Saturday, 18 August 2007

Karma's a bitch, my bitch

beware
the waiter casts another karma spell

It was the usual Friday night in mid-priced restaurant land. The place was full. Friday night is primarily "work night out". They leave their cubicles early and rush home, get changed and rush back into town again so that they can be late for their restaurant booking. Booking times are nothing more than suggestions to these people. The really organised amongst them bring a change of clothes with them to work. But they will be late for their booking too. It, as you can imagine, gets on my tits something shocking. I rarely let it slide either, "8 o'clock wasn't it sir?" I ask whilst checking my watch or "I don't have a table for 4 booked for half 7 sir.....oh it was for 7, riiiiightttt". I can be a surly little shite when it suits, and it always suits.

Customers are always drunker on a Friday than any other day. Their work is done for another week and they rightly relax and let themselves go. But this is no excuse for tardiness and acting like a buffoon. Work outings are the adult equivalent of the school trip. People seem to loose self control in the worst way. And it seems the further you are up the corporate ladder the more likely you are to spend the night as giddy as a 14 year old teenager.

Tonight was no different. We had a table of nurses booked along with 2 tables from 2 different banks, a table of civil servants, and a table of Scottish accountants as well as the a few tables of 2 and a family celebrating a birthday party. The table of 17 nurses were loud and bit rude, but they were amusing and didn't upset or disturb other customers, or me, which is important, obviously. The civil servants got off to a rocky start by increasing their numbers without notice. This was a problem as I didn't have any room for the add on's, but as usual I got them in. But the add on's and a couple of others on the table decided they didn't want to eat! So let me get this straight, you are adding on to the table but less than what you originally had booked for are eating. Nice. But they were nice people and left me a good tip for the hassle.

Then things got interesting. The bank tables were pricks. Sorry that's not fair to pricks. They were less than pricks, they were idiots, loud, screeching, "oh my God I wanna beat you so hard with my bare fists until you are nothing but a bloody pulped mess on the floor" sort of idiots. They wouldn't shut the fuck up, even when they were politely asked to tone it down a bit. They carried on when they were asked to knock it off with a bit more force. It didn't help that one of the bank tables seemed to have engaged the Scottish accountants in a game of "Who can piss the waiter off the most". It's a fun game by all accounts, but let me assure you there can only ever be one winner, and that's the little fat chap with your food in his hand.

The accountants took umbrage with me. They didn't like they way I was chastising them and not the ladies from the bank. After a short conversation with one of them that involved a lot of "but they were shouting first" and "they are louder than us" and even some "but yeah but no but yeah" sort of stuff he was left in no doubt that he and his group needed to grow the fuck up and start acting their age. This is what happens when middle aged men are allowed out in public without their wives. After a while both tables did indeed settle down. I assume the combination of rich food and wine had taken it's toll. I still had to rush around and apologise to the other tables assuring them that it's not normally like this. All the annoying tables paid their bills and service charges without fuss. Which is my goal with every table. EAT PAY TIP LEAVE if you will.

My family birthday table had arrived. All the generations were present. The grandmother and grandfather were just lovely, and even their little fight about whether he should have a spicy salad to start was quite sweet. They ordered good food, they ordered good wine, they were polite, and amusing. They laughed and had a very jolly time. We engaged in conversation and they complimented me on how professional I was and all that. When I brought out their sweets I saved the birthday girl's to then end. I bobbed a couple of candles into her chocolate cake and started the table singing "Happy birthday". The parents were delighted, the father shook my hand as I walked away from the table. Perfect service. It was a scene worthy of a Hallmark card.

This table was the antidote to the hell earlier. They asked for the bill and as I presented it I asked them if they enjoyed their night to which they all responded with lot's of fantastic', and head nodding. They paid the bill, shook my hand, told me what a great fella I was and left. They left leaving me nothing.

