to protect my sanity, i've taken to treating every shift that i undertake at my restaurant of choice as my last appearance. since i'm no longer scheduled for any work and simply pick up when my fellow cocktailling ladies need a night off, i have no idea when i will be working again, if ever. thus, when i'm feeling blah about agreeing to go in, i simply cheer up by thinking, "wow, this could be the last time i work here!"
two weeks ago, i wallowed through my "final" shift with nary a customer incident until the very end of the night. an uptight, whitey couple in their 50s sequestered an isolated table which sits in a very centralized position in our bar, right next to the front door, about 10 feet from the host stand and in plain view of not only the whole oaken mass of liquor seating, but also a cozy dining room in the front of our massive, block long establishment. i roll up to them and say hello and immediately sense a bad vibe looming over the table.
the husband is noticeably older than his wife, i'd say by about 15ish years. he's a domineering asshole right off the bat, much the same as the self-entitled mob of businessy jerks condescending their way through the river north biz district. i know his type, as i have both waited on them and had the great pleasure of sitting through endless meetings in their company during my forays in advertising. they are just as contemptuous whether you're *serving* them or *servicing* their egos. he gets off to a great start with me when his wife asks me if we have shrimp cocktail. when i confirm, she happily chirps, "great! that's what i'd like to have." to which her decision maker barks, "no you don't! you want the grilled shrimp!" i look to her to see if this is true, and she says, no, she wants the cocktail. he again barks that she does not, and all i can think is, 'yo, shrimp be shrimp. let this woman order her food, if you don't mind!' she then raised a steely eye to him and said, "no, i *want* the shrimp cocktail." fine, he'll have the grilled shrimp, he infoms me, "this one right here", while pointing to a section of our menu devoted to sides you can add on to an entree for a small upcharge. the grilled shrimp side of four pieces is strictly for these entrees, but we do have a bbq shrimp appetizer that is nearly the same thing with five pieces served on a small bed of onion curls. we easily spend another five plus minutes with me explaining to sir snooty that i'd be happy to bring him this appetizer and instruct the kitchen to leave the bbq sauce off so he'd have his grilled shrimp. he's arguing with me about it, can't find it on the menu even after i turned the pages myself and put my fingers on the item itself. after making the point twice that we would simply grill these shrimp, he reads the words --barbeque sauce-- and snaps, "i don't want all that on the shrimp! i don't want that sauce! i said i wanted them grilled and that's all!" then the wife snaps back, "that's what she's telling you! they grill the shrimp anyway and she'll have them leave the sauce off! it's just the same!" this seems to satisfy. the lady informs me that she'd like a glass of pinot grigio, any brand we have is fine. her captor companion sneers out his best french accent to order a split of champagne, the comedic value is not lost on me, as some of our patrons can scarcely pronounce filet mignon at our steakhouse in the heart of the tourist region of our fair city.
after the drama of ordering the food, they seem to be fine. fine in regard to their dining experience, at least. i crept by the table a couple of times while they were eating and notice the woman squirming and weepy eyed. i would be too if i was chained to that awful marriage. old grey hair wolfed down his shrimp in about 2 point 5 and when i collected the plate, i sweetly asked if he enjoyed them. he gave me the 'hired help wave away' to tell me to pick up his plates, not even acknowledging me with a response or eye contact. i'm not one to spend much extra time pacifying an asshat like this, so i silently picked up the dishes and rolled on, hearing the wife say incredilously, "she was talking to you." to which he responded, "well, i ate them all, didn't i? obviously they were fine!"
upon my next visit to the table, the lady orders a second glass of wine, just as mr. overbearing tells me to bring the bill. she instructs me again to bring the wine and he says to bring the check with it. no problem. i do so, and she pays me with a hundo. i bring the change back, wish them well and notice that the wife has begun to take on this shrinking violet posture, literally sinking down in her seat, periodically crying, and looking like this man is sucking the life right out of her. she's totally drained, and who wouldn't be? at this point, i'm really feeling bad for her, because her man's behavior has controlling abuser written all over it and all i could think was how treacherous her daily existence must be living with him. how did she get into this relationship, and how long has he been barking orders at her?
i went on about my biz with my other tables, yet this couple remained at their post. the teary eyes were still present, but they were being quiet. after about 25 minutes, i went back, just to make sure they didn't need anything else, because i know damn well this is the type of table who will be bitching if they think they weren't given enough attention and service. i tell them that they are more than welcome to stay for as long as they like, i just wanted them to know i was available to get them a drink or snack. the violet says, yes, she'd like another glass of wine. i ask nasty husband if i can bring him another as well. he says no. not, no, we're done, just no. (this is important for the tidal wave that will crash in approximately 15 minutes.) i see cash waiting for me in the check presenter and pick it up, planning to use my tip money as the payout for this glass. back at my wait station, i see i've received $10 (obviously from this woman for dealing with her husband's pretentious attitude), which is great because their bill was under 30 bones. enough to pay for the glass. i cruise back to the table and begin to explain to the lady that i used my tip money for her new tab, when this crazy man leans into me over the table and says, "*you* are overserving my wife..... and if you bring one more drink to this table, i'm getting your manager." the look on his face is so odd, like he's almost laughing, but not, and i don't know how to react. obviously, i'm really confused as three glasses of wine hardly constitutes overserving, this woman has not been acting drunk by any means, in addition to the fact that she hadn't even finished her second glass completely. granted, they could have been completely slugging them down before they came in to our establishment, but i was really seeing no signs of that.
