I’m a generous tipper. I’m acutely aware of how horrible human beings are, and I know they’re at their very worst when they’re hungry. So when I take out my phone to use my tip calculator app, and I regularly choose 20% as my standard, I feel like I’m doing my civic duty. Not to mention, in the afterglow of a delicious meal, money has no object—you’re happy, your belly’s full, and with any luck, you just spent some time dining with someone that doesn’t make you want to stab yourself in the eye with your salad fork.
I’m not that bold.
Image from Google
Up until yesterday I was on a hot streak of decent waiter/waitress service. In the past several trips out to restaurants, I had received a range of mediocre to very good service. In short, I haven’t experienced a bitchy, jaded wait staff member in quite some time. Unfortunately, the spell was broken yesterday at lunch with my friend at a small, local restaurant we frequent.
We stopped in for lunch, and the place was just about empty. Besides us, there were probably 5 other people there excluding the staff. We were seated immediately, and shortly thereafter we met the individual responsible for our dining experience, who will henceforth be known only as Cunty Waitress. Cunty Waitress took our simple drink order, a glass of water and a Pepsi, and also prematurely asked if we wanted any appetizers to start out with. Uh, slow your roll, I just finished unzipping my coat over here. But because I’m committed to being the most accommodating asshole customer that I can, and since I did already know I wanted a bowl chicken noodle soup, Monday’s soup of the day, since she asked, I figured I’d give her this information now in the hope the chef would personally begin preparing the finest bowl of soup ever to leave his/her kitchen.
Even though I wasn’t ready to choose my entrée, I made my soup desires known. She jotted it down, made a face, and insisted, “Well, then maybe we should just wait.” …What? Wasn’t this the very information she just asked me for? Now she’s soupblocking me all of a sudden? What I thought was an isolated incident of overzealous, hurried waitressing was really just the beginning of her cuntitude.
What followed was the typical chain of events: Cunty Waitress came back and mixed up our drinks, took our order, brought us salad, bread, and my delicious soup. While I wouldn’t say I was thrilled by her service at this point, I wasn’t exactly unhappy either. The time came for our entrées to arrive, which is always the most exciting part of the meal. While my friend dug into her pasta, and I shoved an entire half of a chicken wrap into my mouth, Cunty Waitress came back and asked the following question:
“Is everything satisfactory?”
How I want every meal to be.
Image from Google
Even with pieces of chewed up lettuce and chicken spilling out of my mouth, I was perturbed by this question. In my entire history of going out to eat, I’ve never had a server phrase the question that way. Typically they’ll ask, “How is everything?” or “How’s everything tasting?” …Is everything satisfactory? Look, I think I speak for everyone when I say that when it comes to food, I don’t ever want a meal to be just satisfactory. I want my tongue and teeth to hold hands and join in a chorus of jubilation at how delicious everything is. I want to taste all the different flavors the way Remy explains in Ratatouille. You’re not asking about how a used car is running or how my stay was at a hotel—this concerns matters of sustenance! Satisfactory? Nay. I want every meal to be phenomenal, orgasmic, and delicious. These delicate semantics should be part of every waiter’s or waitress’s training. With that inquiry, I should’ve known that from there on out, everything but the service was going to be satisfactory.
Roughly two minutes after the “satisfactory” incident, I’m drinking my water and getting ready to dig into the second half of my chicken wrap. My friend’s in the midst of twirling some pasta around her fork when we were graced interrupted with Cunty Waitress’s presence once more.
“Did you need some containers here?”
It occurs to me that I’ve left something important out of this story. Prior to now you’ve been under the impression I was just having a nice lunch with one of my friends, but this was actually a double date. It was a very special gathering, as both of us decided to bring our significant others, our appetites, with us to this meal. Now, I could understand offering the containers if we were doing the occasional pick at the food, if we were forlornly looking around the restaurant in a full-stomach despair, or if you had seen either one of us unbutton our pants, but none of those conditions existed–so would you mind giving us a little privacy over here? We haven’t even had our food more than 15 minutes. Instead of getting the containers Cunty Waitress was pushing on us, my friend requested some more bread, which was delivered a few minutes later.
After some time passed, both my friend’s appetite and mine had left—they had another engagement—so we were left to fend for ourselves. Cunty Waitress showed up once more to bother my friend, who was still stirring her pasta and chewing her last bite, about the damn to-go container again. I looked down at my now-empty plate and leaned against the back of the booth to reminisce about the happy, albeit brief, time that I spent with my chicken wrap, and I decided to eat one last roll. As I reached into the breadbasket, Cunty Waitress swooped in like a vulture circling above an animal carcass and grabbed my empty plate in one hand, the bread basket in the other. I barely had time to seize the roll before she started to snatch the entire hoard of bread away.
…And that’s when I truly got pissed. Ain’t nobody comes between me and my bread.
“Oh, were you done with this?”
My bread had no support.
My plate, where I had intended on setting my bread like a civilized human being, and the basket filled with rolls, were being held hostage by Cunty Waitress, hovering just above our table in her clutches. I stared hard at the single roll in my hand, as if to indicate, “Am I done? I’m still holding a piece of bread here–where the fuck do you expect me to put this?” Yet, she didn’t budge. So I curtly responded, “Yep.”