I swear to God, as long as I live, as long as I am waiting tables they will never be served by me again. If they have the balls to come back I will terrorise their table. I will ensure every waiter knows that they are cheap ass sons of bitches. Their orders will get lost. Their food will be cold. Drinks will be spilled. Soup will drip on to their laps. Drinks will have added extras. Karma's a bitch you motherfuckers, my bitch. You will get yours tenfold. You might think me harsh but I hope they crashed their car on the way home....

Give me drunk accountants any day. As Dad says, "You cant get drunk on compliments...."

karma
should have tipped you cunt...

27 People trying to get Manuel's attention:

Old Knudsen said...

Ah the amount of times I've fantasized about eating at yer restaurant, taking a massive runny dump doon/around the bog, have you running all over the place and not leaving a tip. It would be worth the karmic punishment.

Manuel said...

Oh you'd like that wouldn't you and it fantasised with an s not a z. Lost your soul already....

Twenty Major said...

Miserable cunts.

I remember eating in a restaurant once and getting the worst service ever from the rudest, sloppiest waiter I have ever had the misfortune to meet and I still left him a tip.

It was a penny.

Manuel said...

Twenty: A penny eh, settle, we have like a karmic union thing. What you do to the least of my brothers you do to me. I'll shat in your soup

Pat said...

You had to apologise to the other tables for other peoples behavior.

Remanining polite and calm with customers like those must be very difficult.

How do you manage it?

Manuel said...

Pat: I felt really bad for them. Why should they have their Friday night ruined by a bunch of idiots. It's so very unfair. As long as you are sincere and offer a round of drink people are usually fine. Sincerity is important...

John Cav said...

I worked in bars and restaurants for nigh on seven years whilst in college. Bankers were always the biggest arseholes.

One night there was a table of 8 bankers; 5 women, 3 men. Pissed as farts, cursing like tourettes ravaged sailors, loudly. One of the waitresses went to take their order. An apt move, as it was her table. As she attempted to do so, one of the guys smacked her arse. Very hard. She was only 17, quite shy. She started crying. He high-fived his mates.

Incensed, I went over to ask them to calm the fuck down. As I approached, one of the women clicked her fingers and demanded my attention thusly: "Here! Servant!" (I shit you not.)

Even more incensed, I did an about turn and re-entered the kitchen. "Fuck the wankers!" I thought. Make them wait. I also needed to cool down so I could be sure I wouldn't nut one of them.

At this point the head chef had spotted Naomi - the still crying 17 year old, his beloved niece. He went apeshit, demanded to know who caused her to cry. I took great delight in telling him. And pointing in the direction of the table of bankers. (Isn't rhyme a fine thing?)

He exited through the kitchen doors, walked right up to the table and calmly said the following (roughly):

"I hear one of you smacked an arse belonging to my staff. Which one was it? (Pause) Look, I don't mind. It's just she's hysterical inside and I need to be seen to make a fuss about it. I actually think it's quite funny. Just tell me so we can get your grub sorted."

The guy owns up.

"Right... (shouts) Naomi!"

Naomi comes out and up to the table.

"Right then... (still calm) This girl is my niece. She is only a kid. You are a middle-aged man. Apologise to her."

Nothing.

"Apologise to her!"

Still nothing.

"Apologise to her you fucking worm! (roars) NOW!"

He mumbles something.

"Louder! You drunken little paedophilic wanker!" (Genius.)

"Sorry."

"Right. Now you and the rest of you brainless tossers can fuck right off. You shall never be served here again. (Remembering how drunk they all were) Be sure and drive home now!"

Some muted protestations, but they all start to leave. Every other diner in the restaurant cheers.

Glorious.

Manuel said...

John Cav: TREMENDOUS! God i love/hate chefs, but no one fucks with them. I wish I could have been there to see that. Not til worry there's plenty more opportunities coming up. Welcome by the way.

Medbh said...

No tip for perfect service?
Right you are: Beware the Waiter's Curse.
Middle aged men who act like drunken children in a restaurant must have no idea how pathetic they look.

Twenty Major said...

Fantastic story, John Cav.

