What most guests fail to understand is that hostesses seat guests at a specific table for a reason. They don’t just arbitrarily select a table, saunter over to it with guests in tow, and plop the menus on the table, before walking away. Well… maybe sometimes they do that. That’s how servers get double or triple sat – which frequently occurs. In theory, though, they are supposed to follow rotation, not seat servers when they are too busy to take new tables, reserve large tables for large parties etc.

If you are a single diner and you demand a booth that seats 4, there is a reason that your request is declined.

A hostesses job is to make sure as many people are shoved into the restaurant as possible. When a party of two demands the last table that seats four people, the party of four standing in line now has to wait 10 extra minutes for their table. This fact becomes even more annoying when most of the booths are filled with only two people and every table that seats two people remains empty. It is compounded further by guests standing by the hostess stand loudly complaining about the wait or complaining when the hostess begins taking parties of two out of the line to fill the open tables.

Probably the biggest source of frustration are when people are finally getting a table, after waiting for 20 minutes at the door, and then immediately complain and demand another table. It’s like people are oblivious to the hundred or so other people also in line for a table. I had the awesome time of experiencing this myself today.

As I was standing near the hostess stand, a party of four walked up. The hostess attempted to seat them at the only remaining booth, which happened to be near the door. One of the men became immediately outraged and insulted. He said, “No. This is not going to work. I don’t want this table. It’s too close to the door.” The hostess instructed them to stand near the door, while another table opened up. She was visibly annoyed, since this had just happened 5 minutes earlier. I surveyed the room and found the only remaining available table. It was located in the back, near the kitchen. I politely instructed them to follow me and showed them the table. I asked them if it was OK. One of the women said, “Oh, this is much better.” The asshole interjected and said, “Are you fucking kidding me? I can see the fucking kitchen from here. I’m not sitting here.” The other members of the party insisted that the table was fine but the one remaining nutcase freaked the fuck out. He began loudly complaining, saying, “Fuck this. This is fucking ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to sit at this fucking table. Let’s go. We are out of here. Fuck this place.” I tried to be polite and instruct them to wait at the front again. But the man was out of control and once he repeated the phrase, “Fuck this. I’m leaving,” I decided not to object and I walked away. The remainder of the party continued to try to calm the man down. I assume they were unable to since the entire party left a minute or so later.

Good Riddance, asshole. If you are that fucking picky about a table, I can’t imagine how fucking annoying you would be to your server.

The best part of this story comes from knowing that every restaurant in the entire casino had a half hour wait. I’m sure this cockface regretted his decision when he went to an alternate restaurant and repeated the entire process again.

Tonight it was a party of three who managed this feat. The two females were the real culprits but the man was present and is therefore guilty by association.  I’m sure one day when these two old, battered-looking whores get what’s coming to them, he will undoubtedly be killed by a stray bullet.

The first interaction with this table involved me offering them water.  They declined and insisted that they needed alcohol right away.  No one knew what they wanted so I offered some suggestions – each one was shot down.  I attempted to excuse myself so they could peruse the menu.  They refused to let me go even though two neighboring tables were attempting to get my attention.  I stood there, staring into space, dreaming of a land where people are decisive and politics are free of corruption.  Eventually (5 minutes or so later) the table had used a complex algorithm to finally determine that everyone should just drink water.  Awesome.

I offered the table some time to decide on food but before departing I had to answer several questions about the menu.  Each answer was met with a cuntish phrase and each cuntish phrase made me care less and less about being nice to these people.

Here are a few examples:

Cunt #1: Does your Caesar salad have anchovies on it?
Me: No. It’s just….
Cunt #2 (interrupting):  What???? What kind of place is this? Everyone knows that a real Caesar salad is supposed to have anchovies on top.

I resisted the urge to spill my vast Caesar salad knowledge and tell the women that the original Caesar salad recipe did NOT have anchovies.  Anchovies being added is a variation commonly practiced and adding them makes it LESS authentic, not more.

