It started snowing here in Nashville tonight.
If only all managers would do just that.
Children, as I’ve said here before, are the bane of my existence.
This is a long one, but hey, it’s a true Raging post =)
It was bad enough hearing it once, but to hear it from more than one table in one night?
Deflaniquiana, big big big fat woman, with weave about a foot on top of her head and braided all down the back, wearing next to no clothes, and thinking she was just the hottest thing since fried chicken, had to be the most demanding whore I’ve ever had to serve.
I get to the table, maybe 20 seconds after they sit down.
“Hey there, how ya’ll doing tonight? My name’s Ribeye, I’ll be..”
“Brang me a sprite, I thirsty.” Yes ma’am, thanks for interrupting me.
“Anything for you to drink, sir?” I say to the silent and embarrassed boyfriend.
“Just suh waddah an a bow of lemons.” Great, I have ghetto-ade with the sprite.
It takes me maybe a minute and a half to get their drinks filled and return with them. “What the hell took you so damn long, I done said I was thirsty.”
“I’m so sorry for your wait, ma’am, I had to wait behind someone for a moment before I could pour your drinks.”
“You a damn smart ass. Brang me a cheeseburger. How long thats gon take?”
“Well ma’am, how would you like it cooked?” This whore’s really starting to piss me off at this point.
“Make it done, how stupid is you?”
“Ma’am, if you keep talking to me like that, I’m going to have you escorted out of here, and you won’t eat anything here tonight.”
“Is you be threatin me?” Yes, I know how it’s spelled, it’s how it was said. “I’m just telling you like it is, ma’am. I’m a server and I’m not going to be talked to like a dog. Take it or leave it.”
At this point she shuts up for a minute, her boyfriend is close to falling out of his chair laughing and she’s staring daggers into him. I can only imagine such a nice guy would be with her because she has tight fat folds, because there’s no way he’d be able to get to her no-no spots.
He stops laughing enough to give me his order, and I walk off to the sounds of their arguing. Ah, life is nice.
A few minutes later, I hear, “Hey, SERVER, you need to get yo ass ovah heah.”
“You rang?” I’m trying at this point to make her smile, or grin, or shut up again with my undeniable charm. My stomach’s still hurting like it has been, and I’m still in no mood for bullshit like this.
“I need mo sprite.” The glass is still more than half full.
“Give me just a moment ma’am, and I’ll bring it right out.” I go and get her sprite, and drop it off without saying a word. As I’m walking off, I hear her yell, “Brang me a salad too, with exKra rainch.” I go to the kitchen and get her salad, and 2 sides of ranch (4 ounces). I bring it back to the table, and set the salad on the table. The two sides of ranch are sitting on the tray.
“Where my damn dressin at?”
“It’s right here on the tray ma’am, give me a minute to set it down.” I set down first side.
“That sure as fuck ain’t no exkra, where da rest be?”
“It’s right here ma’am.” I more or less throw the ranch on the table, spilling it on her faux-prada purse.
“You need ta go get me 2 mo of dees, and what da hell kinda lettuce is dis?”
“It’s field greens ma’am.”
“Well why da fuck ain’t no real lettuce in dis, dis be nasty.”
“We don’t have iceberg here, ma’am. Give me a moment to go to the kitchen and get your extra dressing.”
“Hurry da fuck up, dis salad gon get limp.” It’s going to be limp from all the fucking ranch you’re putting on it you bitch.
Heading to the kitchen, I look back for a minute, and I see her get up and waddle over to the bar to ask for a manager. Bartender calls manager, and she rolls on back to her table. I ask bartender J what she said.
“It said you’re a rude bastard, that you didn’t ask how they were doing, and that you cussed her out.” Well isn’t that nice. I came close to cussing her out, but I didn’t. Yes, I did get rude, and I won’t apologize for that because I was responding to the way I was treated. I’m nobody’s dog, I work hard for a living.
Manager goes to table, and I casually walk to one on the other side of the wall to make it look like I’m cleaning up. I hear her boyfriend say to the manager, “Don’t listen to anything she says, she’s on the rag or somethin and just bein a bitch. Ribeye’s doing an awesome job, most people can’t put up with her at all.” Why do ghettofied black women, not strong and proud, classy and intelligent black women, just ghettofied trashy black women have to be so difficult?
Manager later comes to me and tells me what I already know, she came to him away from boyfriend and told him all kinds of shit, that I was treating her like shit, that I’m a racist, that I used the N word, which I don’t use at all, that I was rude. He told me that he didn’t believe her especially after what the boyfriend said. Boyfriend is also black, and surprisingly is quite ghetto. He’s also the type of ghetto that I enjoy. He’s not rude ghetto, he’s fun ghetto that doesn’t take shit but doesn’t treat others like shit. His girlfriend is the entitlement junkie in this equation.
Apparently she asked to get their meal free, and was denied.
Boyfriend tips me 100% of the check, which is 22 bucks. Made me happy. He walked into the bathroom before they left, and she grabs my arm and tries to pull me to the side.
“Ma’am, do NOT grab me again. If you would like something then ask, but do not put your hands on me.” Made me think she was gonna eat my arm or something, fat tub of lard.
“I just want you to know I gonna be callin yo coporate on you, you is a asshoe, an you gon pay fo da way you treated me.”
“Ma’am, I treated you the way you treated me. If you come back in here, I will not serve you, and neither will anyone else who was here tonight. Your boyfriend, however, is welcome at any time.”
Yes, tonight, I could have easily been fired for the way I talked to her, but you know what, I also didn’t care. I was in pain, and I wanted to stab her.
I told you all this weekend would bring some goodness.
I hate hate HATE it when people do that.
I really hate to be like this..but I’m slowly learning, after a couple of my guests last night before Party Hell started, that it’s just hard for me to serve people when I can’t tell if they’re looking at me or at the wall.
Let me start this off with a message to Leslie, who was kind enough to comment a couple of my posts.
First of all, if you’d seen some of my other posts, I bitch about white people and hispanic people just the same.
The time has come, after all of the 4 page comments, for you, Springs1, to think about some things, take some things into account.
You say that you don’t mind if a server upsells you before your order.