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.

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.

While I am getting drink orders and trying to get my shit together my remaining 3 tables get their food. One of the tables complain that their fries are cold, another that their burger is improperly prepared, and the remaining one needs more beer.  Within minutes I am so fucking far behind I begin to think that one of my new tables might just get up and leave.  Of course, I couldn’t be so lucky.  I push through and finally recover only to discover that no tickets are printing in the kitchen.

All 5 of my tables orders haven’t even been started because the kitchen isn’t getting tickets.  Everyone rewrites their orders on hand-written checks and turns them into the kitchen.  The kitchen is so fucking far behind that I begin to think my tables might really get up and walk out now.  Not only are they far behind but food is returning to the kitchen for a variety of reasons (cold, burnt, undercooked, missing ingredients, special instructions not followed) – Not just my food but everyone’s.  All in all it was one gigantic clusterfuck until after the dinner rush passed and then the place cleared out.

During the middle of it all I was sat a party of four, which consisted of two elderly couples.  They were obviously in town for Nascar and one of the men was donning a cowboy hat that Bocephus himself would envy.

Me: Hi, Can I get your some water?

Bocephus: Separate checks

Me: Ok, would you like some water?

Bocephus: I’ll have a coffee.

Everyone else puts their water glasses near me to indicate that they would like some water.  I take their drink order and return with their drinks. The last drink I place on the table is the coffee.

Bocephus: Is this decaf?

Me: No sir.

Bocephus: I wanted decaf

Me: Sorry, You just said coffee so I assumed you wanted regular coffee.

Bocephus: Well, I didn’t. I obviously can’t drink regular coffee at this hour.

Me: After I put your order in I will get you a decaf.  Has everyone decided on food?

It is important to note that this people were deaf as hell.  I was practically yelling at them and they still insisted that I was talking too low.  The table across from them was even obviously uncomfortable with how loud I was talking. The man from the first couple orders a sandwich.  His wife doesn’t order anything because our prices are outrageous. Bocephus orders a burger cooked extra, extra well done with no sides because they are too expenisive. His wife orders a salad.  Each of the couple inform me (again) that they need separate checks.  They also tell me that they are in a hurry and need to be out the door within 45 minutes.  I tell then that it might not happen because extra, extra well done burgers take longer to cook.

I ring their order in and return with the decaf.

Bocephus: This is decaf, right?

Me: Yes sir.

Bocephus: Is it fresh?

Me: It should be.

Bocephus: Good. Put a strawberry shake on my check also.

Me: Did you want me to bring that out now?

Bocephus: No, I don’t want it now. I’m drinking coffee.

Me: So, you want to order it later?

Bocephus: Yes, later.

Me: OK, let me know when you want it and I will bring it then.

Bocephus nods his head in agreement. The table gets their food and I stop to make sure their food is prepared properly and they have everything they need. The lady who didn’t order anything decides she wants a small appetizer. I ring it in.  I return to check on the table once they have taken a couple of bites of their food.  I also return a few moments later to refill their drinks.  Once the remaining lady gets her food I check on them two more times (when she gets it and once she tries it).  I walk by the table several times and make eye contact.  I also prebus the table four separate times because each of them finish eating at different times.  At the end of the meal I offer them dessert and they each just grumble that they are ready for their checks.  They tell me (again) that they need separate checks. I bring their checks out.

Bocephus: You never brought my shake out.

His wife: I see you didn’t charge him for it so I guess never mind.

Me: I’m sorry about that. Did you want me to bring it in a plastic cup to go?

Bocephus (yelling): NO! I WANTED IT WITH MY BURGER!

Me: I did tell you to tell me when you wanted it, right?

Bocephus: (silent, looking confused)

Me: At some point did you tell me that you were ready and that you wanted it?

Bocephus: I would’ve told you but you never came back.

Me: I’ve been to your table several times.

Bocephus: No you haven’t.

Me: I refilled your coffee and water twice and I checked on you and asked you how everything was four times.

Bocephus: Whatever.

At this point I just walked away. Bocephus can pretty much go fuck himself.  When I return to the table Bocephus gives me his check with the exact change.  The other couple tips me $3 (exactly what I was expecting).  The hostess brings Bocephus his walker and they slowly head out the door.

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.

Old Man: I already looked at that menu – they want $75 fucking dollars for a meal.

