You know the type, they call every girl a “hottie” and insist on leaving their number for every waitress – even after they were told not to bother because they would never get a phone call.  As unlikely as it seems that anyone would ever sleep with guys who reek so strongly of desperation, they probably get laid pretty frequently.  Statistically speaking,  if they hit on 1000 girls at least 1 will have self esteem low enough to sleep with one of them.  For all of them to get laid, they would just need to hit on 4000 girls -that’s doable in one evening.

These guys started out being pretty annoying.  It wasn’t that they were rude or anything; it was just 4 in the afternoon and they were drunker than most people at 4 in the morning.

It’s not as cool to be uncontrollably drunk at 4 in the afternoon.  Buzzed… yes.  Controllably drunk… yes.  Four guys in their early twenties drunk from sharing a bottle of Baileys… nope, nothing you do can make that cool.

Another factor that makes people who have reached this level of drunkenness more annoying at 4 in the afternoon is the fact that the waitstaff hasn’t eased into it yet.  The later you work in Vegas, the drunker people get.  This means 4 a.m. drunks are 3 times more drunk than 10 p.m. drunks, just as 10 p.m. drunks are 3 times more drunk than 8 p.m. drunks.  It’s just a system that you get used to when waiting tables at night.  The fact that guests have gotten progressively more drunk during your shift, makes dealing with 4 a.m. drunks a lot easier.  The downside is that being used to this system makes dealing with 4 p.m. drunks, who are the only drunks who have stepped foot in the entire restaurant all day long, more annoying.

The ordering process was pretty uneventful, except for when one guy told me that his voice was hoarse from throwing up non-stop last night.  He then started to describe the scenario and I intervened to tell him that a more detailed description wasn’t necessary.  He then asked if it was because I was grossed out and I replied, “No, I just have other things to do, besides listening to the awesome story about how much your threw up last night.” His drunks friends laughed.  One tried to high-five me and I pulled my hand away just in time for his hand to hit another guy in the face – a skill that should be envied by all.

After everyone got their shit together and ordered, one of the guys promptly fell asleep.  He didn’t really seem like he was passed out; just like he was taking a little nap.  I didn’t bother to wake him.  He remained asleep while the others patiently (and loudly) waited for their food.  He slept through them eating their food, getting dessert, and paying the check.

I was pretty excited about the possibility of him throwing up or remaining unconscious when the group was ready to depart.  I crossed my fingers and hoped that something exciting was going happen.  I even made it a point to be watching the table from the hostess stand, as they all stood up to leave.  At first, the situation seemed promising.  The three remaining guys tried unsuccessfully to wake their sleeping friend.  They poked him a few times and spoke directly into his ears but there was no response.  I was super-excited that something was finally going to break up the monotony of my day.  I was filled with joy when thinking of the possible scenarios this could mean: maybe security would need to bring a wheel chair or maybe the guy would throw up in his sleep directly onto his friend (hopefully the one who loves to talk about vomit).

As my joy and anticipation grew greater and greater, it was suddenly and anti-climatically dispersed in a cloud of disappointment.  The man woke up, took a sip of water, and left without further incident.  WOW… Day shift is boring; the one opportunity that has the potential to become an incident just fizzles and fades away.  During night shift that man would have vomited onto the floor, slipped in it, and knocked himself and at least 4 innocent bystanders unconscious.

Better luck next time, I guess.

(Tip= 25%, drunks love smart asses, plus I’m 800,000 times more attractive when guys have been drinking)

those who need to be the center of attention (or at least feel like they are)

and

those who don’t need to be the center of attention (they keep to themselves, entertain themselves, and have a good time without being disruptive and drawing attention to themselves).

