Restaurant Rant

Look, we've all worked in restaurants at one point in our life. Yes, every single fucking person has. So why do people feel the need to pull all kinds of douchebaggery in restaurants? And do all handymen moonlight as porn writers? What the fuck.

Anyway, so you know the guy, he comes into the restaurant. First off, he has four people on the busiest night of the year at 7:30 and when he is told he has to wait, he says he knows the owner, and why not? Every cocky asshole throws this card out there "Oh I know the owner, can you get him? And what's his name again?" Okay jerkoff, first the owner is in the back putting out pasta like the fucking flu vaccine for the two hundred people already fucking in here. Second, knowing the owner does not make a table come out of my ass.

So now it is 7:42 and the "asshole" as we'll call him, has pissed of the hostess in twelve minutes. The owner was asked to come out, to which he replied "Are you fucking kidding me?" and hit the busboy in the face with a scalding pan.

7:50 Finally the asshole's party is sat. Immediately he asks many questions, not noticing the server has a section of about one hundred other people, all of them also bitching. He looks over your extensive wine list, and finds nothing expensive enough, then proceeds to order a Sam Adam's, the wife will have a vodka martini. He seems unconcerned as he asks if he can get the sauce from the chicken special with his fillet, which he wants black and blue, and he wants it on the side. His wife orders and mentions that'd she would rather have spagetti instead of penne pasta. The menu says "no changes" but her husband is coked up and looks at you like he might actually attack you if you don't allow his precious her spagetti. You say it's not a problem. The head chef rips you a new butthole for even thinking spagetti could be served instead of penne.

8:10 you now have maybe three minutes to take care of every other table in your section besides the assholes.

8:12 a shrill cry rolls out from the asshole's table. His wife has gotten a cosmopolitan instead of her vodka martini. you realize that there is no tip coming, and he will probably try a dine and dash. You contemplate going into the kitchen and boiling your head in the pasta pot.

8:20 The salads have come out to asshole's table. He is displeased with how much dressing he has received. And the bread that came to his table wasn't skin scalding hot, he is angry. You return with more dressing and fire hazard bread and run away as fast as possible. Other tables around the asshole table have already become understanding as they see you at the waiter's stand trying to fit a gun barrel into your mouth.

8:50 The asshole's food comes out. You explain that the wait was due to the fact that the restaurant is filled with more people than Pamela Anderson's vagina. He cuts his steak, the temperature is wrong. He lectures you about the nuance between medium and medium rare, he wants the latter, and does not care that this request means a whole new steak must be made. He will wait.

You notice that the busboy has not come back to the table, when you find him doing whip-its out of whipped cream in the freezer he explains that the asshole said a real busboy can carry everything from the table with one hand. He then called the busboy a faggot. The busboy realizes he may actually be a faggot, and is now having a life-crisis. The other busperson is a female. You are not sure how to describe this mess, but "fucked" almost works.

9:15 The asshole is visibly angry, he gets his medium rare steak. Momentarily free as he is shoveling beef into his mouth like Sasha Grey, you evacuate the table. It's cigarette time.

9:18 The asshole seems to have cleaned his plate. Literally, you think this dish could skip the dishwasher. But he claims his meal was horrible and he hates you and the busboy is a faggot and he can't get it up anymore without Viagra and he's out of blow so fuckyoubuddy.

9:18 You offer a free dessert for his trouble, he grunts. He asks if you have cappuccino, you don't. Apparently it is the only after-dinner drink he will have. As you go to run he turns to nearby tables to ask if they think this place is an immigrant shithole like he does, they are frightened.

9:20 You get asshole his free dessert and drop the check. You are no longer even aware of his speaking, the light at the end of the tunnel is there, you are almost free.

9:25 Alas, the asshole went into the bathroom, found his secret desperation coke stash, and now he refutes the bill. You explain every charge and tell him he has had drinks taken off for the previous mistake and the dessert and steak were free. He grunts several times. You try not to pick up the oil bottle and crack it over his head. You tell him he has something on his face, it appears to be dried blood and cocaine, he wipes it off. Licking his finger as you retreat.

9:30 the asshole leaves, you pick up the bill, not only did he not tip you, but he rounded down. You will pay seventy seven cents of his bill. You are not sure how you will get this anger out of your body. You look down at your watch, your night is half over. And you see a couple come in, a lovely young woman in a sexy dress. And a man with a popped collar only describable as "asshole #2," you go out back, barter one of the kitchen staff for the gun they keep around, and blow your head off.

The idea for this came from Jonathan, but it goes out to everyone holding it down in a shitty restaurant job, dealing with the assholes of the world. Every night.