Happy Two Year Anniversary to Me

Today is the two year anniversary of The Bitchy Waiter. Yes, time flies when I am bitching. In the two years that I have been writing, I have managed to come up with 378 topics and what you are reading right now is number 379. At this moment, there are 3,460 fans on Facebook and 2,812 followers on blogspot. Incredible. I looked up the traditional anniversary gifts to see what I should be expecting for gifts and I was rather disappointed. The traditional gift to give for a second anniversary is something made of cotton. The modern gift is china. Both of these sucks. When I think of cotton, I think of fabric that makes me think of dinner napkins which makes me think of working in a restaurant. Fuck that gift. When I think of china of course it makes me think of clearing tables of plates. Fuck that gift too. Maybe I should consider this a birthday instead of anniversary. So I did a little research to see what the average two-year old should be up to and this is what I found. A two year old should be able to:

• walk alone (like they do in my station).
  
• pull toys behind him (like they do in my station).
  
• climb onto and down from furniture unassisted (like they do in my fucking station).
  
• dump things out of containers (like they do to my sugar caddies in my mother fucking goddamn station).
  

Forget it, I can't go on. I hate two-year olds. So for my anniversary/birthday there is something I want. I don't want you to all sing "Happy Birthday" to me as you present me with a partially frozen birthday cake that has a candle in it that someone found in the back of the drawer. I want more fans. If everyone who reads this could just convince one other person to "like" me on Facebook maybe I could reach 5,000 by the end of the year. Is that too much to ask? Or share this link with someone so I can get double the traffic today. Is that too hard to do? Or maybe you can click here and show me your love in another way.

Seriously, thank you for reading. It still baffles me that anyone reads this blog at all, but to know that so many people do read makes me happy almost everyday. I thank each and every one of you. You are all great. (Except Penelope. She is a dried up twat face who can eat my pud.)

Love,
The Bitchy Waiter

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Don't Cry Over Spilt Milk. Or Cosmo.

Seeing how many trays I have held over the years, it's amazing that I have not spilled more often than I have. I am knocking on wood right now, because I do not want to jinx myself and then the next time I go to work end up dropping a hummus platter into the lap of someone. Last night though I had a couple of minor spills. One was my fault but the other was absolutely unequivocally not my fault in the slightest tiniest teeniest bit.

The club was crowded as hell last night. Like people crammed in tighter than the 6 train at rush hour. Tighter than sardines in a can. Tighter than Joan River's face. (Okay maybe not that tight...). It takes a serious case of balance and gymnastics to get to the tables in the dark while a show is happening all the while carrying a tray of martinis. There is some Mary Lou Retton shit going on up in there. I went over to Table 32 and began to place the Cosmopearitan (yummy, by the way) in front of the single lady. It was filled to the brim and a tiny bit of the nectar dripped over the edge of the glass spilling onto her hand and pants leg. It may have been about a teaspoon. The lady acted like I had just dumped a tsunami in her lap. I whispered "I'm sorry" to her and put the drink down. She grabbed a bev nap from the table and started wiping her whole entire body with it. She seemed to think that the whole drink had spilled on her. Frantically, she sopped up vodka and pear liqueur that wasn't even there. "Are you alright?" I asked. She glared at me seething with inner rage and hissed, "I'm wet!" The way she said it was as if she meant to say "I was just stabbed in the heart with an ice pick and my lung has also been punctured. It is horrible. This is the most awful thing I have ever been a part of." But she just said "I'm wet." I was certain that she wasn't really that wet. Damp, maybe. Wet? No. She got over it.

Thirty minutes later as I was clearing tables, my tray was now loaded with three half full bottles of Pelligrino and a couple of coffee creamers that still had milk in them. I was standing next to the bus tub to deposit them but waiting for people to get the hell out of the way. Someone bumped into me causing the bottles to fall over spilling water on my shirt and then knocking the creamers full of milk onto the floor. The man who ran into me had this brilliant question for me: Am I in the way? Well, let's see, sir. You are standing between the computer, the trash can, the service station and the bus tub so yes. You are in the way. Can't he go stand where the other customers are? Go outside? Go to his table? Go home? He informed me that he just wanted to find a place that he would not be in the way, so he moved two whole feet and proceeded to stand in the only means of entrance to the room. Just stood there. Yeah, that's better, sir.

I took a cue from the lady at Table 32 and grabbed a bev nap and dried myself off. I was way wetter than she was, but mine was only water. At least hers was Cosmopeariton. She got to smell like a cocktail while I just smelled like sparkling water, hummus and bitterness.


