18 February 2009

Tonight I was taking care of the dining room while my co-closing partner-in-crime waitress-friend, K, was covering my back with all the side chores when "SHE" comes in.

I barely notice her, I'm around and around with the coffee, getting drinks, taking orders, punching them in, covering everyone. She comes in with someone I assume to be her boyfriend. I've seen them together before. She is pregnant. Not that that matters. Except I could never roundhouse her grouchy ass if my life depended on it.

Take one: I stop at the table, ask for drinks. The snotface boyfriend straightens up and orders a chicken burger. I have my hands full. I say okay. I smile. I am still trying to commit other requests to memory and think if I could just get over to the till, set these down...

"Just plain. But with pickles."

Say what? Back up, dishes, cloth and coffee pot. "What's that?" What I mean: "what the fuck do you want NOW, you whiny, bitter, unhappy little prick?"

At that instant, I am in danger of forgetting table 6's request. Pie. Platter. No. Ice cream? No, cheese, but... gotta put these down. Just give me two seconds, please. I'll be right back.

No dice. He's not reading the dish-laden pleading in my eyes OR hands, probably because it's overlaced with sheer albeit momentary hate. In fact, he's not even looking her eyes. They look scowled and disconnected. Was he bitterly caught up in this pregnancy? Did she have him by the cranky, snotty, sour-faced balls? Has every moment in their lives been one trapped moment to another?

I don't hate anyone. I also don't care. They deserve each other for all I can tell. A match made in the respites of hell.

I say, "so you just want chicken and pickles?" This is not the strangest request I've heard. And I say in a way that means "just the chicken burger and pickles. No lettuce, tomato, or mayo."

"No. I just want---" blah, blah, blah, his voice fades. I get short.

Me: "Let me set these down 'cause otherwise I'll forget." I say this with my own trickling snotiness. I call it attitude. I walk away.

I've waited on this unhappy miserable couple before. She is usually the only female among two or more males accompanying her. Who really knows why, but I'm just sayin'... Maybe she is the cool, one-of-the-guys girls, but she is just too snotty to be cool. And they all seem as snotty as she is. So when I figure THAT just can't be, I figure the obvious opposite. I mean, she IS pregnant.

Yes, that wild snickering you hear is me.

I was warned about her the first time I waited on her. She didn't seem that bad. I've worked with worse. My mission in life is to take what seems impossible and work it over to a possibility. I walk away from the experience unscathed. I say this so you can know how much worse it gets...

I don't have time to think about how to better deal with this table. I have six other tables on the go and the coffee crowd is trickling in. They are my first stop every round I make. They'll survive. Put in all the orders, drop off my dishes, regain my brain, go around with the coffee again. I am ready, I brace myself to confirm Thorn In Ass-Man's order.

Take two: "Okay," smile, "you wanted a chicken burger with pickles?

TIAM: "Myeah-s."

Me: "Okay." Half-smile. Nod. Around I go again. Everyone is happy. It is somewhere around nine. Anyone coming in to order food is chatting and content, even the picky coffee-crowd food orders are happy.

Or at least I try to go around.

"And could I get a glass of water?" She Devil blurts out.

Hmm? Again, back up, pause, double check.

Me: "Water? Sure." Around I go. Note to self: GET WATER BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE!

I go around, put the chicken burger into the system, check on everyone, get to the back. I forget the water. Chicken burger comes out, I coffee the other male to have joined the table. I still don't bring water. Let me side note by saying this is NOT the kind of woman who is appreciative of good service in the best of moments. And this was a lesser moment for me.

I begin to make another pass of coffee, water not even on the brain, go by Miserable Bitch's and TIAM's table. As I go by, she barks at me.

"Could I GET my water?" I systematically feel bad for forgetting, then it passes. She is snippy and sneery and I feel like slapping little hoochies like this across the face at the best of times. There's no reason for that kind of attitude. Didn't your mama teach you? No? Okay, I'll do it, I'll slap your face, I'll knock you clean off your ass, b****!

I think about spitting in her water, horking a loogie in it. I go back to the kitchen to hide for a moment.

Let me back up and say that it is important to note that I have an instant temper in this very exact kind of situation. Actually, that is an understatement. I actually feel muscles in my body recoil and patience snapping like a bow string, and everything goes into some kind of Joker-like senselessness in my brain. I'm not going to go apeshit or fly into a murerous rage. It DOES make me want to start backhanding assholes. Just backhand them so hard they feel knuckle, head bobbling backward, lips hitting their teeth, their reactions stunned, maybe a little trickle of blood because obviously their mamas didn't teach them how to be good little boys and girls.

I grunt. K laughs because she knows what I am going through. I go back and get two waters. I'm thinking about which cup is hers, not wanting to fill one, not wanting to bring it to her, not WANTING... her to get her way. Her snotty, snotty way. I fill it anyway. I don't spit in it. I don't even stick my dirty, bleachy, greasy finger in it.

I bring it to her table and slam it down. I do not go by their table again. They leave and they don't tip. All I can think of is...

"Don't F*** with the people who serve you your food!" (Don't watch past the kitchen scene if you gag easy.)

Disclaimer: This does not, nor will this apply to anyone else, any other customer, anyone else I have ever waited on or will wait on. This is just for my sick, sick amusement.

1 comment:

  1. "At that instant, I am in danger of forgetting table 6's request. Pie. Platter. No. Ice cream? No, cheese, but... gotta put these down. Just give me two seconds, please. I'll be right back."

    This is the reason I NEVER want(ed) to be a waitress. Brats would ruin my day, but that sort of stress would make me dread every second of work (I am terrible with oral directions).


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