after he busted this edict on me, i paused for a moment and tried to muster some kind of weak smile, which apparantly caused even further commotion as this man then shrieked, "you think that's funny? that's funny to you? fine! we'll see about that!" and leaped up from the table and stomped over to the host stand to grab one of my managers. i was later informed by other servers who witnessed this that he busted into a line of them who were cashing their money out and started snapping his fingers as my very gentle eastern european commander of the floor and sputtering, "i need your attention! hey! i need your attention right now!"
now i'm standing slack jawed, looking at this woman who has now taken to clawing at the side of her face like some kind of attempt to make herself completely invisible. she's acting fidgety as fuck. i looked her dead in the eye and said, "what's going on here?" i wanted to help her out of this bizarre sitch, if that was even remotely possible. she was completely mortified and kept apologizing. i asked if i'd misunderstood, did she not want this wine? no, she'd definitely ordered it and did want it. i'd done nothing wrong, blah mah blah. enter the asshat, dragging my manager onto the scene. he then made the grievous error of sticking his wagging finger right in my face, and i mean inches from my snoot, and bellowed, "i told this girl not to bring any more liquor to our table. and look what she's done! just look!!" he's wildly gesturing at the new glass of wine, sitting next to the remains of the second. that was it for me. not only had he been in full blown condescending mode the whole time i was dealing with them, but now he's telling a blatant lie about me to my manager. not appreciated. granted, this is simply additional funds for me with this random part-time job, but what if i was still working here full-time, depending on this for my living? and what if this particular manager was a real asshat himself and decided to can me due to this customer's complaint? this completely invalid and untruthful complaint? you are *not* gonna talk to me like that.
now, my general m.o. in recent months concerning this waitressing gig has been "i just don't care." i've had zero concern about pacifying any out of control guests, because i just can't take on that drama and get upset. i'm just there to serve quickly and with a few ounces of cheer, not to save the world or change some asshat's opinion of me, the restaurant or how stupid all servers must be (because we couldn't possibly be educated or work professionally, right?) it really is hard enough to simply drag in there to work, much less get myself worked into a lather over these people who i view with complete and utter disdain. simply be somewhat respectful with me and you shall have your domestic beer swill in a jiff. just shut your yap and don't dare give me any static, lest i give you a few choice observations on your persona non-grata. but this incident was different. i sincerely felt bad for this woman and i knew that if i really came out verbally swinging at her primate husband, i would get no reprocussion from my bosses, but *she* would surely pay for my outburst later. it was the only thing keeping me from going completely medieval on this fool.
my manager deadpanned, "sir, vhat vould you like me to do?", never acknowledging this man's crazy allegation. old grey repeated his rant of me not following his orders, and this sister stepped back, swung her right hip back in a ghetto supahstar stance and said, "sir, you *know* that is not true. you never asked me to stop serving." he ran around the table away from me. like a little bitch, he did. ran around that table like the might of my 5 foot frame could drop his sad ass to the floor. shrinking violet launches into a hysterical wail, "stopit!stopit!stopit!iwantedthewine!iorderedit!shedidn'tdoanythingwrong!" over and over. the husband is screaming that yes, i was told to stop serving her and i did it anyway. upon his last, "i TOLD her not to...." i gave him a pointed finger across the table and loudly said, "you didn't say a DAMN THING!" i was trying to save this woman from a verbal or physical beating later, but that old jagoff was *not* going to stand there making lying accusations about me. hell no. extra money whatevah, i still take alot of pride in any work that i do. as demeaning and aggravating as i often find it, it is still a job that i'm performing to the best of my abilities and i ain't no sloth. i've been serving at restaurants for almost 13 years. i know how to wait a damn table and i'll not have some self-serving dick question me, just because he wants to wring his lady's neck and can't do it in public. thou shall not drag Agent99 into the black hole of your marital woes. don't go there.
that proclamation rattled old anger control. once i said it, silence descended for a moment while i took in all eyes in both the bar and the dining room watching this scene we were creating. by now, our undercover cop has joined the inquisition and my manager has silently removed the offending glasses of wine from the table and walked away, muttering, "i do not vant to be part of this." the old asshole stammered, "and, and, and i'll have it......without.....without the attitude.... from you!" this statement was accompanied by a feeble wrist wag, as if the wind had been blown out of his sails so he couldn't give me a full finger in the face again. i barked right back, "MY attitude? mine? no, YOU need to keep it real!"
and with that, i flounced away from the table, my bartender (another transplanted soul from da lou) was immediately by my side, wanting to know what the hell all the commotion had been about. i said, "here's the summary: that dickhead over there has some real control issues. he wouldn't even let his wife order her own damn food. and then, when this grown ass woman had the audacity to order a drink from me that he apparantly thought she didn't need to have, he decided to boldface *lie* and complain that i was overserving her and disobeyed his 'orders' not to bring any more booze to the table."
"oooh, i know he didn't!" she said.
"well, he thought he would, but i set that fool straight. because no one, and i mean NOBODY is talking to this sistah like that! not today and not tomorrow! this job is not indentured servitude and i'll not have it."
with that, the offenders came marching through the bar with our cop escorting them out. a few years ago, i would have run my mouth in response to the glares i was receiving from mr. self important, looking so very tough stomping behind his wife as she hung her head down, staring at the floor, slouching along like she was headed to the gas chamber. instead, i silently wished that she'd find the strength to see that she deserves so much more than being subjected to a public screaming match over a class of pinot grigio. i returned that look with a steely-eyed silent glare and he knew it meant, "today is the day you got called out."
i took the high road.
