Tonight, I felt like the host of the show.  At one point my station contained a man in a baby bonnet, a table of women wearing neon pink wigs, a man wearing nacho cheese, another man with 14 gold rope chains, and a woman with a prosthetic leg.  Keep in mind: these people were all at different tables.

I understand why the world needs someone to produce baby bonnets that fit 200 lb men: Paraphilic infantilism & Halloween.

Why a fairly good looking guy in his early 20s would wear it during a bachelor party is simply beyond my comprehension.  Maybe it’s a penis thing.  Maybe owning a penis requires you to do things that even you yourself cannot explain.  Perhaps the man was in the store, thinking of what asinine costume he would don for his favorite cousin’s stag party.  He saw the baby bonnet, and thought of all the cool opening lines he could use to land loose honeys (they all center around drinking out of the tap, needing a good spanking, or having wet himself).

The women wearing pink wigs are pretty easy to explain.  They were older and looked like they might have met through a Mommy and Me group, or maybe a knitting class.  None were wearing wedding rings and they talked loudly about men and their need to find some.  The wigs, I figure, are just their way of letting men know that they are sexually available – kind of like when peacocks display their feathers.  Younger girls just wear tiny, tight dresses with their labia  hanging out.  When you get older, and lose the firm body you once had, your dress doesn’t have to be as short in order to show your labia.  Because of this, you have to find more creative ways to attract your prey (or you lower your standards).

The man with the nacho cheese is something that I, personally, have never encountered.  In fact, I’m not sure anyone that I work with has ever witnessed this particular level of asshattery.  The guy came in with his shirt completely unbuttoned.  He had covered his smooth, shaved chest with nacho cheese – all the way down to his shaved happy trail.  He then walked by all the drooling women (women love nacho cheese), stuck his chest out, and said seductive things like “You know you want to lick it,” “You can try it if you want,” and “You do me and I’ll do you.”  Even I bit my lip in an attempt to prevent my vagina from automatically wrapping around his penis.  To prevent a riot, my manager forced the guy to button up his shirt.

The man wearing 14 gold rope chains was black.

Is it racist to divulge this to you?

NO.  Me not telling you would make YOU racist, since you would probably assume he was black anyways.  He was a nice man, who had probably shrunken to half of his original size.  The gold chains were huge.  They looked heavy and out of place.  It’s also a safety hazard for a little old man to slowly shuffle to his car while wearing 20 pounds of gold.

The woman with the prosthetic leg would normally not be worth mentioning.  It’s just bizarre that she was lumped in with this assortment of wackos.  To be honest, I wouldn’t notice her in a crowd – especially this crowd.  The one thing that really made her stand out was when she removed her leg and placed it directly on the table.  I think that is even more inappropriate than placing your elbow on the table.

I don’t know how Monty Hall did it all those years.

Subject: So here’s some potential fodder for your blog.

I was gonna write it as a comment but didn’t want to risk getting fired!

Woman: (think drunk blanch (RIP) from golden girls) i want a burger well done.
Me: okay, would you like any fries or onion rings with that?
Woman: what, RICE??
Me: no, any FRIES or onion rings with that?
Woman: RICE?? why would i want RICE with my burger??
Me: no, FRIES, like FRENCH FRIES.
Woman: huh, RICE?
(her less drunk friend intervenes)
Woman: ooohhhh friiiiiiies. (looks to me) you gotta say it like friiiiiiies with a country accent.
Me: i cant say it like that, would you like any fries or not?

Then…
Man: (think drunk obnoxious old smelly new yorker) oh… where does your name tag say you’re from?
Me: Berkeley, CA sir.
Man: ooohhhh BURMA! i hear thats a beautiful country!
Me: yes, yes it is. would you like something to drink?

Wow I never thought me being Asian had such an effect on my tables!

Me: It’s probably not because you’re asian but more because you’re gay. LOL.

Gaysian: no, if it were about being gay then all my tables would make me call them captain and sir.

Me: I just reported you for spam.

Gaysian: why cause i’m gay, Asian or both?

Me: Both. I have to take a nap now. Stop being so Asian.

Gaysian: okay enjoy your nap. i’m gonna go paint myself orange and take a headless pic of me in my bathing suit. see u tonight!

Me: LOL. That would be awesome. Do it!

Note: You probably don’t get the last comment by Gaysian unless you work with us. If you do and you still don’t understand then ask someone who works nights.