With this being said, it is important to note that just because people do or say outlandish things doesn’t mean that these things are really shocking. Sometimes (most of the time) I see them as a mere ploy for attention. A child jumping up and down, while screaming “Look what I can do” is exactly the same as a drunk asking a sexually explicit question and then waiting for the gasps and high fives of his peers. I know the question is really less about my vagina and more about getting the group to acknowledge how clever, witty, or insanely hysterical he/she is. Sometimes people even do things not to be clever but instead in an attempt to simply make you feel uncomfortable.

Here is a recent example:

Two women and one guy come in and eat. All three are pretty average looking. They are in their mid-thirties. The two women are dressed like soccer moms, mom jeans and all. One has her hair down and flattened and the other one has her hair tied back and is wearing glasses. The man is dressed in khakis and has an abundance of nose and ear hair.

After they finish eating, they continue drinking heavily. The more they drink, the louder and hornier they get. The two girls start kissing on the guy – taking turns kissing him on the mouth and then the neck. All three begin massaging each other erotically.

When they are presented with the check, one of the girls replies: “We need to hurry up and pay this because we are going to suck his cock.” The only appropriate reply I could think of was “Have fun with that. I’ll take your check whenever you’re ready.”

What makes fight clientele the worst is not only the fact that they are cheap mother fuckers but they are also high-maintenance, impatient fuckwads. Now, I have spent many, many sleepless nights (well, really just this one) pondering exactly why they are so ridiculously, monumentally, fucking annoying. I still can’t decide if testosterone-driven sports like boxing, UFC, wrestling, or ribbon-twirling only attract mannerless douchebags OR if the people flocking here can more easily afford it because they skip out on child support and save a fortune by shopping for clothes at the Ed Hardy outlet store. Another explanation, of course, could be that the high end fight clientele are actually invited to private screening parties – instead of going into a restaurant, where the fight isn’t even being played, and then complaining about that fact. With that being said, here are two examples of why fight nights are the worst.

My first table was four guys. When I offered them water one of them instantly started annoying me.

Douche: “Hi, My name is —-, I will be your server tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”

I thought momentarily about asking him if he wanted to wait on his friends while I sat in the back and drank coffee but decided against it. Instead I smiled, slow blinked twice, and asked them if they wanted drinks other than water. While his friends ordered their beverages he made weird faces at me. He was either trying to look like a deranged clown or attempting to make me stab him with a fork. After his friends finished ordering he tapped his finger on his chin and repeated “hmmm…. what do I want” approximately 14 times. His friends urged him to hurry up and told him that I didn’t have all day. Eventually, he said he only wanted the water that was already sitting in front of him (douche!).

When I brought the table their drinks the douche started saying sexually suggestive things to me.

“I like it nice and juicy.” “I’ll take more water. I like it really, really wet.” “You know what you can do for me.” “Take my order last, I’ll talk really low so you have to sit on my lap to hear me talk.”

At this point, I couldn’t even fake a smile. Besides dealing with a disgusting pervert, I also had two new tables and the kitchen printers just went down. The last line I let him say was “Call me Big Daddy and then I will order… I want to hear how it sounds rolling off your tongue.” With this I said “Well… you obviously need some more time since you aren’t ready to order.” I quickly walked away and gave the entire table a 5 minute penalty.

Note: A penalty is when you purposely avoid a table for a certain length of time to punish them for their behavior. It helps a guest understand that you are willing to ignore their requests/needs if they do not stop fucking around and get their shit together.

After the time-out the remaining people at the table began to regulate their friend’s behavior. One man handed me his credit card when they finished eating, apologized for his friend’s disgusting behavior, and tipped 20%.

While this guy had been sexually harassing me, a table of 6 was being waited on by Hello Kitty in another section.