Man: I’m thinking of having a burger… what do you think about…
Cunt #1 (interrupting): Don’t have a burger.  They are really small here and they are salty.
Cunt #2: I bet you hear that all the time… don’t you?  That your food is all way too salty?
Me: Not really. No.
Cunt #1: You must because last time I was here, I heard every table near us talking about how salty the food was.
Me: hmmmm…. I don’t know what to tell you.  No one ever tells me the food is too salty.
Cunt #1 (to the man): Just get a burger with no salt.
Me: Everything is pre-seasoned and they don’t add more seasoning when they cook it.
Cunt #2: You would need to order two burgers.  They are really small.
Me: They are 8 ounces.
Cunt #1: Wow…. that is tiny.

8 ounces is half of a pound. The USDA daily recommended intake of meat is 5 to 7 ounces for the entire day.

No one ever complains the food is salty.

Cunt #1: What kind of sauce comes on this grilled chicken sandwich.
Me: None but I can bring you whatever sauce you want.
Cunt #1: What kind of sauces do you have?
Me: BBQ, mayo, ranch, buffalo, honey mustard, honey dijon, spicy mayo…
Cunt #1: Do you have plum sauce?
Me: No, sorry.
Cunt #1: Well.. looks like we chose the wrong place to eat this evening.

Yes, perhaps you should have picked a Chinese place – they would definitely have plum sauce even if they don’t have a grilled chicken sandwich to put it on.

Cunt #2: What’s inside your jalapeno poppers?
Me: It’s a mixture of cream and cheddar cheese…
Cunt #1 (interrupting): It’s both cheeses?
Me: Yes.  It’s mostly cream cheese but there is also some cheddar cheese.
Cunt #2: This place is ridiculous.
Cunt #1 (looks directly at me): When you get older and learn how to cook you will realize how shitty the food here is.

I told them that I would give them more time to look over the menu and politely excused myself.  They attempted to stop me but I pretended to not hear their pleas for me to stay. I waited until they flagged me down to return to the table, which only took a few minutes.

The two women shared a grilled chicken sandwich.The sandwich was cut in half, on a wheat bun, with lettuce and tomato on the sandwich, and onion, avocado, and mushrooms on the side.  They also each needed a side of honey mustard and BBQ sauce.  The table shared some onion rings, with sides of BBQ sauce, ranch, and blue cheese dressing.  The man ordered a burger and fries, with no special instructions.

In the end, they admitted that the food was very good and that they were surprised since we don’t have many of the “frills” necessary for a restaurant to produce even “edible” food (their words, not mine).

Cunt #1 paid the bill.  Surprisingly, she tipped me 20%.

The name on her credit card explained why she acted like a complete cuntbag:

Lady William of Shallot.

It also explains why she thinks she’s royalty.

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.

To understand exactly how fucking stupid station 1 was you will need a little insight. The bar accommodated 50 people, wrapped around the room, and was manned by 4 bartenders. The server would take food orders, deliver food, and collect payment from any of the 50 people whenever they wanted food. The bartenders would serve their drinks and bill them separately. When a guest requested food from the bartender, he (almost always a he) would give them a menu. When they were ready to order, the guest or bartender would stand the menu up to get the server’s attention. Most of the time 4-5 guests would be ready to order at once. The server would go down the line and take orders, ring them in, and then immediately return to drop off condiments, silverware, and napkins. To avoid walkouts and write-ups the server had to drop the check at the same time as the condiments and let the guest know that their money was due when the food was dropped. The server would then run to the kitchen and gather up any food orders that were complete. They would put everything on a large tray and deliver it to each person, one after another. The server would then frantically scramble to close out all of the checks, while 5 new menus popped up. In between all this madness they would attempt to clear old dishes from the bar.

Lot of guests complained about this system. I couldn’t blame them. It was fundamentally flawed and needlessly complicated.