Me: For the entire meal or just a steak?

Old Man: $75 for a meal per person.  That’s fucking ridiculous.

Me: That’s a pretty average price for a steakhouse.

Old Man: That’s probably more than you make in a week.

Me: ::stunned, now realizing this man really does think he is living in the 70s::

Hostess: There’s an Outback Steakhouse a couple of miles down the road if you would like to take a taxi.

Old Man: That’s more my speed. Their food is fucking delicious.

Thankfully, he left before realizing how much we charge for a mere hamburger – he probably would’ve died on the spot.

So…

Tonight I was sat a party of three mildly intoxicated business associates.

As soon as I arrived at the table the two men introduced themselves, after reading my name tag and asking me how my day was going.  Their names were Frank & Scott.  The remaining person at the table was a lady who did not introduce herself so I nicknamed her Mary.  The members of the group were dressed in business attire and in their late 40s.

Frank immediately began hitting on me.

Frank: Are you sure you are old enough to wait on us?  You are too pretty to be from Vegas where are you from originally? What does a pretty girl like you do after work?

People who know me also know that I lie to almost every table about when I moved to Vegas and what brought me here.  I do this to minimize conversations that are not directly related to their food or service.  In an effort to give my tables better service I only give answers that are less likely to have follow up questions.  This prevents me from spending too much time at one table and allows me to dedicate the same amount of time to all of my tables – instead of just focusing on a table full of nosey mother fuckers who keep asking me questions. I know people are on vacation but I’m not.

Also, It’s none of their fucking business why I moved here or when.  I don’t ask them 100 questions about why they are in town.  In fact, I can look at a table and tell everything I need (or don’t need) to know within 20 seconds.  I might not have pinpoint accuracy but I’m always in the ballpark.

This table for instance:
- In town for a convention.
- The two guys worked for the same company. They dressed similarly and seemed comfortable with each other.
- The lady was more than likely some sort of supplier or vendor for the company since she observed without intervening.
- No one at the table was above middle-management, as suggested by their body language and inquisitive nature.
- More than likely Frank would pick up the check since he was obviously the alpha male.
- Frank was probably a good tipper.

To get Frank to stop hitting on me and simply order his food I had no choice but to answer one of his questions honestly.

Frank: What’s a pretty girl like you do after work.
Scott: Geez… you’re old enough to be her father, Frank. You probably graduated high school the year she was born.

Scott’s interruption didn’t deter Frank.

Frank: Why would a pretty girl like you move to Vegas?
Me: I got married and my husband and I wanted to move somewhere new.
Frank: Oh, How long have you been married?
Me: 7 years
Frank: He’s a stand up guy? Takes care of you?
Me: Yeah

After this Frank eased up and finally ordered his food. During their meal I periodically checked on the table, refilling their water & offering them more beverages.  When I went to clear their plates, Frank’s co-worker (Scott) had left the table. Frank suddenly turns into a jealous lover and starts accusing me of having a crush on Scott.

Frank: So why do you like my friend and not me?
Me: What?
Frank: Why DO YOU like my friend, Scott, and NOT ME?
Me: What do you mean?
Frank: Well it’s obvious that you are attracted to him and want to sleep with him.
Me: um… what?

At first I thought Frank was just playing some fucked up joke on me but NO… he was dead serious.  It was all too weird, especially since his friend Scott was a lot less attractive. Scott even had ear & nose hair that was growing out of control!

Frank: I see the way you keep looking at him.
Me: I really don’t know what you are talking about.  I don’t like your friend Scott. I’m married, remember?
Frank: No… I see the way you look at him.  You want him.  I know it.
Me: That’s ridiculous.
Frank: No, it’s not… you smiled at him earlier.
Me: I’m a waitress. It’s my job to smile at people.
Frank: You have smiled at him 3 times and only smiled at me once.
Me: um….
Mary: Just walk away.

I decided to take Mary’s advice and walk away.  Eventually, Scott came back and Frank paid the check.  I guess Frank wasn’t too mad because he paid the check and left me 30%.

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.

