Where does the night go. I was just sitting down at my computer and now it’s 5:01. Fuck.
I sort of got wrapped up in Facebook. I hate it. It’s a curse. And yet I can’t look away. And of course EVERYONE is interested in my take on things. At least I tell myself they are. They don’t unfriend me so I guess that says something. Actually when I do talk to people one of the first things they say to me is that they love all my Facebook posts. They might be lying though so who knows.
I was called rude tonight at work and told that I had a bad attitude.
I wasn’t rude. But I was giving them attitude.
How do I say this without sounding totally racist.
We have certain clientele that are referred to as celebrities. They come in mostly toward the end of the evening and are VERY difficult to make happy. VERY difficult to make happy. The men won’t talk to you. They just grunt. The women will talk to you but only to complain that the drinks aren’t strong enough and there burger isn’t cooked enough.
My particular table tonight was referred to as “white celebrities.” (By the manager)
I saw them being sat from across the restaurant. And the whole time I’m saying, “please don’t go to 301, please don’t go to 301, please don’t go to 301. FUCK.
My attitude with every table is to kill them with kindness. It doesn’t matter what you look like, where you are from, whether you speak English, etc. I kill you with kindness. You will never accuse me of not giving you good service based on who you are.
So I greet the table and ask them what I can get them to drink.
It becomes very clear who is in charge at the table. It’s the Russian girl with her shirt pulled down off one shoulder that is speaking for everyone. It took me at least a couple of minutes to realize that she was the only one who didn’t speak English as a first language.
After a 5 minute discussion about “sweet” tea I get their drink order. A Pepsi, a water, a hot tea, a raspberry margarita, and a raspberry martini. They were ordered by the guys. (I’ve never had a person order a raspberry martini and said as much. I was then told by miss russian that a strawberry martini would be okay as well.)
I walk away knowing that it’s not going to end well.
So I bring back the drinks and get the food order. They order the combination appetizer and then two steaks and a salad.
I place the order and then start toward the kitchen. As I do I see that the girls are drinking the alcoholic drinks. So when I go by the table the next time I asked to see their id’s. They say, “Oh those drinks aren’t for us. We aren’t drinking them.” Hmmm.
They get their appetizer and I go by again and this time they aren’t even being subtle about whose drinking the drinks.
So I go by the table and I ask for their id’s. I’m told once again, “Oh these drinks aren’t ours. We aren’t drinking them.” To which I replied, “if you won’t show me your id’s then I’ll have to take them.” So I picked up the drinks and walked away.
The rest of the meal isn’t so important. But I go by to bus their table and the girl in charge says to me, ” I want you to know that you were very rude to us when you took our drinks what with both of us being 24 years old. You gave attitude and were disrespectful….blah, blah, blah.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I’ll be happy to get a manager and you can tell him all about it.”
I tried to find the assistant general manager who was working but he was in a meeting. So Kurt agreed to go over. I knew what the outcome would be before he even walked over. I could have just handled it myself. He went over, stooped down next to the table (they teach this at restaurant management school) and proceeded to buy the entire 150 dollar check for the table.
He knew I was pissed when he told me this.
So in case you weren’t paying attention.
It’s okay to go to a restaurant. Behave like a child (with a russian accent), drink even though you are underage and then complain so your entire meal will be free.
Kurt told me that they said, “We really don’t want to have to write a letter.” If I ruled the world I would have said, I’ll be right back. And I would have returned to the table with a piece of paper, a pen, an envelope, and a stamp and told them to go ahead. Write away. You STILL AREN’T EATING FOR FUCKING FREE.
If only they’d put me in charge.