Some of the people could not understand why the server couldn’t just run a tab for them, like the bartender. None of the people understood why they had two separate checks. Occasionally, some dickhead wanted to do a 5 course meal, spaced in a manner that simply wasn’t feasible in such a fucked up system. Like I said… the system was stupid. The reason that the system existed was because it had been in place for a long time (there had been video poker machines at the bar before), the bartenders had all worked there forever, and the bartender’s job description didn’t include serving food according to their union. Instead of just going to the union and fixing the situation the managers kept this system in place for years.

To sum up:
This system was horribly fucked up.
Working this station sucked because you ran around frantically OR you didn’t run around at all – there was no in between.
You seldom made money because everyone tipped you a much lower percentage (well below the 20% you were accustomed to in a real station).
You frequently got yelled at by angry people who somehow thought they were being charged twice for the same thing.
You dealt with more/all drunks who didn’t get the hint when you told them to pay right that very second, stared at them, held your hand out, and coughed.
Occasionally, people left without paying because you couldn’t stand there all day hovering over them like a babysitter. Also, If you were shy, too polite, or lacked the tact to demand payment immediately someone almost always left without paying. Some people probably left innocently, thinking they had paid for their food when they paid for their drinks.
When people left without paying, you either paid the bill yourself of you would be written up.

Once my BFFAW (Divine) was working this station during a very busy friday night. The entire bar was full and people had even begun moving stools from other areas to huddle around each other. Suddenly, half of the bar wanted to order at once and 25 menus popped up. Divine ran around taking orders, doing the best she (or anyone) could do to keep up with the demand.

One of the guests was a demanding, overdressed, business woman. She was the worst kind of bar guest for this system: an unsympathetic, bitch-faced, multi-course diner.

First, the lady was completely oblivious as to why it had taken 5 minutes for someone to come and take her order. When Divine nicely explained that she had to take orders for the entire bar bitch-face said “That’s not my problem.” Then bitch-face began to ask several stupid questions that could have easily been answered if she had spent her time reading the menu instead of simply waiting for service with her arms tightly folded. When bitch-face finally decided on her food, she ordered a ridiculous amount of food for a single diner – a salad, a large appetizer, a full entree, and a dessert. She insisted that no new courses arrive until she requested them by putting up her menu. After her salad arrived, bitch-face inquired about the caloric value of the dressing. Divine told bitch-face that she didn’t know the caloric value but that it wasn’t low fat and that we didn’t offer low fat options. Bitch-face rolls her eyes and agrees to eat it anyways. She then tells Divine that she will let her know when she is ready for the appetizer. Divine advises bitch-face to let her know 10 minutes before she wants it, since that’s how long it will take to make it. Bitch face doesn’t understand and says “I will let you know when I want it and you can just bring it then.” Divine decides to ring in the appetizer and just let it sit in the window until bitch-face is ready. Luckily, bitch-face finishes her salad and signals for her next course just as the kitchen is placing it in the window. The two repeat the same conversation as before. Divine waits 10 minutes to place bitch-face’s entree order. This gives bitch-face 25 minutes to finish her appetizer. Unfortunately, bitch-face paused for a long time to chat on the phone, so her main course sits in the window for a few minutes. When bitch-face signaled for the main course, the kitchen switched out the plate and freshened up the food. Bitch-face uneventfully ate a small amount of her meal and requested her dessert.

