Sometimes you just can't win

It's Friday night. Seven o'clock. Brand new chain restaurant in a backwater town. Two hour wait. I'm the certified trainer on the floor, with the busiest section. You get the idea.

I approached the table with some trepidation.

After all, we were only a week past the annual "make yourself a glutton" promotion at a rather well known Italian chain restaurant we'll just call the Oregano Farm to protect the guilty. I see before me a family which had become weekly regulars during the long running stress fest that is the "All You Can Eat, Write Your Own Menu" disaster. I hadn't had a chance to wait on them yet, but I'd seen them tearing through dozens of breadsticks in other sections. Five large and very hungry slices of middle America, all jammed into a booth. With a stifled sigh, I walk over to grab their drink order.

Not a menu is open, and all five of them are looking a little panicky.
"Good evening, my name is Karen, and I'll be your server..."


The rather rotund mother stops me with "Where's the menu with that all you can eat dinner?"
Cringing inside, I kick into survival mode. "I'm really sorry, but that special ended last week. We still have all the entrees which were available on that menu, excluding the pesto sauce. Would you care to sample some wine this evening?"

The father is not happy. "No, we tell you all every single week that we don't drink! Are you trying to make us sin? Whaddya mean the special's over! We came in specifically for that special! No one told us it was ending! Is there anyway we can still order it?"

I decide to try being sweet in hopes of salvaging my tip. "I'm really sorry sir, but it's off the menu. I don't even have any way to ring it up for you."

Mother snaps. I can see her doing the math. Dinner for them and their three attempts to breed, plus their always generous 12% tip, had been costing them $50. If they can't get the special, it's going to be double that. Without the tip. She looks across the table at her mate, and I see the air crackle. He'd better get that damn special, and quick!

"I don't like your attitude. Where's your manager?"
"I'll be happy to bring him right over, sir."

I stalk away, pissed now. I know what's going to happen. My meth smoking, waitress fucking manager is going to kiss their asses. He'll figure some way to get them the damn special. I will get the bitch out from corporate. Self important assholes win again.

I peek out from the kitchen, and see his red head nodding vigorously. Damn. I knew it. He speedwalks back into the kitchen, and gives me the rolled eyes. I'll hear about this later. "Charge them for five open foods, and type in the modifiers." Great. I'm now weeded.

Fast forward to the end of the meal. Forty five minutes of "Adam is such a great manager" "get me" "I want" "Take this" and "Miss?" later, I bring the check. I set it on the end of the table, smile politely, and annouce quietly that "I'll be happy to pick this up whenever you are ready."

"No." This from the lump that I think is their oldest son.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. What, are you stupider than we thought? We aren't paying."

I don't waste a second, but turn and go running for their new best friend. On my way, I catch my room partner and beg her to watch my tables, and not let 31 leave.

I find him working expo. "Adam, is there something about table 31 you might have forgotten to tell me?"

Wild eyed, he wheels around. Shit. He's been hitting his stash in the office. Whatever semblance of sanity he had tenuously held is now gone.

"I told you I was going to comp them! You never fucking listen. Servers are all worthless. I could run this place without any of you!"

Beyond pissed, I whip off my apron and throw it at him. "Then do it!" I go out the kitchen door, and almost make it to the front doors. Adam catches me there and begs "We really need you! Don't leave! I'll take them the comped check!" He holds out my apron pleadingly.

I take the proffered apron...and go back through the gates of hell.

Originally posted by The Girl in December, '06