#server thoughts

Welcome BACK, to Day 2 of the week of ServerThoughts™ return. 

Since I like my job, I’m going to be vague about some of the food on our menu and the name of the company. So from now on if I talk about my old job, I’ll say **p*eb**s and refer to my current job, as just my work. Cool, let’s continue.

We used to have this manager at work named Billy, and he was the absolute worst. He ended up getting fired in December 2018, because a bunch of people went to HR about him being an asshole. 

One of my coworkers actually wrote an anonymous letter to corporate about him, and wrote a detailed letter about everything he had said towards her or how he acted as a manager.

Here’s an unofficial copy of what she wrote:

I hated Billy. He was misogynist as fuck, and loved to talk shit about the employees to anyone that wanted to listen. One time I was in the weeds and asked him if he could bring one of my tables soup, and he asked me if he needed to change the seating chart and give me less tables since I was unable to do my job.

I think that’s one of the last times I talked to Billy. He was a shitty manager that would smoke out of his weed pen on our back doc, during a busy Friday or Saturday night. Us servers would run around the restaurant trying to find Billy because we needed discounts, and this motherfucker was getting lit. Okay yeah, that’s how I’m trying to be too, but I can’t, because I have to grate Parmesan cheese on my customers’ pasta. Along with other important job duties that I totally have.

Totally.

No judgment though, when I worked at The B’s, I smoked before, after, and during my shift. I also wasn’t the manager, so Billy has no excuse.

This past Labor Day (2018), I was working a Monday lunch shift and there were only 4 servers scheduled. My other manager (Sasha) who does our server schedule forgot it was a holiday and that kids and some adults would be off of school/work, so we were short staffed af when I walked in at 12 pm. 

It was chaos. I immediately had 4 tables when I walked in, and I was trying to help my co-workers who were running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

I wasn’t supposed to be a morning closer, but an hour into my shift my manager who does my schedule told me that she hopes it was okay that I’m staying to close, because the closer has to leave early for a dentist appointment. Alright, bet. I’m a closer now, sucks but it’s whatever.

We usually have two managers working during lunch and dinner shifts, always. There’s a manager running the floor, and one running the kitchen. Billy was running the floor, and the other manager (Sasha) was running the kitchen.

Billy and Sasha aren’t there real names, as you may have assumed. I love preserving people’s privacy by exploiting them anonymously on my blog.

I had a table of three girls on Labor Day. Two teenage daughters and their mother. I knew they were going to be a difficult table the moment they ordered three waters in take-out cups with lemon. 

A chill table doesn’t order their drinks in take-out cups, and that’s a fuckin’ fact Jack.

They ended up ordering two pizzas without bacon, because they don’t eat pork. And a chicken salad, but they wanted their chicken cut vertically. 

Y’all. I still have to take a second and think about what directions vertical and horizontal are. I’m not even saying this for comedic purposes. I really do have to think hard about which direction vertical and horizontal are.

Just a reminder that I’m 22 and graduate college in a year, and I don’t know off the top of my head if vertical is up and down or side to side.

The chicken in the salad they ordered is usually shredded, but does have some vertical pieces in the bunch.

Anyways, I put in their food with all their mods (there were more modifications but I’m going to be vague. I actually like this job, so I’m not trying to expose where I work).

The food comes out and the table claims that their pizzas are cold, and that the chicken was NOT vertical, even though they specifically told me they wanted it cut vertical and they know the General Manager and the woman’s husband knows the General Manager and they are customers there and they know my boss.

Okay bitch, I know my general manager too. He’s my boss. He hired me. I see him more than my own dad, you’re not special. 

Every time I tell my GM that customers will tell us that they know him, he says, “Everyone knows me. My name is on the building.” 

I can’t wait to finish school and get a big girl career and get to say shit like that without it being bragging.

When I walked into the restaurant that day, I did not expect that a portion of my shift would be arguing about the direction that chicken was cut on a salad. But there I was, arguing with one of the daughters of that three top, about her side to side cut chicken.