Once Divine drops the dessert, she also drops the check. Bitch-face becomes enraged. She is furious that the check is separate from her initial drink check. Even though this is a fact that Divine explained at the beginning of the meal, it is a concept that proves to be too complex for bitch-face to grasp. Bitch-face acknowledges the fact that she was told this at the beginning of the meal but admits that she had no idea what it meant. It’s not fucking complex theoretical physics but bitch-face simply fails to grasp the concept, no matter how many fucking times it is explained to her. Once bitch-face finally gives up on trying to figure it out, she directs her anger at the fact that the check was dropped before every single morsel of her food was consumed. Divine had to spend 5 additional minutes explaining how normal bar dining works – emphasizing the fact that most bar guests pay when their food arrives and some even pay before; you are dining at a bar, not at a table in a 5-star restaurant. Divine explains that she waited until now to drop the check as a courtesy. In most cases, the check would be dropped before the food even arrived. Divine explains everything in a clear and nice manner, while bitch-face sits with her arms tightly folded making faces of disgust and loudly sighing. Since Divine has run out of patience and is on the verge of losing control over the situation (and her emotions) she has a manager intervene. The manager re-explains the system, confirms that Divine is using the system correctly, and eventually collects payment from bitch-face. Initially bitch-face refused to pay the check until it was combined with her beverages. The manager explained that it wasn’t possible and eventually pried a credit card out of her bony hands.

So far this lady has been a complete nightmare but this is where the story really shows how bitch-faced bitch-face was. In an effort to insult Divine, bitch-face waits until Divine is walking by and flags her down.

She hands her a single $1 bill and smirks (her check was $40). Then in her most sarcastic tone (stupid people are known for sucking at concealing sarcasm) she says “That’s for all your hard work,” and snickers to herself.

Divine takes the dollar and hands it back, while smiling, and says “That’s OK, you keep it.”

Bitch-face is less than happy about this. She hands the dollar back and says “No, that’s for you. It’s yours. It’s your tip.”

Divine says “It’s OK. It was my pleasure.” She lays the dollar on the bar and walks away.

Nothing, prior to this point, had angered bitch-face so much. It was awesome. You would’ve thought someone had just eaten her child. She yelled at the bartender to get the manager. When the manager arrived, bitch-face loudly complained about  Divine refused her tip. Bitch-face admitted that Divine was pleasant and smiling the entire time but that by not accepting her tip, Divine was being a fucking bitch. Bitch-face put her complaint in writing.

(When a guest complains about a union server, in order for management to disciple the server, the guest has to put the complaint in writing. Regardless of the validity of the complaint, if a guest writes one about you then you are automatically written up.)

The next day the manager pulls Divine into the office to give her a write-up. Divine laughs and says that she won’t accept it because she wasn’t rude or anything. She argues that there is nothing in the union contract that says we have to take money from people and points out the fact that she had been nothing but patient and polite. She also says that bitch-face only gave her the $1 bill to be a fucking cunt. Divine tells the manager that if he writes her up, she will contact the union and fight it. Realizing that the write-up probably wouldn’t stand in the long run, the manager rips it up and throws it away.

Note: Eventually this system was changed and the bartenders were forced to take food orders. They weren’t happy about it and had tried to fight it. Some were even shocked that the servers weren’t mad about the fact that we were losing a station.

Something you should know if you have IBS or some kind of urine retention problem:
MOST casino restaurants don’t have bathrooms inside the actual restaurant. Most don’t even have an employee bathroom. Instead, the restroom is located in the casino, where patrons from 2-3 different restaurants can utilize it. By using the available space like this, casinos can offer more dining options to their guests (instead of wasting the space on multiple restrooms). They can also maintain the facilities better, since there are less restrooms to continuously clean.

Once you really think about it, the situation makes perfect sense. Only on rare occasions does this situation cause any mentionable disturbance in one’s life. Sometimes, though, someone attempts to turn what most people would consider a non-issue into a “mentionable disturbance.” This was the case with Divine’s table this evening.

The closest restroom/loo/toilet/bathroom/head is located outside the restaurant and around the corner. I give directions to it an average of 30 times a night. The highest amount (that I actually took the time to keep track of) was an astounding 87.

