This is not one of the posts we have assigned, but I felt that this belonged here. I thought you guys would enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it.
This started out as a writing exercise. I'm trying to pick up the habit of writing something everyday, even if it's something small, some idea or thought or rant.
I work as a waitress, so I figured I'd be well fueled for this habit seeing as i see different people everyday.
So, one day I came home from work and I was just fuming from having had to wait on an obnoxious woman.
All right many people might think that I was overreacting, the woman didn't really do anything to me, it was just the subtle and utter rudeness of the way she dismissed me as a person was just kind of insulting.
So I decided to rant about it in a descriptive post.
Here goes:
Band-Aid
I knew my night as about to get interesting the moment I spotted her sitting at table 3.
Years hadn't done her well, she was heavy on her knees and on the eyes. her face was tightened with rich entitlement. Her highlighted and straightened hair had Salon extensive-care written all over it.
Her eyebrows were treated with what now is called " permanent makeup", each one formed a pointy yet obtuse angle, like two child-drawn ceilings over her eyes; always high and eternally condescending. Her cheeks were carefully powdered and blushed as they draped slightly over her jaw. Her lips were thin and dryly stained with thick maroon lipstick.
She sat up straight, she crossed her ankles.
Well, she tried.
Her blouse was loose and had a an orange flowery print. Her pants were black and office-like. Her low heels were thick, black with a round tip. they seemed to be calling for help.
She had one of those expensive Pandora bracelets, most of her charms consisted of kittens and dollhouses. Her hands were well manicured.
She looked around her table, her eyebrows pulled together, her lips pursed and locked. She looked around for me and ushered me over with a deliberate head tick.
I walked over to the table, holding my breath, hoping I could deal with this table as one pulls a band-aid prematurely from a half-healed cut.
Quick and painful.
But quick.
First nag:
The scratching of the skin to painfully lift the corner of the band-aid's tape:
I start to welcome her but she instantly interrupts me,
" We want two sodas, I want a cup of brocoli soup, she wants the special with loaded mashed potatoes and the corn cobette. I want the classic nachos, no chicken, no jalapeños."
" Right away ma'am."
( Do i have to explain why that's overly rude? really? okay. Well in simple terms, she's a bitch. She's not seeing me as a person, but as an invisible butler, someone that's not worth acknowledging. That is a big no-no for people that want to eat at a restaurant. )
Second Nag:
You finally grab the corner and you test-pull it, only to flinch at the instant and obnoxious pain. It's in this moment when you sigh deeply before you close your eyes and you will yourself to just fucking do it:
She has the drinks and her soup on the table. She's talking to her friend. The friend is a blur to me because my hate towards this woman is too sharp. I decide to ignore her just enough for me to stay a good waitress... And person.
I put my other tables up to date. The couple at table 39 is happy. The old guys at table 6 are happy. The mother at table 7 is happy. I walk over to the dreaded table 3 and ask " Everything all right here?" She doesn't lift her eyes from her friend's face and dismisses me with her hand.
I walk away.
Third nag:
You finally start pulling the tape and it's as painful as you knew it would be:
The food is a little late and I go over to apologize for it. She says nothing, she only signals to her half empty Pepsi. I simmer in my annoyance for a few seconds before I go to the kitchen to get her a refill.
( yeah, they're little things, subtle hand gestures. But it's as simple as an eye-rolling. It's sharp body-language that all says the same thing " I don't give a shit" )
Fourth Nag:
As you're pulling the band-aid, the first part of the tape is interrupted by the center gauze that is pulling away from your half-healed cut. You'd think it would be less painful since there's no tape involved, but no, it's worse. The gauze was attached to the cut and it's pulling at the less than firm, loosely clotted scab.
It hurts like a motherfucker:
The food finally gets to the table. Everything's great. I bring the refill. I turn to leave, she psst's at me. I look back. She smiles and points to her plastic mug. She says " Look at that." I clench my jaw. I look at it. She talks to me as if she's giving me a lesson, she lowers her voice with false sweetness. She says, " Now tell me. Do you see anything unusual about this soda?" My heart races. My teeth hurt from the pressure I'm placing on them, keeping my mouth from snapping at the bitch. " I see ma'am. I apologize, the syrup must be running out. I'll get you a new one." She answers smugly " Mmhmm.."
Fifth nag:
You're almost relieved when it gets to the tape again. You're almost there:
I give her the refill. She gestures towards it and says " See the difference?". I answer " Of course ma'am. She and her friend eat. I have a few moments of peace while she munches on her nachos. When she's done, she gestures at me to bring her the check...
Final Nag:
You're almost done, until that final painful snap of the tape as you forcefully unleashed it from your skin. You curse one final time:
I bring her the check. She looked at me and said, " They're individual accounts. Split them."
