One of THOSE guys
Anyone whose worked in the restaurant business will immediately know what I'm talking about when I describe this guy, with one sentence. Said to me after I said the chef would be happy to do that for you, sir. "He better be, I'm paying his salary." I've said it before and I'll say it again, who the fuck do these people think they are?
Backstory: I was so tired last night. We got our asses collectively handed to us this weekend. My restaurant is small, and there are only six waiters on staff. Which is usually fine, and sometimes it's even too many. But you know Murphy and his fucked up laws, one of which states "If your restaurant is slow, everyone is healthy. If your restaurant is busy, people start dying and going into the hospital." One of our servers had abdominal surgery in march, and is still healing, so she's at most 75%. One of our servers is an asshole who takes no help nor direction, thus leaving him as half a waiter. One of our servers is just a dork, although can carry a station well. One of our servers fathers' died, so she had to go out of the country. One of our servers had kidney stones the size of large grapes, and was in the hospital having them lasered. And one of our servers is me, The Queen. (you thought I was going to be the dork, I know it.)* So as we merrily went into the hell of a four day weekend, we were two short of our usual six, and two of the four left barely equaled one. IT SUCKED. I was busy to the point of insanity at least a dozen times in four days, and had just about had enough. Then, of course, instead of getting the 4th off like I wanted, I had to work cause of the above mentioned absences of some of my co-workers. It was a skeleton staff, to say the least, and then this guy comes in. (it took a while, but I'm back to the point.)
He starts off with that chef crack, and just gets worse. He is astonished that I might not be able to give him a double order of zucchini blossoms. HELLO, JACKASS, it's a holiday weekend. We were very busy, NO ONE did any deliveries yesterday, and zucchini blossoms are both popular and don't keep very long. He orders Lytton Springs zinfandel, but when we bring it, he says "No (in a really smarmy tone), I said Ridge Lytton Springs." Well, fuck you very much. Then he starts fiddling with the blinds, mindless of the fact he is blinding other customers. Then he opens two windows, mindless again of the fact that a. we have the AC on, and b. that other guests might not want cold foggy air blowing on them. Then he asks for A1 and horseradish "if you have it (more smarminess)" for his $45 prime steak. And of course, the topper, he tips 11% and acts like he is blessing me with gold and jewels. I should have pulled a Waiting on him and had the chefs add a little extra garnish.
I don't understand the sense of entitlement these people have. The arrogance and assumption that they own the place and can act/treat it like they would their own stuff. It's ridiculous. We did over $1 million in sales last year, does this guy think that his measly dinner of under $200 makes a difference, really? He is so lucky I've been doing this for a long time and am good at my job, otherwise, after the week I had, he would have had that steak in his lap and his A1 all over his botoxed-all-to-hell wife's face.
*All shit talking aside, my servers did a fabulous job in the face of extreme odds. We all kinda looked at eachother, knowing we were going to die, sucked it up, and rocked the fucking house. Sales were through the roof, and except for the people that got "sick" (food poisoning grifters, you don't get food poisoning until a minimum of two hours later, not 20 minutes. lay off the wine and drugs, then you won't get sick you lying bastards!) everyone was happy. It was great. And pretty damned profitable for all that work.
Backstory: I was so tired last night. We got our asses collectively handed to us this weekend. My restaurant is small, and there are only six waiters on staff. Which is usually fine, and sometimes it's even too many. But you know Murphy and his fucked up laws, one of which states "If your restaurant is slow, everyone is healthy. If your restaurant is busy, people start dying and going into the hospital." One of our servers had abdominal surgery in march, and is still healing, so she's at most 75%. One of our servers is an asshole who takes no help nor direction, thus leaving him as half a waiter. One of our servers is just a dork, although can carry a station well. One of our servers fathers' died, so she had to go out of the country. One of our servers had kidney stones the size of large grapes, and was in the hospital having them lasered. And one of our servers is me, The Queen. (you thought I was going to be the dork, I know it.)* So as we merrily went into the hell of a four day weekend, we were two short of our usual six, and two of the four left barely equaled one. IT SUCKED. I was busy to the point of insanity at least a dozen times in four days, and had just about had enough. Then, of course, instead of getting the 4th off like I wanted, I had to work cause of the above mentioned absences of some of my co-workers. It was a skeleton staff, to say the least, and then this guy comes in. (it took a while, but I'm back to the point.)
He starts off with that chef crack, and just gets worse. He is astonished that I might not be able to give him a double order of zucchini blossoms. HELLO, JACKASS, it's a holiday weekend. We were very busy, NO ONE did any deliveries yesterday, and zucchini blossoms are both popular and don't keep very long. He orders Lytton Springs zinfandel, but when we bring it, he says "No (in a really smarmy tone), I said Ridge Lytton Springs." Well, fuck you very much. Then he starts fiddling with the blinds, mindless of the fact he is blinding other customers. Then he opens two windows, mindless again of the fact that a. we have the AC on, and b. that other guests might not want cold foggy air blowing on them. Then he asks for A1 and horseradish "if you have it (more smarminess)" for his $45 prime steak. And of course, the topper, he tips 11% and acts like he is blessing me with gold and jewels. I should have pulled a Waiting on him and had the chefs add a little extra garnish.
I don't understand the sense of entitlement these people have. The arrogance and assumption that they own the place and can act/treat it like they would their own stuff. It's ridiculous. We did over $1 million in sales last year, does this guy think that his measly dinner of under $200 makes a difference, really? He is so lucky I've been doing this for a long time and am good at my job, otherwise, after the week I had, he would have had that steak in his lap and his A1 all over his botoxed-all-to-hell wife's face.
*All shit talking aside, my servers did a fabulous job in the face of extreme odds. We all kinda looked at eachother, knowing we were going to die, sucked it up, and rocked the fucking house. Sales were through the roof, and except for the people that got "sick" (food poisoning grifters, you don't get food poisoning until a minimum of two hours later, not 20 minutes. lay off the wine and drugs, then you won't get sick you lying bastards!) everyone was happy. It was great. And pretty damned profitable for all that work.
posted by j @ 11:57 AM
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