Divine’s table consisted of a young, childless couple in their late twenties. After ordering, receiving, and eating most of her food, the woman left to use the restroom. She returned and immediately began yelling at Divine. She yelled like a maniac for 2-3 minutes about how it is Divine’s responsibility to inform ALL of her guests that there is not a restroom in the actual restaurant. The guest felt that Divine should tell EVERY-SINGLE-PERSON, prior to taking their food order, so they could have the option of dining elsewhere. The guest went on to say that the closest restroom was a 15 minute walk from the restaurant – it’s actually more like 2 if you walk really, really slow. Divine bit her tongue, apologized for the inconvenience, and informed the lady that if she had asked where the restroom was she would have been told. This did nothing to appease the insane lady. She continued to yell nonsense for another minute before eventually Divine excused herself. The lady’s husband intervened and soothed her long enough to allow her to finish her meal, request the check, and pay with a credit card.

When Divine collected the credit card slip the lady had placed a giant zero with a line through it in the tip and total area.

Below the signature line she left a note, in angry, giant writing:

NO RESTROOMS INSIDE!!!!!! WARN YOUR GUESTS!!!!!!!

I’m not sure exactly how many exclamation points there were in total, but there were enough for me to think that she is both serious and fucking crazy.

Our chef’s idea of all-you-can-eat means using the largest plate possible and filling it with enough food to feed a family of four Americans or an entire village in Africa.  This particular special comes with two full racks of ribs and a giant mound of coleslaw and beans.  Is it cost effective to needlessly pile that much food onto a plate?  No… not really.  Truthfully, more than half of the food is uneaten and winds up in the garbage.

But sometimes (I really mean almost always) our chef makes decisions that have no logical basis or he uses his own form of logic instead of real logic.  This special is a prime example of our chef’s logic in action.

Chef logic: People should feel like they are getting a good deal.  They will be impressed that they get this much food for such a low price.

My logic: People will still be just as impressed by getting half as much food and knowing they can get more if they want.  More than likely they wouldn’t request more and we can sell twice as many specials or just make half as many ribs.  Maybe people wouldn’t stuff themselves so full and we could possibly even sell dessert or perhaps they will order a second beer.

Delivering this special to a table provokes all sorts of reactions from guests.

Americans marvel at the size of the portion they receive.  Their hearts fill with glee and they enthusiastically dig in using their hands.  Soon their entire body is coated in a sticky film of BBQ sauce.  They attempt to eat every bite but most can’t even eat half.  When they have had their fill they will simply push the plate away and not worry about the waste.   Every now and then one gluttonous American will ask for a second serving of ribs, which is only half of a rack (very few will finish it).

Some foreigners look at the portion and laugh.  Lots of Asians point and take pictures while modeling behind the plate.  Some Asians have each person model with the plate or model holding a rib.  In whatever language they speak I imagine they are saying, “Holy fuck. This is a shit ton of food.  No wonder Americans are so fat and lazy.”  Frequently, foreign couples who ordered two specials demand that you return one to the kitchen and allow them to share one portion but pay for two specials.

Tonight the following occurred:

An older English couple were seated in my station today.  They immediately picked up the table tent and inquired about our all-you-can-eat rib special.  They both said that it sounded “lovely” and ordered it.  When it arrived they looked at each other and said “Wow, that’s a lot of food.”  I nodded my head in agreement.  I left the food for them to eat and checked on them periodically throughout the meal.  When I went to clear the empty plates from the table the man looked mad but he assured me that everything was fine. I gave him his check, ran his credit card, and returned with the slip.  As soon as he signed his credit card slip he began yelling at me.

Man: You should be ashamed of yourself
Me: For…?
Man: You’ve gone and put too much food on the plate and made us eat it.
Me: How did I make you eat it?
Man: You put so much food there that if we didn’t eat it then we would be wasteful.  I don’t like to waste food, neither does my wife.
Me: (looking puzzled)
Man: Now I’ve gone and made myself sick. It’s all your fault.
Me: I don’t control the portions.
Man: I hope you’re happy.  My wife had to go throw up. You’ve ruined our entire evening, maybe even our vacation.

