Here's a lesson in Common Courtesy 101
*Warning! Begining of waitress rant*
Alright, people freaking suck. Hard. I don't how the hell Farmer Joe-Bob and his five inbred monsters decided they are so much better than me but so help me, I'm not having it. I had a total of six tables all of Sunday night. They consisted of Farmer Joe-Bob and the inbreds, who obviously believed that CRG possessed all the Dr. Pepper the world had to offer and anytime they saw me, they'd better empty their glasses or I'd never come back. Then Cheap McGee gave me a whopping $.78 tip along with $13.00 in change. Not even quarters mind you, dimes and nickels. He saved the pennies for himself. Do I have freaking CoinStar written across my forehead? Didn't think so. Then Greece made an appearance to give me disapproving looks and leave me $11 on a $140 check. 15%, seriously, that's an minimum for decent service. And I did damn good work for that table. Finally, sorostitute came to lunch with her grandma and proceeded to have a cell phone conversation during the meal while poor grandma sat there quietly. Once the check came, out of her Louis Vitton bag she had the gall to give me a 5% tip on a $40 meal. Yes, two entire dollars. Yay me.
Also, I'm not sure who informed the masses that waitresses love to be ignored and then bossed around like we're deaf but it needs to stop. How about this? When I come to a table, you order. I'm a server, not a servant. I don't like standing there listening to your conversation about the neighbor's heart attack or what happened on Desperate Housewives. I'm doing a job. If you don't want me there, tell me and then, don't get pissed when I don't reappear the second you end your dumbass conversation about a sale at the Gap. I have other things to do. My sole job isn't catering to your every need. If I did that on the entire $2.13 an hour I make expected decent tips, I'd be without electricity, cable, or water, probably eating cat food.
In addition, I'm not the chef nor do I scavenge for the food to bring to you. My tip shouldn't reflect anything besides the very service I gave to you. Woah, the food is taking to long, shouldn't I go to the back and do something about that? Yeah, because the only thing I love more than having a table pissed at me, is having the cooks pissed at me. Fun times. Let's screw with the people who prepare my food. Tables come and go, cooks are inherently evil and will "accidentally" forget to make a table of eight's order on the busiest Saturday night of the year.
Finally, yes, this is my real job. I don't go up to you at WalMart and ask "Is this your real job?" now do I?
*End of Waitress rant*
Deep cleansing breaths, after tomorrow, I don't have to work until Saturday. Unless I quit my job because people are rude and dumbasses.
Alright, people freaking suck. Hard. I don't how the hell Farmer Joe-Bob and his five inbred monsters decided they are so much better than me but so help me, I'm not having it. I had a total of six tables all of Sunday night. They consisted of Farmer Joe-Bob and the inbreds, who obviously believed that CRG possessed all the Dr. Pepper the world had to offer and anytime they saw me, they'd better empty their glasses or I'd never come back. Then Cheap McGee gave me a whopping $.78 tip along with $13.00 in change. Not even quarters mind you, dimes and nickels. He saved the pennies for himself. Do I have freaking CoinStar written across my forehead? Didn't think so. Then Greece made an appearance to give me disapproving looks and leave me $11 on a $140 check. 15%, seriously, that's an minimum for decent service. And I did damn good work for that table. Finally, sorostitute came to lunch with her grandma and proceeded to have a cell phone conversation during the meal while poor grandma sat there quietly. Once the check came, out of her Louis Vitton bag she had the gall to give me a 5% tip on a $40 meal. Yes, two entire dollars. Yay me.
Also, I'm not sure who informed the masses that waitresses love to be ignored and then bossed around like we're deaf but it needs to stop. How about this? When I come to a table, you order. I'm a server, not a servant. I don't like standing there listening to your conversation about the neighbor's heart attack or what happened on Desperate Housewives. I'm doing a job. If you don't want me there, tell me and then, don't get pissed when I don't reappear the second you end your dumbass conversation about a sale at the Gap. I have other things to do. My sole job isn't catering to your every need. If I did that on the entire $2.13 an hour I make expected decent tips, I'd be without electricity, cable, or water, probably eating cat food.
In addition, I'm not the chef nor do I scavenge for the food to bring to you. My tip shouldn't reflect anything besides the very service I gave to you. Woah, the food is taking to long, shouldn't I go to the back and do something about that? Yeah, because the only thing I love more than having a table pissed at me, is having the cooks pissed at me. Fun times. Let's screw with the people who prepare my food. Tables come and go, cooks are inherently evil and will "accidentally" forget to make a table of eight's order on the busiest Saturday night of the year.
Finally, yes, this is my real job. I don't go up to you at WalMart and ask "Is this your real job?" now do I?
*End of Waitress rant*
Deep cleansing breaths, after tomorrow, I don't have to work until Saturday. Unless I quit my job because people are rude and dumbasses.