Monday, February 17, 2014

Hey, you!

If Friday was Valentine's Day, then Saturday must have been 'take your side chick to dinner' day; the freaks were out in full force, in addition to my patience.

This isn't just another weekend serving; this is a borderline suicide mission.  I felt as if I need some extra preparation before hitting the floor - maybe a few deep breaths, some jumping jacks/high knees...a stun gun, perhaps?

I always tend to scope out the guests before I walk over to greet the table; based off of one look, I can get a good feel for what I'm about to deal with.  Call it a sixth sense, if you will, but usually I wish I could see dead people instead.  I had just shown up for my 4:30 shift, and I'm pretty sure Third Eye Blind was coming out of the restaurant's speakers, softly asking me 'how's it gonna be?'  Trust me, I already know.  I mosey on over to the table with my forced, enthusiastic smile and place the drink coasters down, although all I really feel like doing is throwing them to each person like a Frisbee.

So, with my winning discus routine comes my greeting: 'how's everyone doing this evening?'  I don't get a 'hi', 'goodbye', or 'kiss my ass' but just 'what does the kettle chip appetizer taste like?'  Mmm, Ketel One.  I could go for a martini right about now.  To give you a visual, the man who asked me about the chips is standing up, leaning against the table like he's Billy Ocean.  I'm like 'honestly, Billy...I haven't tri-'

I'm in the midst of telling this low life that I haven't tried the shitty dish he's so kindly inquired about when he puts his Hulk sized hand up in an exasperated, 'stop, in the name of love' pose, and says 'SO, you mean to tell me that you work here and haven't TRIED everything?' 

Clearly, he has learned a lot from his 3rd grade deductive reasoning lesson.  What do you think this is?  Do you honestly expect me to have dabbled with every food item on the menu?  Like I'm that former fat ass Adam Richman, who toured the country eating 4lb pancakes and baby sized burritos.

Since I couldn't provide a personal kettle chip experience, Billy's 'date' proceeded to roll her eyes - so far back, I wondered if I'm going to need to call a priest for her exorcism. 

C'mon Billy, take the demon, get out of my restaurant...and into your car.

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