In honor of being finished with the restaurant biz (for now), I’ve decided to write a very special post on serving ass holes. I’m the type of person who focuses on the negative; therefore, I will not mention the positives of waiting, such as (missing information). To make it clear, I didn’t hate my job, or anyone with whom I worked; nope, I just hated most of the people who waddled through the door expecting perfection…at Tuby Ruesday. Honestly, when has anything ever been perfect? Then, why do you ever expect it to be at a slightly more expensive Crapplebees? You have to have a lot of patience to deal with dicks all day: ask any prostitute, urologist, or Asian masseuse.
Self-restraint is a necessity for keeping your waiting job, especially when the typical Bud Light-drinking douchebags come in and expect to have a cute waitress for them to hit on (they’re funnier and more suave than the other typical Bud Light-drinking douchebags; for that reason, without a doubt, the waitress will call Mr. Douche, who smoothly left his number on the table–a number that she will never dream of hanging on the back wall for everyone’s laughing pleasure–and then would be so obliged as to suck his nuts off after her open to close double), but they get me: their male server. Utter disappointment shoots through their veins, and they automatically hate me, because I don’t have tits, and they don’t have the “chance” to show their charm in hopes of banging my blonde little brains out. I feel the disdain so thick in the air that I could cut it with the knife you dropped to the floor and asked to be replaced, but being the ass hole you are, I decided to save myself a trip (since my other five tables are making me run around enough) and give you the same knife. Now, you can enjoy your buttered down steak in pure, fat ecstasy, and I can feel a pathetic sense of accomplishment for making things a little more even.
Serving ass holes is like serving a pack of wild dogs, but worse; dogs would at least have the common courtesy to gnaw your face off after they emasculate you. Every time I show up to work, I basically remove my scrotum, place it in a very, VERY small glass of soda water (as to prevent molding) for the duration of my shift. When I can finally get my nuts back, they’re no longer needed because my manhood has been so belittled that not even this man can sing like AC/DC. It doesn’t help being one of the only male servers in a restaurant; I’ll contradict myself in another post, but whatever. Being surrounded by female coworkers, most guys (mainly working class) get the idea that waiting tables is a girly job. Basically, because I don’t wear boots and a hard hat, I’m a sissy.
It’s an unspoken code between guys who are eating out (no jokes, perverts) that they want to get some hot, young, flirtatious waitress; not a hot, young, well-groomed stud like myself. You can tell by their dirty faces and shit-kicking boots (which track mud all across the restaurant, including my section) that these ass holes have just gotten off work; so, they follow their tasteless tongues to my work place, and order Bud Light to drown the fact that they hate everything about themselves. Upon having a shitty job, being covered in dirt, feeling like shit because of it, an extreme weight problem (even though this person labors in the hot sun all day), and not getting a sexy little wench to pass some lines on because it makes him feel young–like a time from his prime, before he knocked up his younger girlfriend, who shat out a couple kids and got just as fat as Mr. Douche–anyway, on top of all that, these dudes get some guy who makes them all look bad; so, they resort to thinking I’m gay to make themselves feel better. Now that they think I’m gay, these homophobes won’t tip. No matter how many Bud Lights I bring the douche bags, they’ll continue to resent me because they were stuck with a male server. Sorry boys, no leaving your numbers tonight to “call Bill (third from the left) for a good time ; )”. Really, it’s fine that they don’t like me, because I don’t like them.
Then the classic line, “If you don’t like working for tips, why don’t you find a new job?” Asshole, I’m lucky I have a job! When you go out to eat, tipping should be factored in to your final price. Can’t afford the meal AND tip at Tuby Ruesday? Go somewhere cheaper, or nowhere at all. A few more bucks out of your tight ass pocket will help me more than it hurts you.
I seem to have gone on a bit of a tangent, but that’ll happen. To wrap this post up, I’ll just tell you that as much bitching about being a server as I can do, and as much as I hate dealing with ass holes, I’m good at it; there’s not a hell of a lot in the world that I’m good at, and can get paid doing (hj’s behind the movie theatre aside). This is why DanRaySucks, and if you’re the kind of dick head who doesn’t “believe in tipping” (Mr. Pink), then you suck, too.
Tips to suck less:
-Leave a comment.
-Tell your friends, friends’ friends, random bums, etc.
-Finally, hock up a loogie and, well, take it from there.