After his food arrives the server checks on him. The old man says “Why is that chinese girl so angry? She keeps slamming things around.” (referring to an Asian busser)

Later the same man flagged the server down to tell him “I’m pretty sure there was money on that table over there and that little black kid stole it.” (referring to Token, our only black male server)

Token: Why is my name “Token”?

Me: Um, because you are the one token black person that works here.

Token: No, there are other black people that work here…

Me: I mean the only server. Kitchen staff and food runners don’t count.

Token: …….

Me: So… why aren’t there more black servers?

Token: There are black servers.

Me: Not really. Every place has only one. Do you guys get together and talk about shitty it is to wait tables or something?

Token: Not really.

Me: I guess what I am trying to say is that there isn’t a proportionate number of black servers if you compare the percentage to the amount of blacks in the US. For instance, if 10% of the country consists of black people then it seems like there would be more than one token black person waiting tables in every restaurant – for every 9 white servers, there would be 1 black server. We should have at least 3.

Token: Other places have more black servers. They have two black servers at (name omitted). (name omitted) has two black servers. Hmmm… (name omitted) only has one. The pool doesn’t have any.

Me: Well, of course there aren’t any at the pool – everyone knows black people can’t swim.

I’m fairly certain that if there were more black servers, all black people would be easier to wait on.  Either they would have experienced waiting on people first hand or might know someone who has. This would give them the insight they need to not treat you like their personal servant and maybe they would even tip you accordingly. It’s just a theory though – we will never know for sure.

With that being said, we do have one black server – token black guy. I’m pretty sure he was hired as a result of affirmative action and now we just keep him around because everyone needs a reason to dust off their black jokes on occasion.

Anyways…

This evening as I was at the computer terminal ringing in a table’s order I witnessed token black guy spilling a drink all over a british guy’s lap. He quickly apologized but the guy still seemed a bit miffed. When token black guy walked away the man said “What a tit.” I walked away laughing to myself.

Before I go any further if you are one of these people who think “gratuity should be based on performance and not included for large parties” let me clarify some things for you.   Gratuity is more than likely added at the discretion of the server.   Most servers opt to include it because they can and because they have been screwed several times before by people who seemed like decent human beings who then gave a 5% tip in exchange for 20% service.   If a server adds gratuity to your check it doesn’t ALWAYS mean you look like a white trash piece of shit, a foreigner, or you are black – it just means the server would rather have a guaranteed 18% tip rather than take a chance at getting a 5% tip.   You shouldn’t be offended – this is Vegas and the people who live here don’t really gamble.

With that being said:

Twelve Canadians approach the hostess stand and ask if gratuity is included for large parties.   When the hostess says yes they ask for two tables sitting in close proximity to one another.   They are sat at two tables right next to each other – both seating six.   I wait on one table and another server waits on the other.   We have both been alerted to the fact that they refused to pay the gratuity and instead requested to be sat separately.   My co-worker says “Let’s make them miserable” – her table waits several minutes before being greeted.

Since I’m not really doing anything else I greet my table and get their drink order.   Then I check on every other table I have, refill water pitchers and talk to one of my tables briefly about what shows to see in Vegas etc.   Eventually, I pick up their drinks.   The other server is just getting her table’s drink order.   I take my table’s order – everyone orders their burgers cooked medium – I take the time to explain cooking temperatures since Canadians always think medium means your burger will be fully cooked (also called “well done”).   Everyone then changes their burgers to well done.   I slowly put their order in while discussing public hair patterns with a co-worker.

Eventually, the other server takes her table’s order.   All the burgers are ordered medium because she opted not to explain cooking temperatures.   When both tables need refills they wait a little bit longer than our other tables.   The food for the other server’s table comes out first since everything is cooked to medium.   My table’s food comes out 7 or so minutes later.   The other table complains loudly that their burgers are not cooked – the server explains they are cooked how they were ordered and then explains cooking temperatures.   They eat it because the server doesn’t offer to have them cooked more.   My table begins asking me questions like “Why did you move to Vegas” – I tell them I will be right back and pretend another table flagged me down.   I come back when their plates are ready to be cleared.

My table asks for both checks.   Two guys each take one and give me their credit cards.   They each tip around 12% – fair enough.

The truth is 12% is exactly the tip we were expecting and aiming for.   When people refuse to pay 18% before service has even begun we know that what they really want isn’t 18% service but 10-12% service.   That is exactly what this table got – slower service, no side conversations, waiting for refills etc.  So if you are one of these cheap cock suckers who think you are benefiting from splitting up your large party you aren’t.   You are simply letting your server know that you expect less service and expect to pay less for it.   Fair enough.