The table consisted of 6 people originally – 4 super-slutty porn-wannabes with giant fake tits barely covered by clothes and 2 guys. Everyone ordered mixed drinks and food. When the food arrived one of the guys complains after eating 1/2 of his meal. The server takes his meal off the check. The second guy had only ordered a small appetizer so when he finished eating he hands some cash to one of the sluts and both of the guys leave. The sluts order another round of drinks, eat the remainder of their food, and request a check. When they look at the check they each pull out their cash and start scrambling to pay the bill. Cum Dumpster #1 counts the money and says “We are short $60.” Everyone stares blankly at each other. No one has any more money. Cum Dumpster #2 says “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” She flags the server down and says “I need to speak to your manager.” When Hello Kitty asks if everything is OK and offers to assist her, Cum Dumpster #2 replies “Did I ask for you to assist me? I asked you for a manager.” Hello Kitty gets the manager and tells him the situation.

Cum Dumpster #2 complains that the food was cold, cooked wrong, was the wrong order, and took forever. She also said the drinks were weak and make improperly. She went on to say that the service was horrible and the server never returned to the table after the food arrived. Of course, none of this was true. The server must have returned since they had more drinks. If the drinks were bad why did they order more? If the food was cold/incorrect/cooked wrong why wouldn’t they have complained before when their friend did? It was obvious that these whores just thought they could push their giant fake tits together and bat their long fake eyelashes and get their shit for free. My manager just stared at their tits the entire time, while telling them he wished they would have said something sooner, you know… before they consumed every bit of food/drink they had ordered. Since Cum Dumpster #2′s attempt at getting free shit was being thwarted she began to get seriously pissed. She said she was insulted by the shitty service Hello Kitty had given her and now claimed not only were they somehow completely neglected but Hello Kitty had been rude to them as well. Cum Dumpster #2 demanded that the manager force Hello Kitty to come over and apologize to the table for being so shitty at her job. The manager apologized on behalf of the server but refused to force the server to return to the table. The manager said he would deal with Hello Kitty privately (of course he wouldn’t really). Cum Dumpster #2 insisted that Hello Kitty be fired on the spot because she obviously sucks horribly at her job and is a giant bitch. My manager said he didn’t really have the ability to just fire someone on the spot (which is completely true… union rules).

Eventually the sluts admitted that hating the food/drinks/service wasn’t the only problem but they also couldn’t pay the bill because they didn’t have enough money. My manager told them if they didn’t find a way to pay the bill then security would deal with them. He then excused himself and went to the hostess stand to call security. By the time security had arrived the sluts had called the guys they had arrived with. The guys came back, paid the bill, and then left. When security arrived they escorted the sluts out of the restaurant.

Similar stories happened all night. Fight nights are the worst.

Me: May I take your plate?
Man: If you want me to lick it I will.
Men: (realizing how dirty he sounded the man begins laughing like a lunatic)
Me: That won’t be necessary.
Men: Wait… I wasn’t talking about your vagina.
Me: I figured.

He was, at the very least, a pleasant and fun drunk. He joked a lot and skipped around like a leprechaun who had finally found their misplaced gold. He also put receipts behind his ears and roared like a dinosaur.

While watching him frolic around like Cooter Brown was both fun and entertaining, it really wasn’t professional or acceptable. Even though restaurants run themselves, him being so visibly intoxicated was just bad for business. He was escorted off property towards the end of his shift.

This situation left us minus one manager. The remaining managers have been working long hours and working 7 days a week for almost 2 months now – exactly why I would never be them. After scouring the face of the Earth (and possibly Mars) they have finally found what they deem to be a suitable replacement.

Because people within this industry change jobs frequently, it is simply impossible for anyone to start entirely anew. Someone from your new job ALWAYS knows someone from your last job. Past co-workers will spill all of your dirty little secrets long before you have a chance to do so yourself. With that said, our new manager has previously worked at several other locations on the strip and someone immediately recognized him. In an attempt to get him to spill his own dirt, I pretended to know someone he used to work with.

Me: Did you used to work at XXXX?
Him: Yes
Me: Oh, my friend John works there.
Him: Hmmmm…. Good old John.
Me: Yep, Good old John.
Him: Is he still mad at me?
Me: You’ll have to ask him yourself.
Him: What did he say about me?
Me: Nothing really.
Him: He didn’t say anything bad about me?
Me: He didn’t say anything positive.
Him: I’ll take that as a yes.

