<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d3440559\x26blogName\x3dWonder+Boy\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://wonderboyblog.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://wonderboyblog.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-9208151565435014371', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Life is only what you wonder.

Saturday, November 06, 2004

Uh-Huh, That's Right

Being a waiter makes you totally sick of being around people. It's your livlihood, right? You have to deal with the public.
It's mandatory. Cumpulsory, even.

But having to deal with ignorant people that don't even deserve to be breathing the same air as me and having to be gracious about it sometimes takes it's toll.
It's like being forced to smile while you're getting pissed on. Anybody who works with the public on a regular basis can feel me on this.

Case in point: Last night I was assigned the shitty section near the Banquet Room.
This is the area where they sit all the people they don't want to be in the middle of the dining room -- the "ghettoes", the hicks, the welfare mothers and anybody that appears like they don't know how to act. (Oh, they'll tell you that they don't plan it out that way, but don't you believe it.)
I was seated a party of thirteen, six adults and seven children. The children were screaming and running amok, tearing through the dining room, playing tag and leapfrog in the aisles and the parents were just letting them do whatever they wanted.
So I was close to tearing my hair out over that. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse . . .

Tiarra sat me a party of seven. When the hostess apologizes to you before she seats a party, you just know it's bad news.
"I'm so sorry, Jimmy," she said, "but I had to sit them somewhere."
I was seated the most low-class, uncouth, obnoxious teenage girls you could hope to find anywhere. They were so loud you could hear them shouting and laughing clear across the restaurant and every other word out of their mouths was a dirty word.

When having to wait on a table like that, I use the "less is more" rule: The less I visit the table, the more sanity I will have by the time it's all over.

Not long after they got there the manager went over to the table and said something to them about their language ("This is a family restaurant, so please avoid using profanity") but that only worked for about five minutes before they started up again.

Five minutes after that, everything exploded.

One of the party of thirteen started yelling at the table of girls for cussing in front of the children and the girls were yelling back not to tell them how to @#$%ing talk, they'll talk however the @#$% they want. Security (our restaurant employs off-duty policemen to monitor our dining room) comes over and tells both parties to quiet down or they'll be asked to leave. Both parties turned on the security guy, telling him to mind his business.

The end result? Both parties were escorted out of the restaurant by the security guy and the two Police officers who happened to be there (eating a free meal) and I was left with a section that looked like a cyclone hit it, and no tip from either party.
By the time I left work last night I was longing for a valium the size of a golf ball.

I am SO looking forward to my day off on Monday, you don't even know.