The Adventures of Lispy Gay #2

I am doing a little experiment. Today is day two in a four day serial of Lispy Gay. Hopefully, at the end of each post, you will be so filled with anticipation that you will hardly be able to wait until the next installment to find out what happens. I just thought it would be fun. Or maybe it will suck. We shall see. You can read installment #1 here. Your comments are appreciated.

Sam, the manager of the Choking Chicken heard the deafening sound of the dial tone after Lispy Gay hung up on him. He sat there in his office for ten minutes trying to decide what to do. A muffled sound coming from under his desk brought him back to the present. "Thanks, Steven, but you can stop now. I'm not in the mood anymore. And you're fired." Steven wiped his mouth and said, "Mi nombre es Stefano" and shuffled out of the room. Sam looked at the picture of his wife and his emotions got the best of him. He cried with guilt.

Back at the home of Lispy Gay, the idea of setting up his Christmas village was no longer as exciting as it was a few minutes earlier. Sure he would do it and do it perfectly, but his main concern now was to find out who had outed his blog, "I ♥ Christmas" to his manager. He had never told anyone at work about it for fear that they would make fun of him. Could it be that one of his regular readers was someone he actually worked with and they recognized that the person writing the blog was Lispy Gay? The chances were astronomical considering the blog only had ten followers, but stranger things have happened. (For instance, that time that Lispy Gay went to Target to pick up a few things and ended up in the bathroom with the electronics manager and Lispy Gay went home with "free" c.d. alarm clock; the same alarm clock that only moments ago had serenaded him with the sweet sounds of Patti Lupone. That was pretty strange.) He gave Tranny Sore Ass Rex a scratch on the belly and went to setting up the Christmas village church and barber shop.

For the next four hours, as he created handmade glitter for the gazebo fountain, his mind kept racing back to his encounter with Sam that morning. "Tham obviouthly wanted to give me a chanth to come in to work without firing me. He knowth I'm the beth athithtant Chicken Choker he'th ever had," he said to his collection of Raggedy Ann dolls that sat on the top of his hutch. They looked back at him with their thread eyes that said "We love you, Lispy Gay." He loved his collection of Raggedy Anns almost as much as his collection of Cher Barbie dolls. "But why did he want to fire me? I juth wanted to uth my thick day before the end of the year." He remembered now that he had secured his job back by way of blackmail. Lispy Gay didn't want to tell Sam's wife what he knew about him and Steven. He just wanted his job back. "And now Tham probably hateth me." Lispy Gay removed a silver locket from around his neck and opened it up to reveal a picture of him and Sam at last year's holiday party. Sam had his arm around Lispy Gay and they were both wearing their "Can I choke your Chicken?" t-shirts. Sam had a beer in his left hand and his right hand, unseen by the camera lens, was on the small of Lispy Gay's back. Lispy Gay recalled how grateful he had been that his shirt was untucked when that picture was snapped, because the feeling of Sam's hand on his body had made him a bit too excited. Lispy clutched the locket to his chest and began to cry. What was it going to be like when he went back to work the next day? How could things ever go back to normal now that his job knew he wrote a blog about Christmas and that he had blackmailed his boss. "Choking the Chicken will never be the thame," he sobbed.

The doorbell rang and Lispy wiped the tears from his face. It was too early for tea time with his mother so he looked through the peep hole and was surprised at who he saw. He hastliy smoothed his hair and readjusted his outfit and opened the door. "What are you doing here, you thilly gooth?"

Tune in tomorrow for the continuing adventures of Lispy Gay! And maybe you want to Tweet this too?


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The Adventures of Lispy Gay #1

I am doing a little experiment. Today I shall start a four day serial of Lispy Gay. Hopefully, at the end of each post, you will be so filled with anticipation that you will hardly be able to wait until the next installment to find out what happens. I just thought it would be fun. Or maybe it will suck. we shall see. Your comments are appreciated.

