No More Teenagers!

I, the Ribeye of your Dreams, of semi-sound mind and more or less sound body, do henceforth and forevermore swear, that I am done serving teenagers.

I don’t give a flying rats ass if they’re ghetto teenagers, little cheerleader teenagers, band geek teenagers, sporty teenagers, or the brains.

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “No More Teenagers!

  1. Teenagers are who always appear in my dreams about waiting tables. Then, I can tell them that I don’t have to wait on them and deserve more than a zero tip. Hopefully your restaurant is not like mine. Hopefully when the Red Robin opens next week, they’ll go there for the bottomless fries instead of coming to me for bottomless chips and salsa.

  2. I… am… having… flashbacks… And sadly I have NEVER partaken of any acid. Nay, brother server I TOO have deal with 2 particular varieties of evil in my days in the battleground of the dining room.

    I learned to wait tables in a Mexican restaurant in the town I went to college. In our immediate area it was the sole 4 year university with the rest junior colleges. Thus my alma mater held countless camps, retreats, seminars, contest, events, etc. We were located on the main drag of town and just 1 block from the edge of campus. Random buses pulling into unannounced into our parking lot were very common.

    Two groups were the bane of my existence as we had an upper section of the restaurant where a series of 30 tops could be build. These evil ones I thought of as Elementis Instructis Idiotium (elementary school teachers) AND Spiritum Yellus Biatchus Majorus (cheerleaders and their moms aka ex cheerleaders).

    Teachers sucked cause they do not pay attention any more than their students when in groups and have tons of dietary weirdness.

    Cheerleaders are just uber self-entitlements sluts who are demanding, rude, and obnoxious. My school had several weeks of cheer camps so starting at 7 FREAKING AM I would be awakened by multiple groups of girls screaming out their routines.

    So I got the joy of waiting on entire teams plus coaches and moms. These girls would be dehydrated as hell and I would go down the table taking drink orders. Now I can only drop off a tray at a time of 32 oz mainly sodas. By time I bring back a 2nd tray of drinks the first ones have downed their drinks and are SCREAMING for my attention for a refill. I would explain to them ONLY when every one got their drinks would I do refills.

    Their facial expressions were priceless as for some was probably the first time anyone had told them no in their lives. the moms were just as bad. Then when I got all the drinks out. I offered them the choice of refills or I get their order in -these girls had been actively exercising for the last 5 hours in Texas summer heat so they were ravenous. But it always set off a good debate which I used to fill of pitchers of soda.

  3. Ninja- I’m suprised Texas Cheer Moms would let their daughters have soda- or eat a lot. I would think it would be water and maybe saled. Some Cheer Moms are uts that way!

  4. I was forced to serve a party of 6 teenagers.. like seventeenish…

    4 dollars. 4 DOLLARS! and the guy was like.. here, u better take this before somebody swipes it..

    i wanted to throw it back at them and be like swipe it your fucking self.

    i.hate.teenagers.

  5. fucking teenagers…

    in all honesty i actually regularly have a certain group of high schoolers who always tip me 30-40% because i’ve had them so many times and i joke around with them and hook them up with free sodas… but damn, it took a few months to get them to that point.

    other than that certain group, teenage bastards can go to sonic’s for all i care.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s