WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
all waiters have a voodoo dolland big pricks
(for the doll!)
This week had been fun, well it had been okay, let's not get carried away. The public weren't dishing out the cash like JD Rockefeller's but they weren't being tight asses either. No major dramas, no nights worthy of a blog post either. And that's all very fine with me. Not every night can be a Saturday night.
Tonight, for the most of it, had been another one of those nights. I had a table of 15 estate agents, a couple of tables of 2, some chatty tourists, and two tables of 1, awh. I should have got those two together. And all of these had been enjoyable tables to serve. The estate agents I could live without, but I got through it without having to resort to threats of violence or sarcasm. Sarcasm is the finest weapon in the waiters armoury, well that and the threat of spitting in your soup. It's just a threat mind, but one we hold in reserve for special occasions.
Then a rather exasperated gentleman appeared at the door. Behind him were 6 other exasperated and unhappy looking gentlemen. The first sight they got of the restaurant was one of full tables everywhere, this appeared to add to their unhappiness and before I could get a word out one of the guys at the back was tugging at the lead guy telling him it was hopeless. It was all very Mary, Joseph and the donkey.
Turns out they had been double booked in their chosen restaurant. Oh that's not good, not good at all. I would get beaten to a very bloody pulp if I did the same thing. Not that I would of course. The lead chap was pleading with me for a table. He was entertaining clients from Scotland and the whole double booking fiasco was fucking things up for him. He tugged on my elbow and moved me to the side out of earshot of his guests, he told me I was his only hope, that he needed me to save the night, that he would "look after" me if I could just get him a table.
I felt for the guy. He was clearly under pressure. So I scanned the booking sheets for a bit of space, none was obvious though. So I sent them to the bar and told them their table would be ready in 20 minutes. Now this was a bare faced porky pie. I had no idea when or where I was getting him a table from. But as I say I felt for him, and the promise of being "looked after" was more than enough to get me motivated. Tables were shuffled about, chairs mismatched (but better than no chair), and one table was politely urged to get the fuck out. Two and a half hours for two main courses and glasses of house red is long enough.
The table was seated and the chap was delighted. He was back to being the big lad again, as opposed to looking like the guy who couldn't book a table in a restaurant. Now the restaurant was busy and the Princess and I had to double up on this table in order to get it done. This isn't something I like doing but if we have to double up it may as well be the Princess and I. You get 2 quality waiters for the price of one. And without sounding like a pig, men react better when they are served by a woman. Male waiters who serve men will be called gay. Female waiters that serve women will be called whores. It's a very sad fact of life.
But between the Princess and I we crafted out a nifty little performance for these guys. Lots of wise cracking between each of us that had the lads laughing. The lead chap was relaxed and enjoying himself. His earlier worries seemed to have disappeared. Now that's what I call a job well done. The food arrived on time and was quality, real quality in fact. I told the kitchen so as well. And I really don't like having to do that. They drank good wine as recommended by me, they ordered 2 more bottles on top of the initial 2.
If I wasn't so fat, and white and so totally uncoordinated I would have high fived someone. The Princess and I were good. My high five's normally end up with the intended recipient getting a busted nose or a stray finger in the eye. Cool, I am not.
The lads ate and drank until they could do no more. We left them to their business. After a half hour or so the lead chap asked for the bill. I presented it and again checked if they were happy with their night. They were very happy. There was lots of faux attempts by some of the others to get the bill from the lead guy but it was all smoke and mirrors. He would be paying and that was that. And pay he did. And he shook my hand. And he patted my back. And he winked at the Princess. And he said he would be back with the family some day soon. And he told me he was glad the other restaurant had double booked him. And then, you can see where this is going can't you, and then he fucked off out of the restaurant. WHERE WAS MY "LOOK AFTER YOU" MONEY?
We were besides ourselves with anger. A mop bucket was kicked, threats of violence issued, karma spells were cast. It's not the first time I have been stiffed and it wont be the last. But fuck me what is it with people? WHAT FUCKING MORE DO YOU WANT? Answers on the poll at the top of the page thank you.
