More Cheese, Please

The show I was working last week was really loud. The crowd was having a good time and it was rather fun since I didn't have to whisper everything. When there is a singer, piano, bass, drums and brass, the atmosphere at work is decidedly more upbeat. When it came time to get round two of the cocktails out, I went over to booth number four and asked the man what he'd like. Leaning into his booth, I said, "Sir, can I get you anything else right now?" "What's that?" he said. I repeated my question with a bit more volume. He yelled into my ear, "What cheese do you have?"

We sell a cheese plate that I can never remember what kind of cheeses are on it. Gouda, cheddar, brie, Velvetta, whiz? I can't recall. No matter how many times I ask, it goes in one ear and out the other. Do you ever have those things that no matter how hard you try, you just can't commit it to memory? It's the same way I can never differentiate between the Q and the N train. Or prosciutto or pancetta. Or regular or decaf. You know, things that are pretty much the same but not quite. Rather than make up some random cheeses, I went to ask a co-worker. She was no help. "I'm not sure. I just always say 'three non-stinky cheeses' and that's it." Really? People are satisfied with that? Okay. Thanks. I was hesitant to ask my manager again because he would know that this isn't the first time I have had to ask and I have worked there for about 18 months. Clearly, there was no excuse for me to not know the three cheeses on the cheese plate. If I had to ask him again he may get the impression that I simply didn't give a shit about the cheese plate. So I asked him again. He told me the names of the three cheeses, two of which I have already forgotten. One of them was St. Andre, I know that. As soon as he told me, I ran to the table to regurgitate the cheeses before the names slipped out of my head and onto the floor.

"Sir, we have St. Andre, 'whatever the fuck it was' and 'whatever else the fuck it was' for cheese tonight."

"What?" he said. It was really loud in there that night. Neither one of us could hear shit.

"St. Andre, whadayacallit and thingamajig are our cheeses. Cheese!"

He pulled his head back and wrinkled up his forehead. He acted like he didn't know what the fuck I was telling him. "Didn't you want to know what was on our cheese plate?" I practically yelled at him.

He paused for a second and looked at me like the idiot I was soon to feel like. "Teas. I want tea. What TEAS do you have?"

Are you fucking kidding me? "Oh. Teas. Green Tea, Lemon, Red Zinger, Earl Gray, Chamomile, English Breakfast, Orange Ceylon..."

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Incomplete Parties Piss Me Off

You know what I hate? I mean other than babies, Holly Hobbie and bathroom attendants. I hate incomplete parties who sit in my station and act annoyed that I am trying to do my job even though they are still waiting for people. Last week, a woman was sitting alone and the show was about to start in 15 minutes. I politely asked her if she would like anything to drink. She acted like I asked her if her period was a light or heavy flow, you know, the most inappropriate thing ever. "Well, I am waiting for my guests and I don't think I want to drink alone. Come back when my party is complete." Okay, fine. She said "drink alone" as if she was going to be sucking down Bloody Mary's and bourbons all by herself in the corner of a dark room. Like I was insinuating that she must be an alcoholic who has no problem drinking alone. And often. (Oh God, I think I am describing myself...) I smiled at the old twat bag and told her I'd be back when her other three guests were there. Eventually, another old bag of bones joined her and I could see that they were trying to get my attention. But I knew she was still waiting for two more people and I was not going to that bitch again until her whole party was there. That's what she said she wanted and I aim to please dried up bitches like her. Yes, I do. I walked past their table about six or seven times, always managing to have my focus in a different direction. The show was five minutes away and still her party was incomplete. Two minutes and still only two of them. "Oh well, I guess they will just have to order after the show starts." Once the lights went down, Prune Face flagged me down. Even though her party was still incomplete, I graciously approached her table. "Well, we're ready to order now!" she said all prune-facey and bitchy. "Oh, are you? I was just waiting for the rest of your group to get here. Like you asked." I said this slowly so that she would miss the beginning of the performer's first song because I am just bitchy that way. "It's just the two of us now," she hissed. "The other people can't make it." I thought about how wise these people must be to have skipped an evening sitting with this insufferable biddy bitch from bloody hell. "Oh, in that case, what can I get for you to drink?" Of course she wanted a hot tea. What else would someone like that want? Maybe a decaf coffee with skim milk or a glass of tap water with lemon and no ice? Herbal tea it was. The other lady ordered a beer. Three minutes later I was back at her table with hot water and a box of tea choices. I set it in front of her and told her she could choose from our wide assortment of flavors, knowing full well that her cataract covered eyes would never be able to decipher the tea varieties in the soft candle light. Not my problem though. She should have fucking ordered when I asked her and she could have had all the light she needed. But the show had started and now all she had was one tiny votive candle. Poor her.

They didn't want anything else for the rest of the night which was fine by me. Was I a little bit vindictive with old lady twat ho from hell? Perhaps. But I just didn't like the way she treated me from the very beginning. She could have been so much nicer about asking me to come back to her table instead of barking orders at me like I was her servant or maid or husband. She had an attitude problem and my station ain't big enough for two people with an attitude problem. It's big enough for one person with an attitude problem: me. I hope she enjoyed her tea with lemon. By the way, when I picked out her lemon, I found the slimiest, most nasty ass lemon wedge I could find. It was the least I could do. Too bitchy? Probably. But I'm good with that.

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