from a distance.  The girl was running around the table in circles, crawling under the table, and then going through the father’s wallet and demanding cash.  The father was unfazed.  He was obviously either a very patient man or a completely unobservant fucktard.  Either way, his kid was an out of control asshole.

I  returned to the table when I saw the man place a credit card on the table. As I was walking up the father asked the daughter if she was excited to be going to M&M World and she replied “Hellz Yeah!!!” The man then held his hand up so the daughter could give him a high five.

Sure, I had been initially surprised by the bitchy look but the fact that she also used what most parents would consider profanity (even if mild) didn’t surprise me. By this point I had already pegged her as a spoiled brat who could use a lashing or two.  It did surprise me that the father (probably without his knowledge) was encouraging his daughter to behave in a manner that ensured her place in a drug rehab clinic later on.  This kid will probably be like Kari Ann Peniche (the super annoying twat on Celebrity Rehab) only not nearly as pretty.