Gotta go, I have a voodoo doll in the shape of a businessman to finish....
Tonight, for the most of it, had been another one of those nights. I had a table of 15 estate agents, a couple of tables of 2, some chatty tourists, and two tables of 1, awh. I should have got those two together. And all of these had been enjoyable tables to serve. The estate agents I could live without, but I got through it without having to resort to threats of violence or sarcasm. Sarcasm is the finest weapon in the waiters armoury, well that and the threat of spitting in your soup. It's just a threat mind, but one we hold in reserve for special occasions.
Then a rather exasperated gentleman appeared at the door. Behind him were 6 other exasperated and unhappy looking gentlemen. The first sight they got of the restaurant was one of full tables everywhere, this appeared to add to their unhappiness and before I could get a word out one of the guys at the back was tugging at the lead guy telling him it was hopeless. It was all very Mary, Joseph and the donkey.
Turns out they had been double booked in their chosen restaurant. Oh that's not good, not good at all. I would get beaten to a very bloody pulp if I did the same thing. Not that I would of course. The lead chap was pleading with me for a table. He was entertaining clients from Scotland and the whole double booking fiasco was fucking things up for him. He tugged on my elbow and moved me to the side out of earshot of his guests, he told me I was his only hope, that he needed me to save the night, that he would "look after" me if I could just get him a table.
I felt for the guy. He was clearly under pressure. So I scanned the booking sheets for a bit of space, none was obvious though. So I sent them to the bar and told them their table would be ready in 20 minutes. Now this was a bare faced porky pie. I had no idea when or where I was getting him a table from. But as I say I felt for him, and the promise of being "looked after" was more than enough to get me motivated. Tables were shuffled about, chairs mismatched (but better than no chair), and one table was politely urged to get the fuck out. Two and a half hours for two main courses and glasses of house red is long enough.
The table was seated and the chap was delighted. He was back to being the big lad again, as opposed to looking like the guy who couldn't book a table in a restaurant. Now the restaurant was busy and the Princess and I had to double up on this table in order to get it done. This isn't something I like doing but if we have to double up it may as well be the Princess and I. You get 2 quality waiters for the price of one. And without sounding like a pig, men react better when they are served by a woman. Male waiters who serve men will be called gay. Female waiters that serve women will be called whores. It's a very sad fact of life.
But between the Princess and I we crafted out a nifty little performance for these guys. Lots of wise cracking between each of us that had the lads laughing. The lead chap was relaxed and enjoying himself. His earlier worries seemed to have disappeared. Now that's what I call a job well done. The food arrived on time and was quality, real quality in fact. I told the kitchen so as well. And I really don't like having to do that. They drank good wine as recommended by me, they ordered 2 more bottles on top of the initial 2.
If I wasn't so fat, and white and so totally uncoordinated I would have high fived someone. The Princess and I were good. My high five's normally end up with the intended recipient getting a busted nose or a stray finger in the eye. Cool, I am not.
The lads ate and drank until they could do no more. We left them to their business. After a half hour or so the lead chap asked for the bill. I presented it and again checked if they were happy with their night. They were very happy. There was lots of faux attempts by some of the others to get the bill from the lead guy but it was all smoke and mirrors. He would be paying and that was that. And pay he did. And he shook my hand. And he patted my back. And he winked at the Princess. And he said he would be back with the family some day soon. And he told me he was glad the other restaurant had double booked him. And then, you can see where this is going can't you, and then he fucked off out of the restaurant. WHERE WAS MY "LOOK AFTER YOU" MONEY?
We were besides ourselves with anger. A mop bucket was kicked, threats of violence issued, karma spells were cast. It's not the first time I have been stiffed and it wont be the last. But fuck me what is it with people? WHAT FUCKING MORE DO YOU WANT? Answers on the poll at the top of the page thank you.
Gotta go, I have a voodoo doll in the shape of a businessman to finish....
Answers on the poll please.