Their pizzas were cold, so we had two new ones made. When the mom of the table told me that they were cold, I apologized, and said “If they are cold, I’m sorry” that way they weren’t too mad at me, but I still wasn’t siding with them that the meal was cold. It’s not how I would usually handle a situation like that, but I knew from the moment those bitches ordered water in take-out cups, it was over.

Apparently, when I made Billy go over to talk to that table, the women tried to say that I had touched their pizzas and agreed with them that their food was cold. 

Look, I’m not a Veteran of the restaurant industry but I know one of the number one rules is to never touch a customer’s food. Regardless if they are trying to show you that the temperature of their food is not up to par.

I’m dumb and a bitch, but I’m not a dumb bitch, so I did not put my finger on their pizzas.

They also kept trying to bring up the vertical chicken to Billy, but he had already taken off the salad when they confronted me about the pizzas. I had him take it off before he even greeted the table, because one of the girls sent back the salad and didn’t want a new one. 

The girl who ordered the salad kept repeating that she told me she wanted it cut vertically, and how this never happens when they sit with the bartender.

Okay then walk your ass over to the bar, and sit with the bartender. The fuck? Do you think I care? Do you think this offends me? Their faces offended me. The fact that I now had to stay until shift change, offended me. Sit with the bartender, I literally do not care. 

^^ ME to 86% of my customers.

I explained to her that yes, not all the chicken was cut the way she wanted, but I pointed out vertical pieces in the salad. Just to be a bitch (but not a dumb one). I also told her I wrote a note when I rung in the order for it, to be cut the way she asked. 

I special mod’d that shit and it still wasn’t made correctly.

I’m proud of myself for not throwing the BOH under the bus, because I could of easily said the cook making the salad just didn’t read the ticket. But no. I’m an adult now (I guess) so I tried to use logic to show these ladies that they were wrong and dumb.

Billy took off one of the pizzas after talking to them, and hearing the mom talk about how unhappy her husband would be. Okay bitch, no one cares about your husband, just like they don’t care that you know my boss, the general manager.

I’m pretty sure they ended up tipping me, and the two new pizzas they got were up to their standard. 

Looking back at the time, I was on the verge of tears and wanted to leave. It was so busy and nothing was making that table satisfied. 

This was actually the second and last time I’ve got teary eyed at this job, and the only time I’ve considered walking out and quitting my job. I don’t get offended by most things that happen at the restaurant, but I couldn’t deal with having people argue with me and be rude as shit, while trying to juggle my full section. 

I probably should have screamed in the freezer, and I would of been better.

So the vertical chicken bitches happened on Labor Day 2018 which was back in September. I have not seen these women until about a month ago. I started writing this post a month ago, and a few days after I had started the post, that’s when I saw the women sitting at the bar, drinking from their take-out cups.

I saw them again at the bar with their dad/husband, like 2 weeks after seeing them again a month ago.

Was I the reason they strictly eat at the bar? Maybe. Am I fine with it? Completely. 

I don’t have time to special mod what direction you want you chicken cut in, and then have to relay that message to the kitchen, just in case they choose not to read the ticket.

Moral of the story, eat your damn chicken the way it comes. Fin.

See you tomorrow, where I reveal more about what got Billy the dumbass manager fired. Also how weirdly close the managers are to the staff. I literally drink with Emily my other manager?? So weird. 

Xoxo,

Happy Father’s Day to all the daddy’s, mommies, or anyone else that celebrated Father’s Day today. 

Father’s Day is pretty uneventful in my family. I don’t speak to my dad, and my mom’s dad (my papa) and I aren’t really close, even though my car is in his name. Thanks Papa. Happy Father’s Day to you from my tumblr. 

I’m going to occasionally abbreviate Father’s Day or Happy Father’s Day, otherwise I’m going to irritate myself and have to set up a drinking game.

One of my first posts on this blog was about Father’s Day. Read my first FD post by clicking here. 

Let’s get into it. 

When I’m missing in action for a few weeks, it usually means life changing stuff is happening to me. And atlas, I have a new serving job in a better town - 20 miles away from my house.