Two drunk women teeter in and are sat at a booth.  Both women were slurring their speech but the server eventually managed to get their order and rang it in.  The food arrived shortly afterward and they began to eat.  At this point, Drunk lady #1 proceeds to projectile vomit directly on the table.  It’s important to note that this wasn’t just normal drunk vomit.  Normal drunk vomit has a certain smell and texture – pleasant by no means but much more tolerable than the substance spewing from this lady’s pie hole.  Normal drunk vomit consists mostly of the last 12 drinks consumed by the offending party – made up mostly of liquid, with a few indistinguishable chunks, and a pretty sour smell.  Don’t get me wrong – I am not an actual vomit expert nor do I have a vomit fetish (like a guy I once saw on Jerry Springer) but I have witnessed enough drunks vomiting to know enough to gross you out in great detail.

The point of giving you some insight into normal drunk vomit is to illustrate the fact that this lady’s vomit was in no way resembling the substance normally expelled from the stomach of a normal drunk.  This was ungodly.  UNHOLY.  Jesus, this was by far the worst substance I have ever witnessed another human being expel from ANY orifice. It resembled Hormel chili mixed with cat food – and she wasn’t eating either.  The texture indicated that this lady had a bad habit of swallowing every morsel of food she ever consumed whole – without so much as an attempt to chew it.  Not only did she neglect to chew it, she must have eaten an entire case of Hormel chili and 17 boxes of cat food.  I have NEVER witnessed such a large quantity of vomit in a single place. In ancient Rome this lady would be a mother fucking legend for sure.  The vomit covered half of the table, drunk lady #2’s purse, and a large portion of the floor underneath the table.

The awesomeness of this story begins now.  While drunk lady #1 throws up everything she has eaten in the last 3 months, drunk lady #2 continues to eat without batting a lash.  She then flags a busser down to tell her that her friend “is feeling ill.”  When the busser looks down, she almost vomits as well.  Drunk lady #1 then looks up and calmly says “I think I need a towel.”

(Really… you think you need a towel? That’s a real thing that you think you need? You need a towel? You actually need a shower mother fucker and to go to your hotel room and hide your head in shame. I would probably even switch hotels so no one recognizes me while I’m playing penny slots later.)

It was like neither of these ladies thought vomiting directly on a table, in a restaurant, was a big deal.  They also didn’t seem disturbed by the sheer quantity of the vomit or the strange wholeness of the items within it.  In fact, the lady who had just vomited began eating again almost immediately afterward – without even cleaning any of the offensive, foul-smelling, chili-like substance off the table.  I’m sure the energy used by her muscles from gagging, as well as the fact that her stomach was now empty, increased her appetite immensely but for fuck’s sake – Are you fucking kidding me? Drunk lady #2 didn’t even pause from stuffing her face WHILE her disgusting friend threw up ON the table and her purse.

It was like something out of a horror movie.

Normally, when someone vomits in a public place their friend asks for the check and everyone leaves immediately.  These gross bitches didn’t take this an indication that it was time for them to leave.  In fact, they were offended when my manager presented them with the check and told them they had to leave.  They argued saying that they weren’t done eating.  My manager insisted they leave because the hazmat team had arrived (donning gloves, masks, and sanitizer) to clean the ungodly substance up.  Eventually, the gross bitches gave up and left.  Then two people (who get paid to clean vomit up all day long) proceeded to clean and disinfect the area for over an hour.

Unfortunately, the additional sugar did not deter the obese woman and in 5 more minutes she needed another refill.  This time we added even more grenadine – thinking there was no way it was even drinkable this time.  By this time, the couple’s food had arrived and they had begun eating.  She finished her drink shortly after her food arrived and requested another drink.  The bartender filled the glass over halfway with grenadine and topped it off with sprite.  I fully expected her to complain but she didn’t.  She drank the entire drink in two swallows and requested the check.  Her and her obese husband paid their bill, stiffed me, and wobbled away.

For the record, she had 5 drinks in 22 minutes.  We used almost half a bottle of grenadine.

I hope she enjoys her diabetes.

When security arrived they began asking the homeless guy if he had money, where he had just come from, where he was headed etc.  The homeless guy took out a wad of ones that would rival that of a stripper – and I mean a HOT stripper, not some fat stripper with back boobs and a bad weave.  Once security finished asking the man questions, they stood at the hostess stand, staring at him while he ate.  He paid his check, stiffed the server (of course), and was promptly escorted off of the property by security.

I felt bad for him until I found out that during his meal random guests had stopped by to give him cash.  He made $6 while sitting at his table for 20 minutes.  That’s a decent living – especially for someone who doesn’t  have to pay rent.