What had I done deserve this kind of service, to get stuck in this endless screening of Good Will Cunting? I hadn’t made any special requests for things on the side. I didn’t ask asinine questions abut the menu offerings. I even tried to do her a favor with an immediate soup order! I ripped my bread in half, littering crumbs all over the table that was unprotected by the plate she hurriedly whisked away from me. Why was she hustling us out of the damn restaurant? It’s not like we were eating at some trendy , in-demand place with hungry hipsters loitering in the lobby, waiting for a seat. It was one o’clock in the afternoon on a damn Sunday at a restaurant that only gets marginally busy even during peak hours.
Our bill came to $24.72, and after a huddle that lasted all of two seconds, we agreed Cunty Waitress’s tip would come to a whopping $2. When she brought us back our change, she gave us a five and a ten dollar bill along with some change. Now, Cunty Waitress was already trying to scam us. According to my calculations, the 20% tip she should have gotten came to $4.94. In giving us a five and a ten dollar bill, she was making the assumption that her service was worth being rounded up six cents. I don’t like when my server makes assumptions about their service. The same applies when they ask, “Do you need change?” Under normal circumstances, I’d cut my losses and give a slightly higher tip to avoid asking for the dreaded change, but not after this display of cuntiness. As my friend gathered the ten to ask for smaller bills, a renegade penny fell off of the bill tray and into my friend’s leftover pasta. …Even our change was bold and determined to insult our server.
This penny sacrificed itself for an unintentionally amazing insult.
Little did we know, in asking for change we were really requesting a final cunty encore from our waitress. She swiped the ten out of my friend’s hand and rushed over the bar impatiently, then she left the room, giving me a dirty look on her way out, then she returned to wait by the bar again, tapping her foot impatiently. Well, apparently the bar didn’t have change for a ten—a statement that still boggles my mind—so she had to go to the carry out area to get our change. As annoyed as I was by Cunty Waitress’s impatience concerning our change request, I was inwardly giddy. Little did she know, she was running around and waiting to the get the very singles we planned on tipping her $2 with. When she finally we came back with the change and we tucked the two measly dollars in with the receipt, I noticed the penny, reflecting light from within the plate of pasta. As I zipped up my coat, I felt that awe-inspiring feeling of restaurant redemption–the incomparable feeling of power you get when give a bad tip to a particularly shitty waitress.
So the Cunty Waitress may have ruined my average restaurant service streak, but perhaps it marks the beginning of a new streak: the streak of consistently shitty restaurant service. Frankly, I almost hope it is. Two bucks and a penny (unintentionally) left in some pasta? That’s as close to omnipotent as it gets.
Is that would you would call penne pasta? Sorry that was bad. I am also an exceptional tipper and it really annoys me when people don’t serve me like I am the POTUS. Perhaps we should invent a sign that we can put on our foreheads that will tell servers what our average tip is, so they know to be nice. Then they could be mean to the not good tippers.
Oh man! Talk about pressuring you to leave. Now, as a waitress I know that sometimes it’s difficult to judge whether someone is finished or not. Sometimes someone has all of their utensils on their plate and they are sitting back with their arms crossed and they get mad at you for asking (I mean, come on!), but this lady was totally out of line. Don’t you usually offer a box to go after you’ve asked if they are finished and the answer is “Yes”? How odd…
The “satisfactory” question made me laugh. What a horrible way to say it. When I get a horrible waitress I have no problem leaving a next-to-nothing tip. I also don’t mind writing a little note on the credit card slip or speaking with the manager.
That first picture you have actually REALLY bothers me. “Get a real job”? That’s so horrible! As someone who takes a lot of pride in their work and loves it…I gotta say that’s hurtful. If I ever got a note like that I would be furious.
She must have had a hot date or something… God, I hate waitstaff like that. They give everyone else a bad name.
Well, as we were leaving a huge funeral party was coming in, so she was probably going to help with that in hindsight…
Maybe she just wanted to flirt with one of the suited men in mourning.
Haha – the “a penny for your thoughts” title is extra appropriate here. I’m sorry about your sh*tty service. I will pray to the saint of unshitty service for you.. There’s got to be one of those.
Ha! That was really a coincidence, but I think I’m probably going to change that. I wasn’t feeling that creative when I changed it.
Thank you, please also light a candle for me.
How dare you make someone do their job! Have you seen this group on facebook? https://www.facebook.com/ifyoucantaffordtotip?fref=ts Your story from the waitress perspective is going to go on there. She’s going to say how you were a rude customer and only tipped about 8%. How dare you!
Also, I like the new look. Very clean.
I would LOVE to hear the story from the waitress’ perspective. Basically I’d love to read any story that I’m in because… I’m in it.
Thanks, I like it more and more each day. I’m more of a black than a white girl anyway, which is probably the most easily misinterpreted statement I’ve ever written.
I love your use of the word ‘soupblocked’. As for the poor tip, hmmmm, I would have rather told her off and given her a $5 after sitting at the table for 30 more minutes with my friend.