The cliente are wealthy/tourist/old white people, and pretty much everyone tips minimum 15 percent, but usually more than 20. 

This is the restaurant I belong in. I still work at the OG restaurant that I founded this blog on. Twice a week during lunch, but I usually drop one of my shifts, so I can have at least two days off from both jobs. My new job has been giving me four days. 

I’m going to quit the old restaurant for the final time in August, when I start school. 

I really want to drop the name of the restaurant, but my mom said I shouldn’t because I’ll get sued or wuteva~

Honestly worth it for the likes and reblogs.

I’m really trying to see how long my social media contract I signed twice, lasts for, so I can expose the restaurant and give you all the hot goss.

ANYWAY. I served at my new job this beautiful Father’s Day, and financially, I’m ready for the father’s to start paying again. I’m sorry mother’s, but you all need to step your tipping game up.

In my opinion, the start percent for tipping should be twenty percent, and if I need to teach a class on tipping - I will. Women, high school/college students, tourists will all be invited to this seminar. 

Hell, let’s bring children of all ages to this class. It’s never to young to teach our youth tipping culture. Anyone who wants to come, really. This class is mandatory to the people who don’t want to tip take-out, because they “didn’t eat at the restaurant.”

Eat my entire asshole, if that’s you. I apologize for saying that, Mom, I know you’re reading this. But like, hyperbole is important.

*

I had a four table section today, and the most tables I had was, shockingly, four.

I got the regular’s who seat themselves in a specific booth, and order decaff, regular coffee, raspberry iced tea, and always get a cup of pea soup. (And more). They constantly want refills, but they’re old and tip good, so whatever.

I also almost fought this rude ass bitch, who wanted to get lippy with me. She ordered the kid’s mac n cheese for her daughter, and asked me if it comes with a drink.

No, your daughter has to die of thirst, lady.

Of course, I told her dumb ass yes, it does come with a drink. The mom asked me what the kid’s drinks are. So I did what any good server would do, and told her that they’re listed on the kid’s menu. 

I proceeded to be a great server, and list some sodas, teas, and lemonade for her kid who apparently can’t read.

Now that I think of it, her kid may not have been old enough to read, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that her mother could.

The mother scowled at me and asked me if we have any beverages that are more kid ‘appropriate.’

Hmmm, I didn’t realize I was naming fucking shots of Patron for your 5 year old daughter, or Moscow Mules, rude bitch. 

Also, when did children stop drinking soda’s and lemonades? Did I not get the memo in the mail, or.. 

If looks could kill, y’all. I killed this lady and she knew it. I snapped back, and told her that I did list drinks that children typically order. The mother could tell I was a bit angry, so she took a step back and said “Oh, okay.” 

While I repeated myself, “We have soda’s, tea’s, lemonade, milk (chocolate or regular), apple juice--” The mother interrupted me and told me to get her daughter an apple juice, and that she didn’t want anything to drink.

Good fuckin’ riddiance, I’m glad her ass didn’t want anything. 

Are we suprised that the little girl hated her mac n cheese, so her mom asked me for tomato sauce, and right when I grabbed it from my General Manager...Another manager stopped me to tell me that she rang in a different dish for that same table, because the little girl didn’t like the pasta.

You’re really going to tell my manager your daughter wants another dish, AFTER I’m getting a different sauce for her. Okay, fake.

I’m sorry lady, but you’re not allowed to be rude to me on Father’s Day, it’s not your day.

After that, the lady, her mother, and the little girl were super nice to me and the bitch lady’s mother, even personally thanked me for serving them.

Yeah, whatever, you raised an entitled bitch, HFD to you, lady.

My first table of the day, was nice, a little bit weird. I wished the dad a Happy Father’s Day, and he told me, “Thanks, you too.” I smiled and said thanks, and walked away to the computer terminal. I looked back at him and he was smiling too, after he realized what he said.

Whatever, I can be a daddy too if you want me to be.

Speaking of which, I wished one of my co-worker’s who is without a child a HFD, because he kept telling everyone he’s a daddy, and fuck it, he’s right. 

