karma, love it or...

Dad headed home Friday morning. Got to see him off at 6 am from Mitchell Airport (which looks nothing like the one shown at the beginning of Dogma). Had another in a series of unusually candid talks about everything that's going on back home. Unlike most of my friends, my relationship with both of my parents has always been more than slightly distant in a typically Asian kind of way. Don't embarass us and we'll stay out of your business....in a lovingly unspoken kind of way. Maybe more on that later...probably not though.

So, I found a couple of blogs by and for waiters, servers and bartenders. HILARIOUS. Disturbing at times, but hilarious. We server-type people have some funny ass stories. Just a few just from this weekend.

Saturday (aka: the day karma kicked me in the ass)

Table #1: Five minutes after I arrive and halfway through a bite of ravioli, Hostess Stacie (ravishingly beautiful blog reader) informs me that I can have an 8-top at the Kitchen Table if i can clear and set it in 5 minutes. 10 minutes later, as the guests are seating, I'm handed a note that says the party is celebrating a 90th birthday party and a 30th wedding anniversary. Ordinarily I'd be happy. But, when half the people showed up in t-shirts and the daughter crawled under the table to sit in the booth seats facing out, I started to worry. I'm a judgemental asshole at work...this much I know. So, I gave the benefit of the doubt.

Their order: 8 waters with lemons and/or limes, 1 cup of coffee, a small miller lite and a kiddie cocktail + a large salad to start ("Do you bring out bread for free?"= not a good sign)

An hour and a half, fifteen million water refills, a birthday singing, a sincere congratulation and a search for a manager to take $10 off the meal because of a coupon (using a coupon for someone's 90th birthday and 30th wedding anniversary = even worse sign), the bill comes to $88. ($11/person vs the usual $25+/person). They hand me cash, thank me very much, tell me they had a great time, promise to come back, etc etc. I count the cash. $92. I count it a second time. $92. I ask Gloria, my wait assistant, to count it. $92. I hand Gloria the $4 tip and ask her to stab me in whichever temple she wants. She takes the $4 and walks away. Of course. I deduct $4 from my declared tips in my version of a tax writeoff for donating my time to people who make the short bus look like Air Force One.

Table #2: Five minutes after the initial drink order was set down on #1, I noticed that I had been seated in my section. A nice big 7-top. Drink orders...wine, mixed drinks...things are looking up. Then...

Woman: What kind of beer do you have on tap? (I love a woman who can down a 22 oz tap beer)
Me: MGD, Miller Lite, Sprecher Amber, Leine's Red, Leine's Creamy Dark, Budweiser, Moretti and Sprecher Root Beer.
Woman: Do you have Diet Sprecher?
Me: No ma'am, the only diet drink we have is Diet Pepsi.
Woman: Do you have Diet Sierra Mist?
Me again: No, we only have Diet Pepsi.
Woman: Do you have Diet Coke?
Me: No, we only have pepsi products and the only diet drink we have is Diet Pepsi...and water.
Woman: So, no Diet Sprecher?
Me: No. We only have Diet Pepsi. Can I get you a Diet Pepsi?
I pondered whether I had accidently lapsed into speaking Hawaiian. Only I don't know how to speak Hawaiian. I always meant to learn...
Man: Honey, just get water.
Woman: Ok, I'll have a water with no ice and two lemons on the side.

As I'm walking away from the table, another hostess hurries up: "Brent, you're supposed to have a 15-top there in 15 minutes. You have to move them."

Now, for those who don't know, all the tables in our (and most sit-down full service) restaurant are plotted out and reserved on a Saturday night. It's busy. There are reservations. That's why we don't post a "Seat Yourself" sign. That's why you can't decide there's a nicer table in the restaurant and just sit down at it. It's not George Webb here.

So I walk up to the table with their drink orders and before setting them down sidle up to the man who looks like the ringleader.

Me: "Sir, I'm going to have to move you to another table..."
Man (angrily): "What? Why? We've been moved twice already."
Me: "Really? Let me check with the hostess to see if we have any other open tables."
Man (beginning to hyperventilate): "We made a reservation for the Pope table two weeks ago but your reservationist lost it."
Me (inwardly): Are we now the last stop on the short bus line? Did he really say reservationist?

Hostess: They were seated at another table. They must have moved. Nothing else is open. Maybe 32...but then you have to walk the farthest distance across the restaurant to your two tables."
Me: Wonderful. Superb. Lovely.
Hostess: Brent, you know we do this to you on purpose just to hear the funny shit that comes out of your mouth when you're stressed.
Me: Why do i get the whackjobs? I'm going to file worker's comp for all the lost IQ points.
Manager #1: Just pretend that you're doing community service.
Me: This isn't the fucking food depository. Do you see a sign that says Milwaukee fucking food depository? No. Hell no.
Manager #1: Would you like a hug?
Me: I hate you.

Me: "Sir, I can move you back to the table you were originally seated at."
Man: "No. It's too loud over there."

Now, the reason many people come to our humble restaurant is it's a LOUD place, informal and fun. You're supposed to have too much wine. You're supposed to laugh and holler and whoop, loudly. You're supposed to bring your bachelorette party with the penis straws and the naughty scavenger hunt lists (I SWEAR that's why I keep a condom in my pouch...okay, that didn't come out right.)

Me: "Sir, all of our tables are set aside for reservations. The table you're sitting at now is going to be seated in 15 minutes."

Eventually they were moved to another table, after complaining that they were moved twice. First: Maybe that's why a hostess shows you to a table to begin with. In fact, I'm sure of it. Second: Our Pope's tables on Saturdays starting aroud 4 pm have a two week waiting list and NOBODY takes a Saturday reservation for that table for less than 10 people. So, while you may have talked to a reservationist, it wasn't one that works at our restaurant. Third: Reservationist is not a word.

Total Bill: $115 - $10 coupon = $112 (I have no idea...none at all. That's what the printed bill said.) Total tip: $12.

Table #3: Became other server's Table #3. Apparently, and I swear this is true, they didn't like the shape of their tables. "We just don't like the way it's...look at that. A table shouldn't be shaped like that." I'm not even going to bother explaining how a table is shaped.

At that point, I just started laughing at myself in that Twelve-Monkeys-I'm-laughing-at-that-other-voice-shut-up-no-i-don't-like-in-my-head kind of way. The woman looked at me. I looked at the air conditioning vent. I smiled. I nodded. A hostess led the woman away. A couple that had just been sat at one of my other tables looked at me. I looked at them. I smiled. The young woman smiled back.

Young woman: "Have all your tables been like that so far?"
Me: "Yes. Yes they have. Do you have a coupon?"
Young woman: "Who uses a coupon in a restaurant like this on a Saturday night?"
Me: "I love you."
Young man laughing: "Are you going to be okay?"
Me: "What can you get me to drink?"
Young woman: "I used to work as a server downtown. I feel your pain."
Me: "I love you."