Later….

Me: So why do you think John doesn’t like you?
Him: You’ll have to ask him that.
Me: Touché

Drunk Guy #1: Can we order food from you?

Me: Yes. Did you decide what you would like to eat?

Drunk Guy #2: Oh my god… we can order food from you?

Me: Yes, do you know what you would like to order?

Drunk Guy #1: Are you sure we can order food from you?

Me: Yes, why would you NOT be able to order food from me?

Drunk Guy #2: I’m so confused.

Me: Me too. Would you like to order your food now or would you like more time to collect yourselves.

Drunk Guy #1: No… we are ready.

Me: OK…. (standing, impatiently waiting while two of my other tables make eye contact, indicating they need something)

Drunk Guy #2: I’ll just take some Prime Rib.

Me: We don’t have Prime Rib.

Drunk Guy #1: What do you have?

Me: A variety of things, here is the menu (pointing to the menu sitting in front of him). Read it and get back to me.

I leave the table momentarily to take care of the other tables in my section. I watch out of the corner of my eye as the two men look at the menu – holding it up to their faces and squinting.  They are so drunk that they can’t even see.  After making sure my station won’t need anything for a few minutes I return to the two drunk men and take control of the situation.  I need them to eat  & leave quickly, and I need it to happen before one of them hurls on the table.

Drunk Guy #2 (slurring): I’m so sorry, we are just so drunk, we’ve been drinking for like 4 days….

Me: It’s ok. Let’s get you some food. Did you decide or would you like me to review some choices for you.

Drunk Guy #1 (slurring worse): I think I want this cheeseburger here (he points to the menu)

I read every ingredient on the burger to him, verify his cooking temperature and do the same for Drunk Guy #2.  The two of them take turns sleeping on the table. When they aren’t sleeping they are making cat calls and blowing kisses to people walking by the restaurant. Fifteen minutes later their food arrives.  I check on them and verify they don’t need anything else.

Me: Do you two have everything you need for now?

Drunk Guy #1: I love you… like really, really love you.

Me: I get that from a lot of drunk guys – especially when I give them food.

I leave the table so they can eat.  Watching two drunk guys eat is probably one of the grossest parts of my job.  It’s like watching two hyenas ravish the rotting corpse of a zebra. It’s a grim sight. Food particles fly through the air and occasionally land on your face – or worse, in your mouth while you are talking. Their hands are fully saturated in a variety of sauces; ketchup, mustard, mayo, ranch, bbq sauce. They look like toddlers who just finished finger-painting. They make few attempts to clean their hands between bites. They take one bite and chew a few times before taking another bite without swallowing the first. Each of the few times that they take a break from shoveling food into their mouths to wipe their hands off requires four new napkins. The napkins pile up in a huge heap in the middle of the table.

Drunk Guy #2 calls my name while I am talking to a nearby table. I shoot him a “shut the fuck up and wait” look. When I return to their table Drunk Guy #2 is clearly confused.

Drunk Guy #2: Ummmmm… What did I order.

I tell him what he ordered. He replies “Oh, yeah, you’re right. I’m an asshole – just ignore me.” I assure him that I will.

Drunk Guy #1 has decided to say “I love you” to me every single time I walk anywhere near the table.  Since they are located in the middle of my section walking by them is unavoidable.  He must have proclaimed his love for me 15 times in the short amount of time it took him to devour his meal – Each time with his mouth completely full of partially chewed food.  Drunk Guy #1 screams my name from across the room.

Drunk Guy #1: You are hooooooot. So… how old are you? Like 38?

Me: Wow. Really? You think I look 38? You must like older ladies or something.

Drunk Guy #2: I think you look 25.

Drunk Guy #1: I just said the first number that came to mind. I would’ve said 94 if it came to mind.