That probably would have been more productive, but I prefer to handle things passive aggressively whenever possible.
I’m not sure it was as much passive aggressive as natural consequence. That’s another thing a lot of people don’t understand anymore. Natural consequences. I feel a post coming on . . .
I, too, love the ‘soupblocked” comment! I don’t mind tipping for decent service, but I won’t shy away from making a statement! This begs for return stories, doesn’t it? Well, if you insist . . .
I once got charged a whole soda for a sip i took from my boyfriend’s drink. Now, I understand the idea of free refills and everyone gets their own soda, but HEY — if you are going to charge me for my own drink, then by gum bring me my own f-ing soda! I didn’t get a glass, I just got charged for one. He paid for the soda with his tip.
A couple weeks ago, a hostess completely ignored me standing right in front of her. A server walked by and told me someone would be right with us. Then another. By the time the 3rd server came by and said someone would be right with us, I told him, “So I’ve heard.” I didn’t take it out of the tip since it was the hostess, but seriously…
Customer service is just common sense. Where is the common sense these days?
Oh my GOSH. Charged for a sip!? I had no idea servers were even MONITORING sips. If you had taken a bite of his food would you have been charged for that, too? And I hate to generalize, but I feel like one of the job requirements for being a hostess means you have to be a little bitch.
…Common sense, what’s that? You mean it’s actually rude to ignore someone? Since when…
I used to be a waitress when I was at college (I like to think I was polite and helpful) so I know how hard it is to be cheery when twenty customers are all clamering for your attention in your section and the kitchen is running 20 minutes behind and some smart arse makes a comment about how busy it is. Under these circumstances, it is only human for a little snarky comment or a frown to sneak out. This waitress didn’t appear to have any of these demands pressing on her, so what was her problem?! I also know how much of a difference tipping makes and I am so pleased you are a generous tipper. However, had it been me in that restaurant and a penny had fallen into my pasta, I would have taken that as a sign towards what her shitty service was worth and left her with just that. And she’d have to fish it out of the souce, so double whammy!
SAUCE, she’d have to fish it out of the SAUCE! Jeez . . .
The thought of her reaching into to get the sauce-covered penny was half of the appeal, honestly, even though the penny falling in was a total accident. I can’t imagine how hard it is being a waitress what with the asshole customers and the plate balancing and the creepy cook in the kitchen, but come on now. All I want from a waitress is a couple appearances during the meal, to be brought the right food and drink, and to get the bill in a timely manner. I’m not that demanding, really!
I think this is the one area where your game should always be on, especially if you want to pay your bills. I’m one of those crazy tippers too. If your service is great then the tip is gonna probably freak you out. If your service is crap though… the penny on the plate would have sufficed.
Oh, I’ve given a penny before. I think leaving change is the ultimate insult–it’s even more damning than not leaving any tip at all.
I like that the comments section says “A penny for your thoughts” – the perfect end. The new layout looks good.
You know what, that was actually just a coincidence, but I’m glad it worked out. Thanks, I thought it was time for a change. I like it a lot better than what it was, actually.
My mom and I do weight watchers. She lost over a hundred and I lost around 80. We stick to our diet pretty well, except on one day. Our SPLURGE day. On this holiest of holy days, we pick a delicious restaurant and we order whatever the hell we want. Usually I take leftover to my hubby, because we rarely finish it all. We just want to enjoy every flavor we can on the one day we can. We once actually had a waiter look at us and go “That’s an awful lot of food. You sure you want that many appetizers?”
Yes, we fucking want that many appetizers, and for that your tip just diminished by 70% and I will request a refill at every 2 minute interval, and about 5 more baskets of free bread, you prick.
That’s amazing! I hear of a lot of people that have had success with Weight Watchers. I love those Smart Ones meals that they have–I eat those for dinner a lot even though I don’t keep track of the points.
Oh my gosh, I hope I’m not about to read about a waitress spoiled your splurge day–that’s grounds for an ass-whoopin’!
How rude! That’s kind of how this waitress was, too! Like, listen bitch, it’s not often I’m eating bread, number one, and number two, don’t be taking food right out of my hand–I’ll cut you.
Yeah, the FEW times I eat out, I like to fuckin’ eat. I just expect everyone in the entire restaurant world to appreciate that.
You’d think. Sheesh, the more food you order the higher the tip WOULD be, if they could repress the cunty side of their personality. I count everything I eat most days…so yes. I will stuff my face to the fullest extent when I shell out the money to go out and eat somewhere I really enjoy.
Don’t want a bad tip? Don’t be a bad server. It usually works that way, but not always unfortunately.
That’s always been my philosophy. I’ve never worked as a waitress, but I mean, if my livelihood depended on me kissing someone’s ass for an hour while they eat? I’d put on some lipgloss and pucker up.
My solution would be to write. My stepson is a chef in a large restaurant and would like to know when service is not up to par. I would not go back otherwise. It is not an easy job and society has become rough to them sometimes so I, like you overtip to make up for people who are snarkey to them. But to not be professional and work correctly, in any job should be mentioned. There are a lot of people out of work who could use the job.