The man quickly left the restaurant, with his hand covering his mouth, as if he were about to hurl.  I’m not sure if he did or not.  It would’ve been the one time I actually wanted to see someone vomit.

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.

Approximately 45 seconds before the computers crashed I had volunteered to pick up a 13 top that had to be sat in a closed station. I didn’t actually want to do it but someone had to. Had I of known what the future held for me I definitely would have made these assholes wait at the door until a table was available elsewhere. I took the table to benefit them, not me. I am not a table whore.

Half of the party arrived first. The second half arrived right after I had finished closing my other tables out. The party already had water and a few ordered drinks. One lady insisted they order right away since her child was falling asleep. She also wanted to make sure that her child’s food came out first. I rang in the food, requesting the child’s food to come out first. Three minutes later the woman demanded to know where her child’s food was. To her “first” meant “immediately.” I politely explained the difference between the two.

Note: When the computers go down the kitchen automatically crashes. This is an unavoidable and often unexplainable fact.

Five minutes later the lady asks about the meal again, at this point all the children are asleep (and had been asleep since 14 seconds after I took their order). I return two minutes later with the child’s food and she replies “She’s asleep now so just forget it.” The bitchiness in her voice was completely unnecessary. Also, her fucking kid had been asleep for 10 minutes. Two of the times she asked about the food her child was asleep. Why put me through the trouble of begging the kitchen for your sleeping child’s food if you are just going to refuse it when I get it? This is when things with this party quickly started to unravel.

Several minutes later the entire table’s food arrived- Just in time to avoid a riot. Everyone was getting pretty surly. I instructed the food runner to verify everything before placing the food in front of someone since they decided to play musical chairs once their order was placed. He verified each item as he placed it. Some people switched food around. Others just didn’t pay attention and got burgers with wrong cooking temperatures. They complained once they had started eating them and didn’t want to wait for new ones. A couple of people complained that their food was cold – It was. No one had been happy with the wait for the food. All of these complaints were voiced to the manager. None of them involved me or was related to service in any way what-so-ever. I was nice, polite and apologetic. None of this mattered to these fuckholes who were getting ruder by the second.

The manager took $90 worth of food of off the $200 check. I knew these people would only bitch if I added gratuity to their check (even though the service wasn’t the problem) so I opted to leave it off and knew I was screwing myself. Most of the people paid with cash, after being instructed that each credit card would take 5-10 minutes to process because the cashier had to call for authorization. One guy didn’t have cash so he had to pay a portion of the bill with a credit card. It took 5 minutes or so to bring the credit card slip back. He didn’t leave a tip and neither did anyone else.

My advice to parties who arrive at a restaurant where the computer have just crashed:

You should know what you are getting in to.

Take your sleepy fucking children to a quick, fast place to eat – Like a fast food restaurant in one of the many food courts located on the strip and within hotels. Be considerate – just get them some food and put them to bed already.

It’s not my fault that you didn’t have enough common sense to feed your child at a reasonable hour or to pick a dining establishment that specializes in fast food. I know your kid has only been alive and in your care for 9 years or so – It’s completely understandable that you still don’t know when to feed her.

Don’t penalize your server for things that are simply out of their control. Take your free food and shut up already.

BTW, you should really consider not ordering burgers extra well done if you want them to come out in a reasonable amount of time.

Here are a few notes from this week that made us chuckle:

“I usually tip 10% for good service but the service wasn’t that good so I am tipping you less.”

We had many, many LOLZ after reading that one. WOW… ten whole percent?

“You took our fries before we were finished. Not cool.”

LOL. Not cool? Who complains like that? Note: The couple was asked if they were finished and both agreed that they were. Also, they tipped 20% so it was confusing as to whether or not this was a real complaint.

“Maybe if you had a better attitude you would get a tip.”