Manuel - this bloke was a cunt. He truly was the least of your brothers and if you shit in my soup I shall snap my fingers and call you 'Garçon'.

Ms Robinson said...

Manuel while I was at university I waitressed for my sins and I recall, during a 12 hour shift, dealing with a very noisy, rude group of men. Frankly the only way to deal with them was as children so I did what any clever mummy/teacher would do I picked one out and made him the example, told him that I had the direct line to the kitchen not him and therefore it was me who ran the show, thus making most of them behave by default.

Manuel said...

medbh: come the revolution....

twenty: Cunt eh? There's always one that lets this "noble" profession down. Probably a failed actor/writer or he could just have been a cunt....

Ms Robinson: Good tactic. I'd love to get their wives down and show them what their darling husbands were up to. God that would be so very sweet...

The Hangar Queen said...

Tipping well is a skill and takes years of honing or so a barman I know says.
Considering the amount of money I've thrown over the stick I should be at ninja level by now but I forsee more practice ahead.

Eating out(and decently) is relatively inexpensive here and we regularly take our kids as they are better behaved than 99% of adults. Our eldest has been learning his sums with figuring tip percentages.The ex-Missus wasn't wild about that.At least it wasn't at the bar.

The Hangar Queen said...

Fuck....got sidetracked there.
1.That perfect family were perfect bastards.
2.Just think about your tag on my blogroll for a minute.It'll come to you.
3.Tipping is a grave insult in Japan.I found that out the hard way.Still can't eat sashimi.
4.Can I get a table for two.Sept.7th for 8pm?

Manuel said...

Hangar Queen: 1. Yes, yes they were 2. No idea, Christ I must be dumb today. 3. Well fuck them and their funny little ways. 4. Yes, yes you can....

The Hangar Queen said...

Alright so.Here's a hint.
"Meeester Fawltee..."

A good table now near all the scandal.Just leave a trail of breadcrumbs for us to find you.

Manuel said...

Jesus I am that dumb today! I'm from Barthelona! Yes you can have table 100, you see everything from there, everything....

ironbed said...

The birthday group realy stiffed you Manuel. Feck 'em.

Need any help shatting in twenty's soup............lemme know.

Manuel said...

Ironbed: You distract him, I'll do the shitting...

The Little Cheese said...

I once had a Friday night group of teachers do the add-on thing all night. They arrived at 7 and didn't leave 'til gone 12. Then they started bitching at each other about who had just some bread and water and who had three courses. They then asked for a piece of paper and, I kid you not, did long division all through it to find out how much owed by halfpenny. The paper has now been framed and is in the kitchen. Needless to say, they didn't tip. As all 25 left in separate cabs, I cursed them all. Behind their back of course.

bendersbetterbrother said...

And all of that is why I could never wait, or work behind a bar.

P.S. my mum and dad were grateful for the birthday cake, it's just that they thought every pound saved in tips is a pound (plus compound growth)on my inheritance.
I have to agree.

Manuel said...

Cheesy: teachers are the worst for doing that. I have brought calculators to the table along with paper and pens. I once told them their would be discount for showing their working outs, they though I was being serious. Tight fisted gits...

Bender: I hope your and orphan now....I'd make working in hospitality part of national service...

Anonymous Boxer said...

Would you like me to kick some ass? 'Cuz even though you're far away, I'd do it.

Manuel said...

Do it, do it now and do it hard...

sheepworrier said...

What utter, utter cunts!
its usually the older generation who just dont believe in tipping, and theres nothing will change their mind (not even a suspicious looking choc cake). Its even worse when its ur own family.
Oh the embarrasment.

Btw I have to agree with twenty, tips an shite service just dont mix. Theres no way im parting with my dosh for sum miserable goth fuckwit whos idea of service is sumthing akin to a game of inebriated darts. Sorry Manuel. Tips need to be earned.

Manuel said...

Oh yes masser! Let me dance for you masser!

Only joking. I agree but I aint dancing for anyone, I cant do that again....I have just learnt to love myself again...

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