The piercing sound of Patti Lupone belting an E flat in "Rainbow High" shot through the alarm clock speakers serving as that morning's wake up call. A sleepy hand appeared from underneath the pink sateen sheets to hit the snooze button and Patti abruptly halted in mid screech. Seven minutes later, it came again and this time a highlighted head popped up from the pillow with bright eyes and bushy tail. The man slipped his pedicured feet into his Felix the Cat slippers and shuffled to the kitchen where he picks up the telephone to make the call that he knew would be happening this morning. Just as planned, an answering machine picks up and he leaves a message. "Hi thith ith Lithpy Gay calling? I am tho thorry, but I have a thore throat thith morning and a bit of a fever? I think it would be beth if I thay at home today? I tho don't want to get anyone elth thick. Buh bye." He placed the receiver back on the princess phone and gave himself a hug, wrapping his arms around himself with sheer joy. He now had the whole day for his favorite activity. He wasn't going to finish alphabetizing his musical theater collection or watchevery episodeof Barefoot Contessa. No, today he had set aside to put together his Christmas Extravaganza using his Department 56 Original Snow Village. He had a collection of over 100 pieces from the the town post office to Marvel's Beauty Salon to the cutest little trash cans that were overflowing with tiny pieces of Christmas wrapping paper. "Today ith going to be the beth day ever," he said to his miniature schnauzer, Tranny Sore Ass Rex.

Lispy Gay went to his Mr. Coffee and made himself an extra large pot for he knew he was going to need a lot of energy this morning if he was going to complete his Christmas Village in only one day. He quickly ate a bowl of Greek yogurt with berries as Barbra Streisand's Christmas album played in the background. Still in his negligee, he went to his closet and started to pull out the boxes that contained his pride and joy. Right when he was about to open the first piece, Dinah's Drive In, his cell phone rang. Recognizing the number, he quickly hit the ignore button. It was his boss at the Choking Chicken, the bar b-q restaurant where he was the assistant manager. "Why ith he calling me?" he wanted to know. "I have a thick day. Thith ith not fair!" He stomped his foot on the leopard skin rug as he retrieved the voice mail.

"Uh, hi, Lispy Gay? This is Sam here at work. I know you're sick and everything but we really need you to come in today. Maybe you can just come in for the lunch rush? Sally's cat went into the emergency room last night and she can't be here. We had two waiters call in sick and the hostess broke her toe and she can't seat people. Call me back as soon as you get this message. Thanks."

Lispy Gay was furious. He had planned this day for two weeks. He had already told his mother that she could come over that night for tea so he could show off the village and surprise her with the newest addition; a pair of ice skaters who actually glided across a frozen pond. "Thupid Sally and her thupid cat," he whined. "And I don't care if a hothess broke her toe. I want my thick day!" He frantically punched the numbers in his cell phone to call his manager. "Hello, Tham? Thith ith Lithpy Gay? I am tho thick. I have a fever of a hundred and thix and my throat ith thwelled up? I thimply can't make it in today." After a long pause, Sam said, "I really think it's best you come in. Don't you wanna be the best assistant Choking Chicken manager you can be, Lispy Gay?" "Of courth I do. You know I do. I love Choking Chicken. Ith my favorite thing. But I'm thick." "Are you really sick, Lispy Gay because I'm not so sure," said Sam. Lispy Gay looked over at the box of artificial snow, swallowed and said, "I thwear on a thack of Judy Garland albumth that I am the thicketh I have ever been. I can't come in today." He coughed to validate his point.

Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, I didn't wanna have to do this, but I know you're not sick. You're planning to set up some kind of Christmas village today and you're faking. I don't even know what a Christmas village is but, I read on your "I ♥ Christmas" blog that you planned to fake an illness so you could do this. You're fired. Come in tomorrow to turn in your Choking Chicken apron and badge." Sam hung up.

Lispy Gay was in shock. How did anyone even know about his "I ♥ Christmas"blog? He had never told anyone he worked with about it. A tear welled up in his eye and it fell onto the ear of his Felix the Cat slipper on his right foot. "But I juth wanted a day for the Chrithmath Village. Ith that tho wrong?" He couldn't lose this job. Not now, only two weeks before Christmas and right before he had a chance to win Choking Chickener of the Year. How could a day that was going to be so perfect already be so wrong? He decided to call Sam and get his job back. He knew just how to do it too.

