It’s not me, it’s you…
"Whatyamean you've no unicorn balls damn it?"
I woke up on Monday morning feeling less than chirpy. My usual six hours of gentle repose interspersed with manic dreams and fear filled sweats hadn't shifted the pain of the previous day nor had it recharged my batteries. I lay there, grumbling cussing my bad luck and wondering what's the point anymore. Sunday at work was so lacking in charm, class, humour and in civility that it had me questioning, again, if I still have the qualities required to wait tables any more.
I mean was the table of 12 booked for 8pm that arrived a half hour late and minus half of it's guests and then proceeded to only order 2 main courses right to complain about me because they didn't like the cut of my jib? Hmmm, were they? I wouldn't mind but I had only cracked a joke and had not, as they had insisted to the manager, been rude to them. Maybe tango flavoured make up that leaves you looking more like a Cheesy Wotsit than human being dulls the brain.
Maybe the family than insisted to the point of swearing and issuing of threats were justified in taking such a course of action because we wouldn't serve their underage children sugary alcopops and beer? Maybe I, we, are out of touch with what the modern consumer wants. Maybe the family that gets smashed out of their tiny minds truly does stay together.
And maybe, just maybe, we were wrong to serve the gentleman his food exactly as described on the menu with the hollandaise sauce and should have in fact used out magical fucking powers of mind reading to work out that he prefers his fish served dry, like his mother used to do it. How very fucking remiss of us.
I considered all this as I lay there, grumbling, and trying to rub the feeling back into my legs.
Is it me, have I lost the ability to deal with these imbeciles, these cretinous mouth breathers? A good waiter has to have a fine Teflon coating to shield himself from the insults, petty demands and general madness. But either my Teflon coating is wearing thin or their insults are coming at a thicker (in every sense of the word) and faster rate than I can cope with. Not wishing to mix my metaphors but my deflector shields cant hold for much longer.
Hey maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm getting grouchier and less tolerant with age. I do pray every night for a new world order, one were waiter flavoured fascism rules the world. If Mussolini thought he got the trains to run on time he ain't seen nothing yet.
Is it me or is it them?
I ran this thought around my brain for a good five minutes and then broke into laughter.
"OF COURSE IT'S NOT ME! IT'S ALWAYS THEM!"
And that perked me right up.
Rude? Me? Ha!
I tell you who was rude though, my taxi driver home on Saturday night.
"Hey, how are you?"
"Yeah, yeah, busy. Where we off to?"
I gave him my address and off we popped.
"Busy tonight?", asked I in a jovial sort of way.
There came no answer.
He just turned the radio up instead.
Now that's fucking rude.
It's not me, it's definitely them...
I don’t know how you manage to remain sane, and polite.
I would have poked every fecking one of these cretins right in the eye.
Oh, and just for your info, I tipped a waiter 30 pounds one night. Just because he was lovely
and had to put up with a complete pile of shite from the table next to ours.
I’ll never forget the look of gratitude on his face.
Maybe someday, you will hint at where you work, and I’ll come your way….
Keep the faith Manuel.
It’s waiters like you that make dining out a pleasure.
Tink
xxxx
quite often Tinkers I do not remain sane nor polite….good times I can tell you
I’d kick all those people in the pee-pees and then get arrested. It isn’t you. It’s totally them.
Hang in there. Or, if you can’t, just don’t hang yourself.
crikey no…If I go on a murderous rampage I do not intend for it to end with me being dead….I intend to fight my case….heh
oh, it’s them all right… chin up, little buckaroo!
woop woop!
definitely them. I have had so many people fulfill negative stereotypes in the past few days I’m about to lose it. I should not be able to tell how badly you’re going to tip me before you even open your mouth. And before I get the “you’re racist” comment, stereotypes are there for a reason. we don’t pull them out of our asses people
Lauren it ain’t easy….shit comes in every shade…
Belfast it seems was full of twats this weekend!!
The taxi driver he wasnt one of my lot was he? If he was what did he look like i will hit him a slap!!
Busy my arse.
he bloody was n all…..
Frankly, I don’t know how you do it. One of those people would have sent me over the edge.
I still think the sitcom idea is a winner.
make. it. happen….
Oh, yes, it’s them.
Most folks can’t even identify their behaviour as rude or ill-mannered anymore.
but that’s it exactly…the self entitlement over powers them and gives them license to do and say what they like….
The world is going mad….had a waiter in Gandia come back to me insisting the tip I added was too much…..meanwhile a drunken argument broke out inside the bar over a chess match.God I love Spain, utter bonkers.
good times I assume?
Yup, but got the first day back at work blues now
A waiters lot is not a happy one, beam me up Egon !
indeed Dingus, indeed…
It’s definitely them. Missing customers, customers who swear for some of that weird alcohol concoction and to top it off a taxi driver who didn’t want to have a chat?
You need to boost your shields by diverting power from the auxiliary something or other.
she cannae take it Captain….!
myself and the rubbish knitter were out on sunday and one of our party, looked at the menu (a sunday roast menu) and decided that none of that suited him so could he have a beef sandwich (not on the menu) instead…. both myself and the knitter looked at each other did the slow head-side-to-side and muttered something about manuels stabby forks – we were both very disappointed that there were no stabby forks and he actually got what he wanted – waiters, more stabby forks and less forelock tugging.
correct….correct and then some…..!
pfft its always them how could you doubt yourself? being in a customer realted type job (with no tips) its always them!
always!!
At least your taxi driver didn’t launch into a “You talkin’ to me?” diatribe.
no diatribe of any sort….!!
Never apologise, never explain!
Ramming speed and damn the torpedos, Manuel.
a woo hoo!
My Dear Chap,a right bunch of dashed troglodytes you had on your hands there!But,I believe,I have a remedy,which will involve a certain financial outlay on behalf of the restaurant.
But,every penny will be well spent,a chap of your quality should be able to spot bounders of this ilk as soon as they shuffle onto the premises.When oafs of this nature appear in future, direct them to your new ‘function’ room.
All it will be, is a bare room easily sluiced down after the latest ‘chimps tea party’ has loped off.At the base of the walls there will be iron grills for you to prod the raw meat through to the ‘Piltdown’ men.
I would also suggest sound proofing the room,so that the guttural grunts do not disturb the civilised patrons. I would also suggest you call the new function room. ‘The Longleat Suite’! Quite poetic really.
Your deflector shields are only operating at 75% power due to your recent and extreme weight loss. Stop marching up mountains and start eating bacon and egg baps again and let these feral folk annoy you no more.