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...