"How can I choke your chicken, this Sam. Can I help you?"
"I want my job back, Tham."
"Sorry, Lipsy Gay, it's too late. Nothing you say can change my mind."
"Nothing? Not even if I remind you about that time that I wath looking for thalt in the thoreroom and I thaw you in there? With Theven? The delivery boy? How would your wife feel about that, Tham? Hmmm?"
Sam didn't know anyone had seen him and Steven. It was a one time thing. It was an accident. Not meant to happen. But it did happen. And Lispy Gay knew about it. "You wouldn't tell my wife about that, would you, Lispy Gay?"
Lispy Gay laughed the way that Joan Crawford laughed when she knew she had someone by the balls. "Oh, wouldn't I? Now about thith thick day of mine."

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4



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A Candy Cane Gave me a Pain

I few nights ago at work, one of the performers was celebrating the birth of our saviour, Jesus Christ, by presenting a Christmas show of all Christmas music. Said performer was Jewish, but that's a different story. Jesus may be the reason for the season but everyone wants to sing "Jingle Bells." Religious beliefs are hastily set aside when it comes to belting out a Christmas carol or two. Before the show, someone of her entourage pulled out a bag from Jack's 99¢ Store and revealed a shocking supply of candy canes. I knew right then and there that we were about to be witness to a recreation of the infamous gummi bear event of June 2010. Sure enough, this Holiday Elf went to each and every seat and placed a candy cane in front of it as an offering to the audience. I hate when that happens. We already have candles, table tents, bev naps, comment cards, pens and table numbers on the table but by all means, add a freakin' candy cane to it too. Don't worry about me having room to put your martini somewhere. Throughout the show, I could hear the tell tale sound of crinkling cellophane as people opened up their candy canes. No one ever eats a whole fucking candy cane though. Ever. I mean, have you ever eaten a whole candy cane? We open it, break off a bit and then leave the rest where we found it. And sometimes we spit out the little bit that we started to eat leaving a sticky chunk of used up peppermint candy for someone else to clean up. That someone else was me that night.

At the end of the show, out of the seventy people there, easily 68 of them decided to spit out a portion of the candy cane. The tables looked like Santa's elves had puked after too many Peppermint martinis at the holiday party. Shards of candy cane and half eaten pieces littered my station. Everything at the tables was stickier than the headboard at Lispy Gay's house after his annual Tupperware party. It was nasty. The cellophane was everywhere and due to the static electricity in the air, it was stuck to the booths, stuck to my pants, stuck to the walls and stuck in my craw. I was cleaning up after the show and getting irritated with the whole situation when one of the songs the performer had sung came into my mind. The lyrics were now ringing in my ears:

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the yule-tide gay.
From now on,
our troubles will be miles away.

After I gave up trying to understand what a yule-tide was and what made it go gay, I focused on the rest of the sweet words. "From now on, our troubles will be miles away." How silly I was being to be upset that candy canes were making a mess in my station. What kind of Grinch am I anyway? Can't I let people have a good time with a candy cane and not be upset that I have to clean up after them? "Let my troubles be miles away," I thought. Picking up an unopened candy cane, I held it in my palm and smiled. I recalled how when I was a kid it was so fun to get them in my stocking and how I used to suck on them and swirl them in my mouth until the end was as pointy as it could be. I opened the candy cane and broke off a piece, As I put it into my mouth, I expected to feel like a kid again when Christmas was fun with no stress and responsibility. I awaited the flood gates of memory to invade my mind. Instead, this is what I thought: "Fuck this candy cane tastes like shit. Who the hell buys candy canes at Jack's 99¢ Store? Fuck!" I spit that shit out and went back to cleaning tables.

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Dear Bitchy Waiter

Let us look into the Bitchy Waiter inbox and see who could benefit from the wisdom amassed from my 38 years of waiting tables.

Do you have an issue that The Bitchy Waiter can help you with? Job, personal, relationships? You name it. You can email me here . Or just email me to say hello. It makes me happy. Let's see what we find in the mailbag today:


Dear Bitchy Waiter,

I consider myself to be an ideal customer. I am polite, good tipper, not too picky. I have one pet peeve that will put a black cloud over my dining experience. I do not consider myself a slow eater but I absolutely hate it when I am enjoying the appetizer I ordered and then the salad comes 2 minutes later. Or if I am still eating my soup and the entree is brought out. Can they not see that I am obviously not ready for that food? I do get an attitude and I will ignore the new food on purpose and make sure they see me taking my time getting to it. I hesitate to send it back "until I'm ready" for fear I will piss them off. What is the best way to handle this situation?

