Waiting
"I want lemonade and iced tea." The overly large woman said.
"You want an iced tea and a lemonade?"
"No," She replied, "I want half and half in one cup."
I brought the woman her cup of half lemonade and half iced tea. She took a sip.
"There's too much tea in this."
"I'm sorry, I put half and half like you said."
"A little less tea." She handed the cup back to me.
I brought the cup back to the kitchen and emptied it. I put 3/4 lemonade and filled the rest with tea. I brought the cup back to the woman and waited for her to make sure it was right.
"Is this sweet tea?"
"No, it's just regular iced tea."
"Make it again, this time with sweet tea."
I began to get a little aggrivated by this point. But the woman didn't stop there. She sent me back yet again; this time she wanted no ice. Her overly large daughter wanted water with a big lemon wedge, and when I gave her the water she took the lemon off the side of the cup and stuck it in the sugar caddy. A third overly large woman asked for fried shrimp and decided that we didn't fry our shrimp correctly, that the tartar was too sweet, the cocktail too much like marinara. The daughter wanted her basket taken back and the fries removed. She wanted two cups of honey mustard filled half way. She wanted crispier lettuce in her salad. Her mother decided the ribs were too tough, the beans too spicy, the rice too mushy, and when she finally sent it all back, the po-boy didn't have enough shrimp. Yet they didn't want to speak to a manager. They decided that the best way to get their point across was to properly place all the blame for the poor preparation of their meal on their server. And to further get that point across, they left two dollars and fifteen cents on the table, a mere 5% of their total bill.
Although I thoroughly enjoy waiting on large, over demanding women of color, my favorite customers are the white trash, tatooed thugs that come in acting like a million bucks, hitting on their waitress in front of their dirty, low-class wives, ordering shots of liquors that we don't even carry, drink like fish in front of their small and very impressionable children, and then find the nerve to blatantly lie about the service and leave a dollar. Those are the people that really make me find my job worthwhile.
I love the restaraunt I work in and the people that I work with. I don't like the scum that comes into the restaraunt and makes me go home very cranky at the end of the night because I busted my ass for needy people and walked home with ten percent of my total sales. I can't help but wonder if it's worth it. If I didn't love that place so much and look at the forty bucks I made tonight as forty more than I had at the begining of the night, I'd be gone. But I can't leave. So I'll put up with the awful customers a little while longer, because who can't resist the Lu?
"You want an iced tea and a lemonade?"
"No," She replied, "I want half and half in one cup."
I brought the woman her cup of half lemonade and half iced tea. She took a sip.
"There's too much tea in this."
"I'm sorry, I put half and half like you said."
"A little less tea." She handed the cup back to me.
I brought the cup back to the kitchen and emptied it. I put 3/4 lemonade and filled the rest with tea. I brought the cup back to the woman and waited for her to make sure it was right.
"Is this sweet tea?"
"No, it's just regular iced tea."
"Make it again, this time with sweet tea."
I began to get a little aggrivated by this point. But the woman didn't stop there. She sent me back yet again; this time she wanted no ice. Her overly large daughter wanted water with a big lemon wedge, and when I gave her the water she took the lemon off the side of the cup and stuck it in the sugar caddy. A third overly large woman asked for fried shrimp and decided that we didn't fry our shrimp correctly, that the tartar was too sweet, the cocktail too much like marinara. The daughter wanted her basket taken back and the fries removed. She wanted two cups of honey mustard filled half way. She wanted crispier lettuce in her salad. Her mother decided the ribs were too tough, the beans too spicy, the rice too mushy, and when she finally sent it all back, the po-boy didn't have enough shrimp. Yet they didn't want to speak to a manager. They decided that the best way to get their point across was to properly place all the blame for the poor preparation of their meal on their server. And to further get that point across, they left two dollars and fifteen cents on the table, a mere 5% of their total bill.
Although I thoroughly enjoy waiting on large, over demanding women of color, my favorite customers are the white trash, tatooed thugs that come in acting like a million bucks, hitting on their waitress in front of their dirty, low-class wives, ordering shots of liquors that we don't even carry, drink like fish in front of their small and very impressionable children, and then find the nerve to blatantly lie about the service and leave a dollar. Those are the people that really make me find my job worthwhile.
I love the restaraunt I work in and the people that I work with. I don't like the scum that comes into the restaraunt and makes me go home very cranky at the end of the night because I busted my ass for needy people and walked home with ten percent of my total sales. I can't help but wonder if it's worth it. If I didn't love that place so much and look at the forty bucks I made tonight as forty more than I had at the begining of the night, I'd be gone. But I can't leave. So I'll put up with the awful customers a little while longer, because who can't resist the Lu?