Muffin’s gonna harm you…
October 20, 2009
Since the site I usually go on and refresh obsessively is out of commission for the time being I thought I’d update this.
What kind of a mental… Who calls a restaurant, asks to speak to the manager about something, is told the manager is busy and will take a message, and then throws a hissy fit to a server about getting the manager on the phone? Look lady, I used to deal with your type for nine hours a day five days a week I’m not intimidated, I don’t care, I’m not going to go out of my way. I told you she’d call you back and you’re having a fit to a server not a secretary. Catering to your whim is not my job. This is a restaurant not a cubicle filled office. You can call anyone you like and complain but no one is going to help you. The world does not, in fact, revolve around you. I didn’t know you needed to call a restaurant to find that out. I mean, seriously? Do you expect me to physically drag the manager away from business so you can feel better about yourself? You’re not the only one with a job to do. Then I was really pleased she had someone call back for her from a different department to ask for the manager again and be told the same exact thing then call once more and be told again because she was just a bitch in the first place. Now it’s just become a restaurant-wide joke.
Ham and Cheese Omelette Man was sighted eating a pot-pie about a week and a half ago.
Okay, by now I expect some people to be asshats and not tip or leave miserable tips. However, do not come up to me at the end of a shift and say “I wish I could give you a tip.” If you don’t have enough money to tip you don’t have enough to eat out and you have the audacity to come up to me and tell me about it? Not to just stand there and tell me but to sit down at the booth I’m at doing my work so I can get the hell out of work and tell me that? Response: “Just so you know, I get paid 2.65 an hour. That’s less than minimum wage which is 7.40 so…” Thanks. Eat and get the hell out of my section.
Also. I don’t care what’s wrong with your comprehension skills. I don’t care what part of your brain was damaged or never fully developed. You keep your hands to yourself. Don’t pat me on the back, don’t try to touch my hand, don’t intentionally move your foot to put it on my when I’m taking your order, and don’t even think about asking to hug me. And for the love of all things good don’t call me ‘Dear.’
November 17, 2009 at 1:31 am
Dear people who do not want their drinks until their meal is served:
Stop being pretentious. Do you really think that your tastes bud are so delicate, you must have the perfect beverage served with the specific food you ordered? Or is that your drink must be served at the perfect temperature, which are dispensers are precisely calibrated to serve? Or maybe you just don’t have the self control to order a beverage at the beginning or your stay and not consume it under your food arrives five minutes later?
Bottom line, I will forget to bring you your orange juice. Even if I write myself a little note, I will forget. Stop being pretentious and be normal and conform to ordering drinks at the same time as everyone else.