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Please Help the Needy (I Need Vodka)

The weather out side is frightful, but he fire is so delightful. And since you've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. Just kidding. I freakin' hate the cold winter weather here in New York City. The weather sucks, there are too many tourists here, the trains are too crowded and the pressure to find the perfect gift for everyone you ever met in your whole life is far too much stress. Until now, that is! This season, I will be giving friends and family original works of art that I created myself and now you can too. That's right, just by clicking this link, all of your holiday shopping can be easier than adding automatic gratuity to that party of ten teenage girls who shared a plate of nachos with four Diet Cokes and six waters. Yes, this is an ad for my very own Bitchy Waiter necklaces. I have new designs now too. Gummi bear, shrimp and everyone's favorite food group corn dog. And if you don't want a blue gummi bear, then just tell me what color you want? Green? Yes! Yellow? Absolutely! Pink? Gay!

If you have a special request email me and maybe I can create exactly what you want. Just last week, I made a custom Sri Racha hot sauce necklace that came out looking really cool. Have an idea? Email me at sideofmustard@gmail.com.

Okay, I am done. But serioulsy, for every necklace that you buy, a portion of the proceeds goes directly into a fund to provide Citron Vodka for a very needy waiter. Won't you please help? Click here if you care.

Panda Express Workers Might Be Braver Than Me

This blog post is ripped from the headlines: Would-Be Robbers Foiled by Panda Express Workers. When I saw the story I was immediately impressed by the bravery of the employees who surely put their own lives at stake in order to save the cash register. These must be some true blue heroes indeed. But upon reading the story more closely, it turns out that the restaurant was already closed and when the robbers tried to get past the locked doors, the workers simply refused to open the them. Duh. If you see someone with a gun and he is on the other side of a locked door, my thought would be to not unlock it. Now I have never taken any self defense courses or studied the world of criminology, but it seems like there is no other option. What other action would anyone take?

ROBBER: Knock, knock.
WAITER: Who's there?
ROBBER: Robber.
WAITER: Robber who?
ROBBER: Robber with a gun, now open this mother fucking door.
WAITER: Oh, wait did you say robber with a gun or without a gun? I couldn't quite hear you since you are on the other side of a locked door.
ROBBER: Robber with a gun.
WAITER: Oh okay then, hold on and let me unlock this deadbolt. (click) There we are. Come right in, Robber-
ROBBER: Bam, you're dead.

While I am happy that these poor Panda Express workers weren't harmed, I don't really think they thwarted a robbery. Thwarting it would be like the criminals were already in the restaurant and through some kind of plan the bandits were tricked into putting the gun down at which time a waiter fell from a hidden compartment in the ceiling and attacked the robber while another waiter grabbed the gun and called 911. In this case they did what I do to anyone who tries to come into my restaurant after we are closed: give 'em the evil eye, burp out "we're closed" and saunter back to my after shift cocktail. If I am ever in the situation where I am face to face with robbers in my restaurant here is what I would say:

Hold up, lemme get you all the money in the cash register and show you where the safe is. If we can't get it open, I'll help you carry it to your getaway vehicle and you can deal with it later. Here's my wallet, my tips and my five dollar ladies watch that I bought on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 52nd Street. Do you guys wanna a drink? Lemme make you a martini and then when I'm done with the vodka you can put that in your getaway vehicle too. I think my manger has an iPad in his locker. Lemme show you which one it is. Oh and don't forget to take the video tapes from the closed circuit camera with you when you go. Is there anything else you need? You sure? Okay then. Y'all have a good night. Here take this cappuccino machine with you too. Bye bye.

Brave? No, not at all. I ain't no Panda Express worker. I am a freaking coward ass pussy wimp bitch. And proud of it.

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Liz Lemon Wants Me To Be Her Friend

Today is one of those rare days that I don't have to call myself a waiter because I am actually on a television set working as an actor. Uh huh. My favorite show of all time (right after The Brady Bunch and The Facts of Life) called me to work on it today. Today I am acting on 30 Rock. Acting is a funny word though because what I am doing today is basically standing behind the stars and moving my lips and then walking off away from the camera. But the beauty part is there is no tray involved and I don't expect to take any food orders. At lunch time, when the caterers are setting up the spread, I will resist the urge to light the sternos and fold the napkins. Instead, I will get in line behind Jane Krakowski and Alec Baldwin and choose the chicken or the steak and get a piece of pie. Life feels good today. And just think. If I was still working at The Place That Shall Not Be Named, I would have had to turn down this opprtunity. Was I fired? Yeth, yeth, I wath. I am I happy about it? Oh hell yeth.

Sorry this post is so lame, but you know...I'm an actor today.

Cloudy With a Chance of What the Fuck

We as waiters are used to odd requests from our guests who expect us to appease them in the name of good service. People seem to have no problem asking us to do things that may have nothing to do with the actual job we are hired to perform.


There are a few things I don't mind doing:

• Can I get a Jack and Coke on the rocks but with the rocks on the side?
• Can you put the pickle on a separate plate because pickles freak me out when they touch my other food?
• Would you mind fixing the blinds so the sun doesn't shine in my eyes? I have astigmatism and just had my eyes dilated.
• Can you put my mimosa in a coffee cup so nobody knows I am drinking?
• Can you wrap my food to go because I think this reuben sandwich will taste better if I eat it at home?