Maybe… but then again maybe not. Life is a gamble. In this case these women were bitches who sent multiple food and drink items back for reasons that were not legitimate. They are lucky the server even continued to wait on them – with or without an attitude.

“Just because we are Mexican doesn’t mean you can treat us like cattle.”

In this particular instance this couple received rushed service because the server was sat four tables at once. It had nothing to do with them being Mexican. In fact, the other 3 tables also received the same level of service and did not resort to writing a passive aggressive note.

For example, last night an elderly couple came in, walked past the hostess stand, and sat themselves in my section. Instead of being an asshole and sending them to the hostess stand so I could avoid being triple sat, I just brought them some menus. The couple looked like two typical, wrinkly tourists – both donning Las Vegas shirts probably purchased from a nearby gift store. They were living incarnations of the statue inside Harrah’s.

I immediately filled their water glasses and told them I would return after giving them a minute to look over the menu. They insisted they were ready to order their drinks and food right away so I offered to take their order. What they actually meant to say was “we are inconsiderate assholes who didn’t have the foresight to know that dining out required us to read a menu so we both left our reading glasses at home. Even though we just sauntered in and sat ourselves in your section we assume that you have time to read everything on the menu to us because we are the most important people in the entire world and your other tables who were sat by the hostess and read the menu themselves should just wait.”

Either way, I patiently read the menu to these two fucktards and they finally agreed on a burger to share and an order of fries. After waiting for what seemed an infinite amount of time for them to finish arguing over how the burger would be cooked they finally shooed me away. Two minutes later the woman flagged me down to tell me that she forgot to mention that she wanted a diet coke with lemon. I brought her one and refilled both of their waters several times before their food arrived.

When the food runner dropped the food off I noticed there was some kind of commotion going on and approached the table. Apparently, the kitchen had forgotten to put bacon on their burger and the 90 seconds it took the food runner to return with the bacon was a ridiculous amount of time. Instead of saying this to me they just said “This is fucking ridiculous. Get the manager.” When I approached my manager I briefed him on what happened – which I didn’t think to be that big of a deal myself. No one had been rude or bitchy to them and they had not been neglected in any way.

When my manager arrived at the table the old man began yelling a bunch of nonsense. His first complaint was that even though his wife ordered diet, the beverage that was brought to her was regular coke. This of course was simply not true. She ordered diet, I rang in diet, and she was in fact brought a diet with a lemon. Instead of telling me her suspicion one of the many times I walked by her table, filled their water glasses, or rang in orders at the waitstation that was located right next to their table, they waited until they had a legitimate but small complaint and demanded a manager. Later, the husband went on to say that the main problem with being brought the wrong drink (which was half gone) was that his wife was diabetic. Why the fuck would a diabetic drink half of a soda before complaining? I’m really not sure – find bitch face and ask her. The man continued yelling because even though this lady has been diabetic for YEARS and knew she would be dining out, she had not prepared for such a situation by bringing her insulin. Why? I’m really not sure – maybe she has a death wish or wants to get some rest by being comatose for a while. During this heated discussion the man claimed they were locals and only on the strip to eat.

He continued to yell about his bacon being missing – even though this was remedied in 90 seconds (before they even finished putting ketchup on their bun). The man yelled like a crazy person saying that his food was hot when it arrived and was freezing by the time the bacon arrived. He then yelled about how he had eaten here before and had a similar experience and he would not be returning. My manager bought their meal and apologized. Out of earshot he said he hoped they weren’t bluffing about not returning.

The point is these people were miserable from the time they arrived. I can only assume they came for the sole purpose of complaining since they have eaten here before and had a bad experience. Why the fuck else would you return to a place you previously had a bad experience? There are hundreds of other places to eat in town. My guess is that they aren’t locals and they are probably living on social security. Instead of spending their tiny monthly allotment on dining out they just complain loudly enough to get their meal paid for and save a ton of money by getting free food and stiffing waitstaff.

Yeah… they stiffed me too.