Chola #1 orders a salad but when I explained additional items came in the salad she switched it to a caesar salad.   I then explained that our caesar salad is not a traditional caesar salad, instead it has a lemon parmesan dressing.   She said it sounded great.

Chola #2 orders some buffalo wings.   First, she asks me if they are spicy.   She doesn’t like things too spicy and if she is unsure I can put the sauce on the side.   She declines.

Chola #3 orders some bbq wings.   Her and chola #2 are going to share their wings with each other (chola #2 suggested this).

Not 2 minutes after I ring the chola’s order in my relief shows up.   I immediately transfer the table and start doing my sidework.   I was glad to get rid of them because they were annoying cunt whores but now I kind of wish I would have kept them because of the following:

Their new server introduces herself and gets the whores some refills.   A while later their food arrives.   Chola #3 eats 3 out of her 8 chicken wings and then complains that she really ordered buffalo wings and I rang her order in incorrectly.   The new server comes to me to tell me she had to correct the problem.   I told the new server I figured they were going to be dumb cunt face bitches and that I probably should’ve at least kept them until they had eaten most of their food so they didn’t have the nerve to send anything back.   Right after this conversation chola #1 finishes eating half of her salad and complains that it doesn’t taste like a caesar salad and she doesn’t want to pay for it.   She doesn’t order anything else to replace it either.   Fuck those bitches – I would not have taken shit off of their check – that is why I discussed in great detail exactly what they ordering and wrote their order down.

Needless to say, they needed their bill split into 3 checks.   I believe they each tipped $1.25ish.   Your server thanks you cholas.   Please use the money you saved on gratuity and buy a tube of lipstick to share between yourselves – wearing lip liner with no lipstick is so passe.

Their new server gives me a shitty look because the women immediately complain that their silverware is not clean enough and neither are their water glasses.   Me and my neo nazi co-worker point and laugh at her.   Then, as luck would have it, the tables turn.   The ladies decide that they no longer find the booth that the are sitting in comfortable – they want to move to the original table they were offered.   Since no one is working in that station and I am the closest person I have no choice but to wait on them.   Once they brought over their newly cleaned glasses and silverware and got situated the rest of their lunch was pretty uneventful.   At the end I presented the check by placing it in the middle of the table.   Each lady passed the bill around and pitched in some money until one lady remained who signed the check to her room.   Surprisingly, she tipped $20 on $100 tab.     The problem came when her room came up as being “cash only.”   When I brought this to her attention she remembered having a problem when she checked in.   She then opted to give me a credit card – the card was declined.   This was why she couldn’t charge to her room – her credit card was probably declined there also.   As a courtesy, I call the credit card company – still declined.   I go back to the table and ask for another form of payment.   She offers me another credit card, which is also declined.   The other five ladies get impatient and leave at this point.     She winds up giving me 3 additional credit cards (one at a time, a total of 5) – each card is declined.   She finally pays in cash.   I bring out her change – my tip decreases from $20 to $15.   While that’s fucked up I figure she needs the $5 more than me – I have excellent credit and all of my credit cards are paid off.

Table #1: 4 Hispanics (most likely Mexican, a couple and their two sons)
Table #2: 5 English women (one was so disgustingly ugly I had to look away while taking her order)
Table #3: 1 Single diner dressed like a foreigner with a slight unidentifiable accent
Table #4: 2 Americans (a middle aged couple)
Table #5: 7 Australians (unfortunately for me there we supposed to be 8 but one was ill and did not arrive so I could not add gratuity)

Let the games begin.

Pick 1: Everyone correctly assumed table #4 would tip the most.   Their check was $35.02 and they gave me $42 and told me to keep the change (20%).

Pick 2: Most people thought the single diner (table #3) would come in second place but only because the other choices are notoriously bad tippers and we no one could identify where he was from.   He did in fact come in second place, tipping 17%.

Pick 3: At this point no one could really decide who was going to screw me worse.   It was really a toss up between the British women and the Hispanics. The Hispanics came out ahead, tipping me $19 on $119 (16%).   I realized after we had made our bets that one of them spoke English and probably lived here.   The other three were probably visiting him from Mexico.

Pick 4: The British women wound up tipping $14 on $108 (13% and several “cheers”).

Pick 5: There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the Australians would fuck me the hardest.   There wasn’t even a debate or even a need for discussion.   Their check was $160 – they handed me $175 and told me to keep the change (almost 10%, which was actually more than anyone expected).

Sometimes we simply have too much time on our hands.