If he wants to be a Daddy for real, he can hit me up.

FD at this new restaurant, wasn’t really that bad. And maybe it was because I had a small section, and I didn’t get busy, but I wasn’t mad that I had to work.

If you’re looking for a sign to apply at new places, or take that job offer, DO IT. I would of never applied at my new job, but one of my good friend’s kept bugging me to do so. I finally did, and I love it here. This is truly the type of restaurant that I deserve, and love working at.

I know it’s hard to leave a job where you feel comfortable at, and you might put up with the bullshit because you know your position well. I promise there’s a better opportunity out there, and you don’t need to settle for anywhere that treats you like shit! They don’t deserve your undying loyalty and dedication, if they don’t take care of you. That was my sappy bit for this post. 

I would say if you want to keep up with me, wait for new posts, but you all know I’m inconsistent, so message me if you want to bullshit about shitty customers and your restaurant drama.

Xoxo,

Yesterday, I had this table who wanted a discount on her chicken salad, because the chicken “wasn’t cooked right.” Which is super weird considering she ate 90% of her chicken, and 80% of the salad.

I knew immediately when greeting this table, that we weren’t going to have a good time.

1) No one, no one interrupts my greeting. I don’t care if you’re a cheap college hoe that’s going to order water w/ lemon and chicken fingers. Or if you have 6 or more zeros in your bank account - You’re not going to interrupt me during my greeting.

The table interrupted me. Are we shocked? No.

I fetch their drinks for them, and they need more time. Cool, whatever. 

I go cash out another table, and drop off food to my booth across from the table that needs more time. The lady with her shitty chicken had the audacity to call me over and tell me they’re ready to order, when I’m talking to my table who I just gave food to.

2) Don’t talk to me when I’m with another table. You’ll have your time with me, I promise. I have many tables that need my attention too. I know that’s a hard concept to swallow, but it’s true. I’m very perceptive of my tables most of the time, and can tell by your mannerisms that you want me to walk over to your table. 

So please, for the love of God, don’t say, “Excuse me,” while my back is turned away from you. You’re being rude to me AND my other customers. Plus, when you do that, I’m going to treat you like a school kid and tell you firmly, I’ll be there shortly,” and make you feel stupid with my annoyed glare.

The table who is now ready for me to take their order is chicken lady, her mans, and her mother. Chicken lady is probably in her 50′s, so her mom is probably in her 70′s-80′s. I don’t know, I’m horrible at guessing ages, so that’s why I’m not a bartender.

Also, because I would hate having to talk to my guests like bartenders have to. 

The mom of chicken bitch starts to order a steak, and tells me she wants it well-done. She asks me if it’ll come out tender. She doesn’t want it to be tough.

Which is totally weird to me, because if you don’t want a tough steak - don’t fucking order it well-done. You’re nasty. You’re eating shoe leather, basically. 

I told her honestly that the steak probably wouldn’t be tender, since she’s ordering it well-done. Her daughter tries to convince her to get it medium-rare, and that the steak won’t be that red/pink.

Bitch, are you dumb? Is basically what I said, except I actually said, “Medium rare is a warm red center. It’s a lot a different than well-done.” 

Shout-out Outback for this steak temperature guide. Just in case anyone else is as confused as “I hated my chicken salad, but I ate almost everything-bitch”

I tried to sell the mom on medium-well, but she was not into it. She decided she no longer wanted a steak, and wanted chicken. Not to get confused with chicken bitch, this is still the mom. 

Unforunately, the chicken dish momma wanted, was not on the promotional deal that chicken bitch and herself wanted to order.

The mom ended up ordering a burger. 

Can you guess the temperature? No? Need a second. Okay, take your time. I’ll give you a hint: It was not medium-rare.

Personally, there’s no reason in my mind for anyone to order a well-done steak. I don’t get it.

What was weird about this table is that the husband was chill as fuck, you could tell he was embarrassed of his mother-in-law and wife, and I kind of felt bad for him. But not bad enough to give him a free drink, because my mans (chicken bitch’s husband) didn’t stand up to his wife or MIL for me, so no free shit from serverthoughts.