Sign me,

Still eating

Dear Still Eating,

On behalf of all waiters please accept my heartfelt apology that they brought your food out too soon. Yes, that can be annoying I know. But the one thing that I find even more troubling in your letter is that you order an app and then follow it with a salad. Salad? After an app? I don't get it. Maybe a salad as an app or maybe a salad for an entree, but what kind of sick health nut are you that you require an app and a salad? Maybe it's my upbringing in Texas, but to me the salad is the thing that you have to eat as soon as possible so it is out of the way and you can then focus on the real food. Like mashed potatoes and chicken fried steak. But back to your problem. I think you should just say when you order that you want to make sure the first course is finished before the next one comes out. I don't imagine that any server is going to care that much and worst case scenario is that shit will sit under a heat lamp until you are ready for it. By accepting the food and then letting it sit there on your table as you take your time to get to it seems like it's only making things worse for yourself. Trust me. The waiter doesn't care if you are trying to prove a point by making sure he sees you ignoring the food. All he's thinking is, "Whatever. If you don't want it yet, just tell me to take it back to the kitchen and keep it warm." If you don't say anything, they aren't going to do anything. In the future, just order your app and entree and just tell them to not bring out the entree until you are ready for it. Or you could always hold off on your entree order until you are almost done with the app. That will work too.

Most importantly though, chill out on the salad. Eat some fried cheese sticks.

Love,
The Bitchy Waiter

Turns Out Suze Orman is A-Okay

I need to rescind something that I wrote about someone a long time ago. Back in September of 2009, I wrote about Suze Orman and how she had supposedly gone on to The Oprah Winfrey Show and advised people to tip only 10% in order to save money. A few people were upset with me that I failed to do any research on this rumor before posting it on the blog.

Anne Marie said:

Does anyone EVER check to see if a rumor is true before they bitch? I couldn't give a rat's ass about Suze Orman or Oprah, but there's no evidence the Suze ever said this, and sure as hell not on the Big O. Fucking Google, people. There are thousands and thousands of real asshole customers, including celebrities if that's what you care about.

Get over it, Ann Marie. It's a blog, not the goddamn fucking New York Times.

Anonymous said...

Maybe you shold (sic) do some research before you post about gossip: http://www.snopes.com/politics/business/oprahtip.asp

The link is to Snopes and confirms that the whole Suze tipping 10% is a rumor. Anonymous also can't spell.

Well, when I was working at The Place That Shall Not be Named, guess who came in to eat. Suze Orman. And she sat in the station that I was training in so I actually got to wait on her. Thankfully, I don't work there anymore because we are not allowed to Tweet, Facebook or blog about the celebrities who come into the restaurant. But my ass was fired so I can blog away about it. Suze Orman was so fucking cool. She was friendly, polite, charming, gracious and funny. When a table next to her wanted to say hello, Suze was more than willing to have a conversation with them. "Girlfriend," she told them. "You must get the sundae for dessert. You. Will. Love. It." And Suze was generous too. Their bill was about $250 and they left a $100 tip. That is fucking cool. Of course, I was only training and didn't get to see any of that money and because of the way that place tipped out the server only got to keep about $35 bucks of it.

But I take back what I said about Suze Orman. She is one cool, big tippin', big grinnin', lady lovin' financial expert and I would be happy to have her in my station again any time. Suze, please accept my apologies.


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I'm Freakin' Sophisticated

Last night I decided to class my ass up a bit and went to a wine and cheese bar. After getting over the initial shock that a wine and cheese bar sells only wine and cheese, I went with a very delicious sounding glass of Pinot Grigio that had notes of light citrus and delicate floral aromas that were complemented by hints of tropical fruit flavors. It was also the cheapest. I sat in a leather wing back chair with my smoking jacket on enjoying the company of good friends and listening to the jazz music that played softly over head. The candles cast a pale warm glow across the room and the Christmas tree in the corner made the place feel like a second kind of home. The smell of cured meets and savory crackers filled my nose and the clinking of wine glasses was oh so comfortable. Then another sound erupted that was incongruous with the atmosphere. The sound was that of a little girl who was screaming with wonder at the Christmas tree that only moments ago had seemed so comforting. "What the hell is a little girl doing in a bar?" I hissed to a friend. I spun my head around to see where the parent of this wayward tot was and I saw her sitting at a table holding another child. Now there were two things ruining my night; a little girl and a little boy. No, this was not happening. I went to this wine bar to be sophisticated and shit, not irritated and shit. The little girl started running towards our end of the room. I quickly shot a look that I thought would effectively create an invisible wall around my friends, but this little girl crashed through my barrier and sat on the step next to us. Of course she screamed as she ran. The mother got up and rushed over to the brat. I eagerly anticipated seeing a swat on the butt or a slap on the wrist to teach this kid a lesson. But no. The mother simply said, "No, no we don't want to bother these other people, sweetie." Newsflash, Mom: too late. I'm bothered. The mother then took the little girl by both hands and spun her around while the little girl laughed. And screamed. Then the little boy wanted a turn. What the fuck is wrong with people? Do they not see I am trying to be all mature and cultured? I'm sittin' in a freakin' wine bar for cryin' out loud. Jesus H. Christ.

