It’s no secret that working in the restaurant biz, you’re bound to have the displeasure of dealing with the lowest of the low; the scum of the earth if you will. If there was a contest for having met a crap load of crap when it comes to humanity, I’d win. Well, that’s a little ambitious but I’d definitely be in the running. If it’s not those to whom the concept of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ is foreign then it’s those who think tipping 5% after spending 4 hours taking up space at the bar and drinking a gazillion beers at two bucks a pop is appropriate. If it’s not the drunk guy that won’t quit hitting on you in the most obnoxious of ways until he gets thrown out, it’s the drunk girl next to him that gets jealous and starts punching him in his face. If it’s not the couple that’s sucking face and salivating all over the bar top and the complimentary bowl of nuts, then it’s the homeless guy that comes in and covers the bathroom walls with diarrhea. You get the gist; if it’s not one thing it’s another.
While my chamber is full of stories that’ll make the hair on your legs grow and your skin crawl, it’s also filled with anecdotes that are only slightly less significant but still make you go like whoa. They’re kinda like my mini reality checks; subtle daily reminders that just because a shit show doesn’t happen every single day, it doesn’t mean that I should relax and trust that we live in a peachy world full of wonderful people.
This is one of those.
On a slow Tuesday afternoon this guy walks in, sits down and says ‘I’ll have a Dos Equis’. The 5 o’clock shadow on his face combined with too thick of a gold chain around his neck and a few seemingly gangster tattoos prevented me from checking his ID; this guy was clearly beyond of age. As I’m pouring the beer, he proceeds to ask if “Trevor or Travis” is in. I advise him that no one by that name works here but that we do have a Terry. He then goes: “Well, I called around 10:56 am and Trevor told me that if I come in for happy hour, it’d be on the house”. Naturally, trying to hide the ‘wtf’ expression, I ask him if it was Trevor or Travis that told him this… He didn’t find my mocking him amusing. I didn’t find his poor attempts at getting free shit amusing either, so I put the beer in front of him and said “It’s four dollars please”. He paid with cash. He didn’t tip. Go figure.
Upon finishing his beer, he orders a Margarita. Much to his surprise, the second drink isn’t free either. He doesn’t pay for it right away though… I had to go through the whole ‘If you wanna start a tab, I need a credit card and if all you have is cash, you need to pay as you go’ speech with him. It took so long to drill it into his dumb head that he was finished with his Margarita by the time we were more or less on the same page. “I’ll have Sangria now” he goes. I don’t know if this guy’s mission was to have a hangover the next day or if he just wanted to try everything on the menu; perhaps his mission was to simply annoy the bartender on an otherwise beautiful Tuesday afternoon. Either way, I pour the Sangria, place it in front of him and give him the total for the last two drinks. Shockingly, he proceeds to question my math because it’s a dollar more than what the menu says… Have you heard of a thing called ‘tax’ you freaktard? I understand you’re not familiar with the gratuity concept; never mind the fact that the person serving you chooses to smile and explain things kindly, instead of ignoring you and your ignorance and making you wait while you contemplate your behavior… But you do get that 5 + 5 + tax doesn’t equal 10, right? Begrudgingly, he smirks and pays up. Doesn’t tip.
I wish I could say this guy was making my blood boil, but no. I see this kind of thing all too often. I don’t expect much from this type. Anyway. At some point he leaves his almost full Sangria and just walks off. I’m like alright, cool, he might be back and it’s not like I have a bar full of people waiting to be seated so whatever, I’m not gonna touch it. The dude’s gone for over 15 minutes! There’s no napkin on top of his drink, nor did he bother letting me know of his plans on coming back to finish it. So guess what? I dumped it. 10 more minutes go by, and this guy shows up, raising his hands up in the air, questioning me about the lack of presence of his ‘paid for’ drink. Listen buddy; get your silly expectations out of my face. You left no indication of your glorious comeback, nor did you tip me a single time securing any sort of courtesy on my end. So do please kindly f*ck off.
As I’m sure you’re able to gather by now, none of what was is going through my head is reflected on my face; me being a professional and all. Calm and steady wins the race, folks. He lets outs this slightly disturbed sigh and orders another Sangria. I give it to him. He pays. At this point I’m getting a serious psychopath vibe from this dude; for real, I’m somewhat scared he’s gonna pull out a bucket of acid and throw it in my face… you’ve heard those horror stories. Thankfully none of that happened and my face is still intact. The way he chose to end this encounter was by first asking me when my general manger gets in and proceeding to tell me that he’s a general manager at another restaurant himself.
B*tch, please! If you worked anywhere near the restaurant industry, you would know not to behave like a total cumtwat. You would know better than to demand your first beer without so much as a greeting. You would know better than to pry for free drinks immediately after. You would know better than to assume that you can walk into a bar for the first time ever and not have to give up a credit card to start a tab. You would know better than to not tip after receiving service. You would know better than to walk away from your drink without so much as letting the bartender know that you’ll be right back. If you were the GM of a restaurant, you would know better. You should know better, mother*cker. Rant over & that’s just a tiny little anecdote, folks. Welcome to my life aaaand I’m back to my fabulous and charming self now. Thanks.