I've never been happier with a $1.60 tip. It was fate's signature for her glorious departure.
As a waitress...
a rant
As a waitress I go out of my way to make a client feel at home. I have to. My money depends on it. My salary is $2.13 the hour, so i have to make up for it in tips, and tipping is optional so it's up to me to make the client WANT to tip me.
I can identify their needs just by looking at them. I'll make a family laugh, I'll be invisible to business men and couples. I know my place.
But I don't take one table at a time. I'll take two, three, four, or five at a time. ( Most I've had at a time is seven and I was going insane)
So if I have other tables, like I did that day and one client decides to be a bitch to me, my service will downgrade horribly.
Why?
Because by the manner of the client and the amount of the check, I can calculate how much energy it's worth my time. If I already know I'll either get a $1's as a tip or none, I won't go out of my way to accommodate you.
However, if you're nice to me, if you respect me, I will do everything in my power to make your experience a great one, no matter how high or low the check is. My service will be as great as I can manage.
Most people don't know the pain it is to split the check when it is already printed. You can't do it yourself, you need to find a manager to do it for you. It plain sucks.
But a person that has respected me I will go out of my way to get it as fast as possible. I will feel the need and motivation to do my best for you.
A person like that woman I saw, I couldn't have cared less if anything was late or in need of refills or splits. I worked fast just so I could get rid of her. because that's how she treated me.
in the end, i never intended this to be this long a rant, but I guess i wanted to talk about it. few people know that waiters earn very very little for all the work we do ( we don't just carry plates around, which is a workout all in itself). A couple of people say they don't believe in tipping for this or that reason. I'm one of those that believe that if you don't have enough money to tip, DON'T GO EAT AT A RESTAURANT. Why?
Because the waiter is providing you for a service, accommodation, entertainment sometimes even. The waiter is the one that gives you ambiance and information. The waiter is the one that intercedes for you in the kitchen.
The waiter is the one you're punishing when the food is cold and late when it's out of his control and it's the kitchen's fault ( cooks who by the way receive a full wage and aren't affected by you ripping the waiter off at all).
If the waiter or waitress is a bitch or an asshole to you, then by all means, stiff em. But if you're angry because the food is either late, or cold, or tastes icky. That is out of the waiter's control, not his fault.
Anyway...
well, that's mostly what I wanted to say.
Sorry for the long ranty post.
I'll see if I can write the ones that are actually assigned now.
This started out as a writing exercise. I'm trying to pick up the habit of writing something everyday, even if it's something small, some idea or thought or rant.
I work as a waitress, so I figured I'd be well fueled for this habit seeing as i see different people everyday.
So, one day I came home from work and I was just fuming from having had to wait on an obnoxious woman.
All right many people might think that I was overreacting, the woman didn't really do anything to me, it was just the subtle and utter rudeness of the way she dismissed me as a person was just kind of insulting.
So I decided to rant about it in a descriptive post.
Here goes:
Band-Aid
I knew my night as about to get interesting the moment I spotted her sitting at table 3.
Years hadn't done her well, she was heavy on her knees and on the eyes. her face was tightened with rich entitlement. Her highlighted and straightened hair had Salon extensive-care written all over it.
Her eyebrows were treated with what now is called " permanent makeup", each one formed a pointy yet obtuse angle, like two child-drawn ceilings over her eyes; always high and eternally condescending. Her cheeks were carefully powdered and blushed as they draped slightly over her jaw. Her lips were thin and dryly stained with thick maroon lipstick.
She sat up straight, she crossed her ankles.
Well, she tried.
Her blouse was loose and had a an orange flowery print. Her pants were black and office-like. Her low heels were thick, black with a round tip. they seemed to be calling for help.
She had one of those expensive Pandora bracelets, most of her charms consisted of kittens and dollhouses. Her hands were well manicured.
She looked around her table, her eyebrows pulled together, her lips pursed and locked. She looked around for me and ushered me over with a deliberate head tick.
I walked over to the table, holding my breath, hoping I could deal with this table as one pulls a band-aid prematurely from a half-healed cut.
Quick and painful.
But quick.
First nag:
The scratching of the skin to painfully lift the corner of the band-aid's tape:
I start to welcome her but she instantly interrupts me,
" We want two sodas, I want a cup of brocoli soup, she wants the special with loaded mashed potatoes and the corn cobette. I want the classic nachos, no chicken, no jalapeños."
" Right away ma'am."
