As for what to do when a table asks for something else when they’ve already not stiffed you? This is what I did.
I stalled. A good long time.
I took the order. Two Buds. One Stella.
I immediately went to the computer and placed the order.
And then I checked on all my tables. And I stopped to talk to my friend Curtis. And I went to the kitchen to get a soda. And I went to the bathroom. (I washed my hands, stop worrying). And I hung out in the wait station for a while. And I checked all my tables again. And I chatted with a table that was nice. And then as I was walking by the table calls me over and asks what happened to their beers. And I slap my head and say, “Oh darn! I forgot all about them.” And then I go to the kitchen and get another soda. And I make some wildly innapropriate conversation with co-workers. Probably about sex. (Speaking of which, remind me to tell you about the conversation I had with a table on Friday night about anal sex). And then I finally went to the bar. And I chatted with Eric the bartender. He’s my favorite because he’s cute and he’s the fastest of all the bartenders. And then after at least 20 minutes since the beers were ordered in the computer, I picked them up and carried them to the table. I’m sure they were warm and flat. I apologized profusely that it had taken so long. I gave them their check. They paid. I never went back to the table.
Is any of this appropriate? I don’t know. If it had been in the middle of the shift I would have responded differently. I would have gotten them the beers faster so that they would leave faster. Unfortunately for them, it was the end of the night. I’d already made most of the money I was going to make. And they’d pissed me off. At least I didn’t do some of the things my coworkers suggested. Trust me you don’t want to know what they are. And I’d like to think that I’d never do anything that bad. Of course these people do know how to push my buttons.