Back to the reason why I named this woman, ‘chicken bitch.’

The lady was laughing when she spoke about wanting a discount, and I told her that I wish she would of told me sooner she didn’t like the chicken.

Maybe when I brought her extra dressing for her chicken salad she could of let it slip?? I don’t know, maybe that’s a crazy concept. She pointed out that I was busy over there, and pointed to the POS (our computers) where I had been standing legit three minutes before this conversation took place.

The reason I was not at her table three minutes earlier, when she had finished 90% of her chicken already.. Was because the take-out girl didn’t know how to ring in a gift card, so I walked her through it.

I’m sorry that I’m a trainer, lady, and my co-worker’s ask me questions and shit. I know this restaurant’s menu in more detail than I know anything in my life.

How sad am I? Sometimes I wish I could just tell you all where I work, so we could all talk shit about the restaurant together. I give you the dirt, and insiders.

Anyway, the two-minute check-back was created, for people like chicken bitch. I wait two minutes or two bites into your meal to see if you’re enjoying your dish - or need anything else.

I’m just a little confused why she failed to mention her chicken situation to me then, or when I gave her extra dressings. 

Also, I gave her husband a diet soda five minutes after I gave them dressings, so I was clearly available throughout their meal.

I stared at chicken bitch with a blank face if she wanted me to ask for a discount, and she said yes. So I told her, “I’ll ask my manager, but we’ll see.”

I don’t give my tables discounts for dumb shit. You didn’t like your food, then you should of told me because I could have had a new dish made for you. But you want to play me and not say anything until you already ate most of it? Nah. I’m good. 

Like, I’m sorry. You’re not going to come into my restaurant and start giving me demands. Eat your stupid chicken and be happy. Which she fucking did.

I told my manager what had happened and he decided he was going to be gracious and give the table 5 dollars off. 

Attention readers: Being a cunt to your server is worth $5, y’all.

When my manager and I were walking out to the dining area (we were in the kitchen), he told me to look very serious when we walked out.

I’m not sure why he said that, but he’s annoying and I don’t like him, so whatever. Also, when we were still in the kitchen he said he wanted me to slap chicken bitch. That he would hold her down, while I slap her. 

Honestly, GOALS. Manager goals, except I still don’t like this manager. For reasons I might talk about one day. It’s nothing big, I’m just a lazy hoe and adding this much detail about this table, is already a lot for me.

I need to sleep for 16 hours after writing this post, honestly. We love depression.

Honestly y’all, if you’re nice to me - I’ll probably forget to ring in a little dessert that I can get away with not ringing in. I’ll probably forget to charge you for your kid’s drink that your kid got, but didn’t order from the kid’s menu. 

If you’re my regular, any drink that the bar doesn’t have to make, I won’t charge you for. You’re cool and you’re going to tip me bomb, so yeah, I’m technically stealing from the restaurant, but sometimes you need to have a little side hustle.

Did I forget to mention that it was the husband’s birthday? Chicken bitch asked me if I needed to see his ID, and I told her that I honestly didn’t care at that point. If it was her birthday, I definitely would have needed ID.

But her mans was sitting quietly, using his manners, so he can get a free dessert and separation from his wife. Except, my good man didn’t even eat the dessert. His wife had his free dessert, and I charged the mother for hers.

We don’t give freebies to asshole customers, sorry. 

P.S. Our chicken is rubbery and gross, when it’s cooked by the AM cooks. I’m honestly pretty sure that’s why chicken bitch hated it, and I really can’t fault her for that. 

I definitely wouldn’t order the chicken before 5 o’clock.

Xoxo,

However it is pretty awkward to bring up quitting your job to most acquaintances.

Anyways, this has led to people thinking I have (???) number of jobs. Just because I quit my second job and got a new one a few months later.

I'll be instructing and advising a coworker who is the same age as me, however, because I have worked for longer, I am his senior and thus who he looks to for guidance.