Me: That makes sense (widening my eyes to indicate that I’m not actually serious). I’m 33.

Drunk Guy #2 asks for the check while I am prebussing the table.  I already have it in my apron and place it on the table.

Me: Excuse me (I pretend nod to another table). I’ll take your check whenever you are ready.

The drunk men fumble with their money and after several minutes pay their bill and leave.

How much did these drunk guys tip? Does it really matter? Whatever it is…it’s seldom enough.

Since the man was drunk he immediately became angry.  He started telling me that soon he would be my new employer because he was going to sue the shit out of the casino. He also demanded his entire bill (complete with $100 worth of booze) be taken care of.

When I asked him to show me the “fingernail” he holds up his pointer finger and shows me a small sliver of something.  Upon examination it turned out to be part of the shell of a lemon seed – he was drinking a Hoegaarden.

If you are wondering if he apologized for being a rude douche – Nope, he just immediately turned around and walked back to his table.

Me: “Thanks, I get that from a lot of guys for some reason.”

Man: “How did you know that I’m gay? Is it that obvious?”

Apparently, the not-so-obviously gay guy thought I had said “I get that from a lot of gays.”   The entire table loudly laughed for several minutes – they were very drunk.

BTW I do get the same compliment from a lot of gays too.

After the table was done eating, I offered them dessert. They declined and I told them I would get their check. Picky Bitch replied “You mean checks right? We obviously need separate checks.” I told her that I wasn’t aware of their need for separate checks so it would take a few minutes to get them separated by the cashier. Since I had several new tables I asked a co-worker to collect the payment for each of the checks after I dropped them off. Four people paid in cash and the remaining two paid with credit cards (including Picky Bitch). My co-worker brought everyone their change and one guy his credit card receipt. Picky Bitch’s card was denied. When the other server told her, Picky Bitch replied “No, you did it wrong. Put in the zip code.” The server told Picky Bitch that there wasn’t a place to put the zip code and there was no way she ran the card incorrectly.

Picky Bitch then comes up to me and says “The other server said this card is denied and you need to put the zip code in to get it to go through.” I told her that our credit card system is not like the one she uses at a gas station and it doesn’t require or even have a place to input the zip code. I also told her that it doesn’t tell us why her card is denied and that she would need to call her credit card company directly and ask them – for instance, it could be flagged for security reasons if she has money on it. Picky Bitch insisted she had money on her card. While she argued with me, the remaining members of her party just left her- with no way to pay her check (which of course was awesome and well-deserved).

After a couple of minutes of arguing with me, Picky Bitch decides to call her credit card company. It takes her 10 minutes of being on hold before someone answers. I’m not sure what they said but when she hung up she was pissed and did not tell me to try her card again. She then called one of her friends to come back and give her some cash. He handed me $20 (the bill was $19.45) and told me to keep the change and left.

I really hope Picky Bitch enjoys the rest of her Vegas vacation but it seems pretty unlikely since she has no money. There’s hope though since she was wearing a dress the size of dental floss – I’m sure some desperate bastard will pay her way in exchange for sex.

Gaysian (my gay asian co-worker) waited on a party that consisted of two cowboys and a cowgirl.  As he cleared the plates from the table one of the men asked if they could have the check. Gaysian said something like “Yes, I will get that for you.”

When Gaysian returned with the check he placed it on the table and the following conversation happened:

Cowboy: Do you know who I am?

Gaysian: No sir, should I?

Cowboy: You should.

Gaysian: Are you going to give me a hint?

Cowboy: Where I come from they call me Captain and him (pointing to his friend) Mister.

Gaysian: That doesn’t sound familiar. Can I have another hint?

Cowboy (angrily): Where I come from people call you SIR.  When I ask for the check I expect “YES SIR.”

Gaysian: I’ll collect your payment when you are ready, SIR.

Needless to say, the cowboy stiffed Gaysian.