The parents let the kids play as they finished their glasses of wine. Meanwhile, I had blood dripping out of my ears from listening to the kids scream with laughter at whatever the fuck makes a four year old scream with laughter. More than once I saw mom get up and join in on the fun making the kids even louder. It was simply not possible for me to give them an eye that was any stinkier than the one I was giving them. After about 15 minutes, I noticed that they asked for the check. Either, it was the kids bedtime or the parents finally realized that their darling children were annoying the fuck out of everyone else in the bar. After they left, I readjusted my face from the scowl and let my eyes resolve back to their natural state of bleary and bloodshot. Finally, I could get all sophisticated. I pulled out my pipe and put my feet up on the ottoman ready to enjoy my night of being civilized. I retied my ascot and ordered my second glass of wine, but this time I didn't get the cheapest one. I got the second cheapest one. 'Cause I'm sophisticated and shit.


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Don't Care Who Pays; Just Pay

Maybe it's me, but I am rarely in a situation where my friends and I are fighting to pay the check. It has been rumoured (and confirmed) that I am cheap, stingy, greedy and poor. So last night when I saw two people arguing over who would have the privilege of paying the bill, it was like looking into this weird other world that makes no sense to me. Coming from a history of dollar menus, Top Ramen and trailer parks I give thanks when someone says "no, let me pick up the check." Here is what I do not say after hearing those words: "Oh no, let me get it." Instead I say, "Okay, but let me order another round first then." (Right, Marlene?)

Last night at table six, three different people out of five wanted to be the big shot and pay the bill. The check was substantial too; about $179. As they were all flashing their credit cards at me trying to get me to take theirs, I looked at the two other people and gave them a knowing look. I shared a brief telekinetic moment with each of them as we looked deep into each other's souls and recognized the cheap ass kinsmanship we shared. Meanwhile, three credit cards were being thrust at me. I have a rule. The first person who either says they are paying or gets the card or cash in my hand is the one who pays. I don't care. I wish I could just flat out ask who is going to tip the most because then that would be who will pay, but it somehow seems a bit tacky to do that. I may be be cheap, but I ain't tacky. Okay, I admit it. I am cheap and tacky. Case in point. So I took the credit card from the pasty faced man because he was the one who made eye contact with me first and had his credit card the most accessible. As I walked away from the table, I heard the other two wannabees grumbling about how I should have taken their credit card. Again, it makes little or no difference to me who pays. Unless Pasty Face's card was declined, he would be paying. The only time I may go back on my own rule is when the people who are both wanting to pay are of different genders. In that case, I always go with the man. No, not because I think a gentleman always pays or I think that women don't deserve equal rights. It's because in my experience, men just tip better. Sorry ladies, it's a fact. If I have a choice between a four top of men or a four top of women, bet your bottom dollar that I am going to take the men. In the case last night, all three who wanted to pay were men, so Pasty Face won. When three men are trying to outdo each other by flashing their American Express cards, I just wanna tell them to get a ruler, go to the bathroom and measure your dicks already.

Pasty Face's card was successfully run and he left me a fat 20% tip, so I definitely was pleased with the outcome. The two other men probably felt like Pasty Face was the winner but in my eyes the winners were the two silent people who never offered to pay in the first place. They kept their mouths shut, their eyes down and their penis in their pants and left without having to open their wallets all evening. Job well done, you cheap sons of bitches. I couldn't have done it any better myself.


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