There are a few things that I can't believe people will ask me to do:

• Can you turn off the television because we don't allow our kids to watch TV when they eat?
• Would it be possible for you to run to the store and get some Aunt Jemima syrup since I don't like maple?
• Is it alright if you watch my baby while I go to the bathroom?
• Will you taste this and tell me if you think it's good?
• Can you make me a double non-fat macchiato with low fat chocolate syrup and the whipped cream on the side with just a sprinkling of organic cinnamon and then put it in a wine glass with a birthday candle on it?

But the other day, the hostess at my job shared with me a phone conversation she had just had. "Hello, I'm calling to get information about "Lola Falana" who will be performing there on December 4th, 5th and 6th." Our hostess, the ever consummate professional, was eager to please and asked the caller what she needed to know. Performance times, ticket cost, directions to the club? The lady responded by saying, "Yes, what is the weather going to be like on December 4th, 5th and 6th?" Lady, c'mon. This ain't the freaking weather channel. Did it sound like Sam Champion answered the phone? Did you dial 1-800- Accu-Weather Forecast? Seriously? But our hostess apparently has a different list than I do regarding things she will and won't do in the name of good service. She actually went onto the Internet and found a weather forecast and relayed the information the lady. She's like our own personal meteorologist. The lady hung up satisfied and our hostess had a funny story to tell and I got something to write about. I host there too sometimes. Had I picked up the phone, the lady would not have gotten a weather forecast from me. I would have told her there is a 50% chance of I dunno with a humility level of 100% and a cool front of apathy likely to come into our area at any moment.


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Cash, Credit or Scamming?

We have all had people who have tried to skip out on their check and the occasional walk out who actually succeeds at getting a meal without paying for it. It happens rarely even though it seems like it would happen more often. A few days ago, I encountered a man who was either trying to skip out on his bill or he was incredibly forgetful. Either way, he got on my nerves and as I was trying to fix the situation a thought popped into my head: at least I have something to write about.

At my job, we place all the checks down at the same time immediately after the show is over. Therefore, we have to make change for everyone at once and it can get very confusing when you have ten or twelve tables all throwing credit cards and cash at you at the same time. Table six had a pile of money on the check presenter and when they told me they didn't need any change, it went to the bottom of the stack since I was finished with them. About ten minutes later when I started closing checks, I came across their $129 check and saw that the pile of money was only twenty dollars. Hold up now, wait, what? Frantically, I hurried around the club to see if they were still there so I could squeeze out the remaining $109 (plus tip) from their pocketbooks. At first they were nowhere to be found. Fuck, I had let them leave without double checking their total? What am I, a hack? An amateur? I ran downstairs and then back upstairs looking like a chicken with his head cut off who didn't want to have to cover $109. Then, I spotted one of them up at the front of the room chatting to a group of people. I went up to the man. "Excuse me, but I just wanted to make sure of something. You said you didn't need change right?" "That's right," he said. I looked down at the twenty dollars and then looked back at him with a "so what the hell?" expression. "That's your tip," he said. "I gave you my credit card, remember?" I was really busy so I though maybe he did and I had forgotten. Or maybe he gave it to someone else and he thought it was me. "Oh, alright then. Well, I don't have the signed voucher, maybe you took both of them by accident?" He looked confused. I went to the computer and pulled up his check and there was no credit card info on it meaning it was not swiped by me or anyone else. I went back to the potential scammer.

ME: Can I see your credit voucher just to make sure it didn't get rung under another server's number?
HIM: I dunno if I have it.
Well, can you look?
ME: Did you give me your credit card?
HIM: Yeah, and then you handed it right back to me.
Without going to swipe it? Why the fuck would I do that?
ME: Are you sure you gave it to me?
HIM: I think so.
ME: And you don't know if you have the copy that you signed?
HIM: Uh, I dunno. I don't remember.
Okay, it was like ten minutes ago and he doesn't remember? Is he playing dumb? He seemed too young to be in the early stages of dementia. And I must ask, if one is in the early stages of dementia, how long does it take to be fully demented? (Stole that line from Naked in a Fishbowl).
HIM: You can swipe my card again if you need to, just make sure I don't get charged twice.
Listen buddy, I don't wanna charge you twice. I wanna charge you once.

I took him to my computer and showed him the check. I showed him how there was no credit card info on it and then after I swiped it there was meaning this was the first time it had been swiped. He shrugged his shoulders and said "Okay, if you say so." I do say so, ass. You didn't pay. Maybe you forgot or maybe you were trying to be slick, but you didn't pay and I caught your ass. I do think it was an honest mistake, because if he was trying to skip out, he would have left immediately. But what irked me was that he was acting like I was the one doing something shady. In the end, he paid his check, left me a decent tip and was nice about it, but I don't really get it. Can someone really forget something that quickly? Maybe he was so wrapped up in my attentive and stellar service that he was unable to focus on anything else. Yeah, that's it.


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