( Do i have to explain why that's overly rude? really? okay. Well in simple terms, she's a bitch. She's not seeing me as a person, but as an invisible butler, someone that's not worth acknowledging. That is a big no-no for people that want to eat at a restaurant. )
Second Nag:
You finally grab the corner and you test-pull it, only to flinch at the instant and obnoxious pain. It's in this moment when you sigh deeply before you close your eyes and you will yourself to just fucking do it:
She has the drinks and her soup on the table. She's talking to her friend. The friend is a blur to me because my hate towards this woman is too sharp. I decide to ignore her just enough for me to stay a good waitress... And person.
I put my other tables up to date. The couple at table 39 is happy. The old guys at table 6 are happy. The mother at table 7 is happy. I walk over to the dreaded table 3 and ask " Everything all right here?" She doesn't lift her eyes from her friend's face and dismisses me with her hand.
I walk away.
Third nag:
You finally start pulling the tape and it's as painful as you knew it would be:
The food is a little late and I go over to apologize for it. She says nothing, she only signals to her half empty Pepsi. I simmer in my annoyance for a few seconds before I go to the kitchen to get her a refill.
( yeah, they're little things, subtle hand gestures. But it's as simple as an eye-rolling. It's sharp body-language that all says the same thing " I don't give a shit" )
Fourth Nag:
As you're pulling the band-aid, the first part of the tape is interrupted by the center gauze that is pulling away from your half-healed cut. You'd think it would be less painful since there's no tape involved, but no, it's worse. The gauze was attached to the cut and it's pulling at the less than firm, loosely clotted scab.
It hurts like a motherfucker:
The food finally gets to the table. Everything's great. I bring the refill. I turn to leave, she psst's at me. I look back. She smiles and points to her plastic mug. She says " Look at that." I clench my jaw. I look at it. She talks to me as if she's giving me a lesson, she lowers her voice with false sweetness. She says, " Now tell me. Do you see anything unusual about this soda?" My heart races. My teeth hurt from the pressure I'm placing on them, keeping my mouth from snapping at the bitch. " I see ma'am. I apologize, the syrup must be running out. I'll get you a new one." She answers smugly " Mmhmm.."
Fifth nag:
You're almost relieved when it gets to the tape again. You're almost there:
I give her the refill. She gestures towards it and says " See the difference?". I answer " Of course ma'am. She and her friend eat. I have a few moments of peace while she munches on her nachos. When she's done, she gestures at me to bring her the check...
Final Nag:
You're almost done, until that final painful snap of the tape as you forcefully unleashed it from your skin. You curse one final time:
I bring her the check. She looked at me and said, " They're individual accounts. Split them."
I've never been happier with a $1.60 tip. It was fate's signature for her glorious departure.
As a waitress...
a rant
As a waitress I go out of my way to make a client feel at home. I have to. My money depends on it. My salary is $2.13 the hour, so i have to make up for it in tips, and tipping is optional so it's up to me to make the client WANT to tip me.
I can identify their needs just by looking at them. I'll make a family laugh, I'll be invisible to business men and couples. I know my place.
But I don't take one table at a time. I'll take two, three, four, or five at a time. ( Most I've had at a time is seven and I was going insane)
So if I have other tables, like I did that day and one client decides to be a bitch to me, my service will downgrade horribly.
Why?
Because by the manner of the client and the amount of the check, I can calculate how much energy it's worth my time. If I already know I'll either get a $1's as a tip or none, I won't go out of my way to accommodate you.
However, if you're nice to me, if you respect me, I will do everything in my power to make your experience a great one, no matter how high or low the check is. My service will be as great as I can manage.
Most people don't know the pain it is to split the check when it is already printed. You can't do it yourself, you need to find a manager to do it for you. It plain sucks.
But a person that has respected me I will go out of my way to get it as fast as possible. I will feel the need and motivation to do my best for you.
A person like that woman I saw, I couldn't have cared less if anything was late or in need of refills or splits. I worked fast just so I could get rid of her. because that's how she treated me.
in the end, i never intended this to be this long a rant, but I guess i wanted to talk about it. few people know that waiters earn very very little for all the work we do ( we don't just carry plates around, which is a workout all in itself). A couple of people say they don't believe in tipping for this or that reason. I'm one of those that believe that if you don't have enough money to tip, DON'T GO EAT AT A RESTAURANT. Why?
Because the waiter is providing you for a service, accommodation, entertainment sometimes even. The waiter is the one that gives you ambiance and information. The waiter is the one that intercedes for you in the kitchen.
The waiter is the one you're punishing when the food is cold and late when it's out of his control and it's the kitchen's fault ( cooks who by the way receive a full wage and aren't affected by you ripping the waiter off at all).
If the waiter or waitress is a bitch or an asshole to you, then by all means, stiff em. But if you're angry because the food is either late, or cold, or tastes icky. That is out of the waiter's control, not his fault.
Anyway...
well, that's mostly what I wanted to say.
Sorry for the long ranty post.
I'll see if I can write the ones that are actually assigned now.
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