Why do they all looked so pissed off.

Why are southerners so fucking miserable?

NO.  REALLY?

They are a miserable lot of people.  And tonight is not the first time I’ve noticed this.  It’s especially true of southern women.

Take tonight for instance.

My night started off with a party of around 75 teenagers with five adult chaperone’s being sat in my area of the restaurant.  As I’ve mentioned before we do a LOT of these types of parties.  We can get them in and out in under an hour with little headache to us or them.

So it’s 5:05 and here come the kids, being led by the adults.  And they all look like they’ve just seen their dog being run over by a tractor.  Not one of them looks happy.  Adults and kids alike. I’m pretty sure you are on fucking vacation.  Smile.  Enjoy it.  It’s not every day you get to fucking New York City.

So the teachers sit at table 201.  My table.  I hate when I get the adults.  They are always a pain in the ass.  So the hosts are busy trying to get them seated.  This is probably the most stressful part of the experience.  The students are not allowed to spread out the way they’d like.  There are exactly the number of chairs for the number of people on the reservation.  12 people get three four tops.  30 people get five 6-tops.  This means that people who might not like each other sometimes have to sit together.  Sometimes it makes me sad when it’s clear the person left standing is the very NOT popular kid in the group.  So tonight we are two chairs short.  Actually we are only one chair short because the teachers have six chairs and they are only using five.  But who wants to sit with the teachers.

YOU’D have thought however that the entire reservation was a complete fuck up the way the male teacher was handling himself.  Clearly he thought the louder you yell the quicker things will get fixed.  All it really did was make us all go hide in the wait station until he stopped being a jerk.

Finally they are all seated.

And this is when it becomes very apparent that everyone is in a bad mood.  I felt like I was attending a funeral.  And to make matters worse they were rude.  You can wait for me to greet the table before you tell me you want to order.  I know you want to order.  It’s why you come to a restaurant.  To order.  Then I bring you food.  It’s how it works.  It’s my guess you can wait five more minutes before you shake that glass at me to indicate you want another Pepsi.  You know if you’ll let me set the fucking burger down I’ll get you mayonnaise.  Unfortunately you are not the only one at the table wanting to eat.  I’m sorry your pork sandwich had slaw on it.  It will take five seconds to fix.  Settle down.

This is all from the dude who was yelling.  He’s miserable.  The others at the table are just as bad.

Southerners also like to special order things.  I want the honey mustard chicken sandwich with honey mustard on the side, no lettuce, tomato, extra onions.  Mayonnaise on the side.  I’d like no salt on the fries.  And I DON’T want the bun.  There are 75 of you people lady.  We need to get on with this.

I’m sorry we don’t have Suweet tea.  It’s the north.  We have Mt. Dew it’s a close substitute.

I hated them so much that after they got their food, I filled up everyone’s drink once and then hid in the wait station.

And this is not a rare incident.  Even when I’m waiting on a four top of people from the south it’s the same way. They just don’t have any fun.  I sometimes wonder if they’d all be better off giving up Jesus, drinking some bourbon and enjoying life just a little.  No wonder they spend so much time working to get into heaven.  If my life was so miserable here I’d want things to be better on the other side too.

AND!!!

Do NOT come into my restaurant as an 8 top and insist on pulling two tables together when VERY clearly you will fit at one table.  Do NOT tell me that you have been waiting an hour for your food.  Just because I was on break when you were sat doesn’t mean that I can’t tell time.  I went on break exactly 45 minutes ago and 45 minutes ago there were other people sitting at your table.  And DO NOT think it’s okay to have three people show up after you’ve been at the table for an hour (real hour, not your pretend hour) and ask if it’s okay for them to eat.  And DO NOT tell me they might order but they want to wait and see how the kids are going to hold up.  And do NOT wait another 30 minutes before your fucking new friends finally order a cheeseburger.  To share.  And DO NOT get pissy when I stop being nice because now you have been sitting at my table for two + hours and you have no signs of going anywhere.  Did I mention that it wasn’t one table they were taking up.  BUT two.

They were there almost three hours.  Will all 11 of them their check came to 125 dollars.  Yes.  You heard that right.  The adults shared salads and the kids all had kid’s meals.  And after three hours my tip came to 20 dollars.  By the time they left I was barely speaking to them.

By the way.  I don’t know what part of England they are from, I really need to research this, but the English equivalent of southerners, especially women are just as miserable as American southerners.

PS.  My mother is this way.  Most of the women I know from the south are like this too.  No wonder I got out as soon as I could.

PSS.  I’ll take a bitchy Northerner any day over a miserable southerner.

PSS.  The more miserable they are the less they tip.  They also don’t seem to be as miserable if they drink.  Which they usually do not.  Sometimes they get offended when you ask  them if they’d like something to drink before they’ve ordered.  Not so much in NYC but when I waited tables in KY I was often told “We don’t drink.”  I never said it but I always wanted to ask them how they stayed hydrated.  Because you’ll die pretty quickly if you don’t drink.  I’m just saying.

PSSSS.  We are headed to Philadelphia to spend the weekend with Adam’s parents.  They are southerners.  I’ll have to pay more attention to see if they are in a bad mood while they are in a restaurant.  (Don’t tell Adam I said that.)