And now, a poem

Ode to a Hick

 

Oh, Mullet Bastard
With your neck of Crimson
I want to see you dead.

 

I’ll shove a pencil in your eye,
and then cut off your head.

 

Your inbred mother is your sis
Pregnant and quite slow

 

Your Cousin is your Uncle’s Miss
Your Daddy is your Bro

 

Your Firstborn child’s a crackhead whore
who likes to blow her Father,

 

At ten years old she had your son
At twelve she had your daughter.

The above poem was inspired during my shift by a group of three redneck bastards that came in. The mother and father both had mullets from hell, and the 12 year old, 6 and a half month pregnant, makeup plastered, meth head looking daughter was well….all of the above. At least she didn’t have a mullet.

When they first sat down, I heard the mother comforting her daughter that “Daddy will be back soon, baby, don’t worry,” while spying a look of unease on the daughter, leading me to believe that daddy’s having a grandbaby baby in 2 and a half months. I went by the table and introduced myself like normal, and as I was talking, a peculiar smell hit my nose. Along with the smell, I noticed that Mommy’s eyes were black. Not on the face part, on the pupil part. You could see the whites of her eyes, and nothing else but blackness. Methed out? I believe so.

“We’ll take some Miller Laht, she’ll have some Dr. Peahpah.” Talk about a thick Southern accent…even thicker than my very thick Southern accent. Think of…the accents from Too Wong Foo or Brokeback Mountain…wait whats a good straight movie for you all to compare it to….hmm…Think of the accents on…Gunsmoke or something. These were worse. Anyway. I checked Mommy’s Id, and Mommy is named Candy…she’s 26 years old. She looked at least 40 if you want to know the truth, but that’s what meth does to people. I’ve seen it happen to too many friends.

“I’ll be right back with these. I’ll need to see his ID when he gets back to the table.” I say, referring to the husband. Throughout the meal, there’s nothing inherently wrong, cept for the attitudes and accents.

Toward the end of their dinner, I go by to offer dessert. The daughter, I’m gonna call her Tammy Faygo, asks me, “I wonna have my burfday here. How much does it cawst?” It’s so much harder to type with a southern drawl…maybe I just need practice. I answer her, “I can get you a party pack if you’d like, when’s your birthday?”

“It’s gonna bay nex’ month. I’m gon be a teenager, I’m turnin 13.” You have got to be shitting me. If your mother is 26, and you’re 12, that would have made her…14 when she had you. And that’s your real daddy, who would have been 19..he was 31. After all the math, and being totally shocked, I couldn’t help myself and asked, “So how far along are you?” She was getting big, and you can tell when it’s fat and when it’s a baby belly. Fat includes arms and legs and such, this was JUST the belly.

“26 wakes.” I don’t know if they noticed my mouth dropping or not. I just walked off at that point, because I was afraid I would say something mean about hicks. I did in fact say something mean about hicks, but I said it in the kitchen…..What kind of parents let their child get pregnant at 12? Oh wait, they were from Dickson, TN, maybe that explains it.

They left 2 bucks on a 50 dollar bill…after Candy the young mommy had to ask me what the word “Gratuity” meant….and what the word “Signature” meant. When I explained the gratuity word to her, she seemed kind of offended, almost as if she thought I was lording my knowledge over her. I wasn’t, I was just wondering how anyone could be so stupid.

It’s just made me wonder if most of today’s rednecks are methhead “Chesters” and “Chesterinas”. I really believe that the little girls future baby is also going to be her brother or sister….maybe it’s just me, or the way Daddy was looking at her, or the way she freaked out when it took him so long to get to the table, or the look of contentment when she returned to the table. Which also makes me wonder if Mommy and Daddy aren’t siblings, and that her real Daddy is also Grandaddy. Dammit, now my head hurts. I know someone whose uncle (her mothers brother) is the father of her child. She put her uncle (the father of her child) in jail, and her mother (her child’s Aunt and Grandmother at the same time) helped her get him back out the next day. He was in jail for beating his Niece and baby Momma up. Another one that’s too much for my head right now.

As long as they don’t come back out to eat….

I hate hicks.

Ribeye

“My kids? My kids would never do such a horrendous thing!”

If you weren’t such a lush ma’am, then maybe you would have time to teach those two heathens of yours some respect!

This comes from saturday night. A couple and their two kids come in to eat. They’re picky. Picky as hell. I find out that they’d already been drinking and not tipping at the bar while the kids play games. They end up getting a bottle of faux wine from me. The kids come back to talk to their parents, and I watch one of them throw a note into the booth behind theirs. I grab the note. “You have the biggest ears ever, DUMBO”. Now that stopped really bothering me YEARS ago. I have big ears, just somethin that I was born with. So instead of confronting the table for the kids (11 and 13) lack of respect, I took the note to one of my managers, and let him do it. Told him it didn’t really bother me, but apparently it bothered him. He told them off, and the mother proceeded to go off on a rant to me. “Ma’am, I’m not discussing this with you.” I said that 2 or 3 times before I walked off.

They wanted to take their bottle of wine with them. Manager from above refused to let them take it. Half of their check comped, and no tip, not that I really expected one anyway. I got a note from them on their credit card slip saying “Thanks for ruining our evening, Truly.” I just smiled and walked off. My other three tables were awesome, and tipped me quite well. Bills paid, food bought, Happy Steven =-).

Tonight. Fathers Day. HELL.

I get to work and food is taking 30 minutes or longer all afternoon. No bussers, one food runner, no dish-washer. I play catch up in my venue, get tea, then get stuck with a party of 20. Separate checks. 16 kids and 4 adults. Exact ratio of adults to kids needed to stay in the building. As soon as I drop off the drinks to all three tables of kids, I have to get about 4o refills before I can even TAKE their orders…..I hate children…

Children were in there all night….I hate children….