Can’t Wait To Get Back To Work Today.

October 30, 2006

Before I launch into the other night at work, let me tell you about the little get-together I wrote about earlier. I couldn’t tell you a story longer than two sentences and it make sense so I’ll give you a run-down of the things I remember:

1. Buying marshmallows at the gas station down the street.
2. Walking the entire way with Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.
3. Coming back to the party with pizza-flavored Combos.
4. Seeing a full bag of pizza-flavored Combos when I woke up.
5. A fireball. Literally.

Next time I write there’s a party, I expect you guys to come.

Now, on to the other night. I was walking by this jackass of a father who, with his kids mind you, said to me:

“Hey, you look like a girl in that little kimono you’re wearing.”

Some backstory: We have to wear these coats at work that look like kimonos. End of story.

So I stop, am already pissed because I just got shafted on a tip and said:

Me: “At least I need this kimono to look like a woman.”
Him: “Excuse me?”
Me: “I said…”
Him: “I heard you. How dare you! I’m telling your manager.”
Me: “Have fun.”

Long story short, the father didn’t have the balls to tell the manager and instead just gave me a dirty look the entire night. One of the kids even stuck his tongue out at me. To this, I said:

“Didn’t your father ever tell you to treat a lady with respect?”

This infuriated the father. Serves him right. Screw him.


Three Day Vacation From Work.

October 26, 2006

I’m planning a little get-together at my house this Sunday night for Halloween. If any readers live anywhere near Florida and wants to attend, just shoot me an email at ryan@iserveidiots.com. I’ll be more than happy to give you the directions.

P.S. If anyone wants to know, yes, I will be inviting the new illegal immigrant dishwashers and busboys from work. It will be a hell of a time.


It Doesn’t Stop With You, Does It?

October 25, 2006

Dear Your Saviour,

I looked up your most recent IP address and I’m pretty sure the University of Toronto’s Computing and Network Services Department would look unfavorably on you using their computers and resources to launch into tirades on some guy’s blog about serving.

I took it upon myself to email the head of the department so he can either fire you for being on my site on company time (if you work there) or bar you from using their computers ever again (if you go to school there or visit there).

Have a nice life up in Toronto, big guy.

Love,
Ryan


It Doesn’t Make Me Sexist To Assume The Guy’s Got The Check.

October 24, 2006

Forgive me if I’m wrong, but when a couple goes out to eat, is it not the man that takes up the check over 90% of the time? Last night, i had a couple in their mid to late 20’s and the woman looked like she had a stick…no, make that a frickin’ 2 x 4 up her butt when I walked over and put the bill in front of the guy:

Her: “Ummm…why did you just assume that HE was going to pay for it?”
Me: “Because guys usually pick up the check.”
Her: “EXCUSE me?”
Me: “Ummm…”
Her: “That is soooo sexist!”
Me: “Well, here you go.”

And then I handed her the check. I went to go pick it up a little bit later, ran the credit card through and put the bill back on the table in front of her. Not a minute later, I saw the GUY signing his name because it was HIS credit card.

What a douchette. She bitches me out over principle and then doesn’t even follow through with it. At least the guy was cool. He gave me a 50% tip and a “Sorry my girlfriend’s a bitch” on the bottom of the receipt. So, if anyone knows of a Benjamin B. Rossain with a bitchy girlfriend, give him a high-five for me.


Bonus Post For The Night.

October 23, 2006

For all those that remember our friend “Your Saviour” and know ANYTHING about computers and can do something about it, his IP address is:

72.141.173.94

He’s also from Toronto, Ontario, Canada. So try not to be too harsh.


I Don’t Remember Asking For A Douchebag Customer Either, Douchebag.

October 22, 2006

Is it just me or is it whenever you’re serving a table of all-women, they always seem to order two or three drinks each. And EVERY frickin’ drink has a frickin’ lemon wedge in it. No matter the drink.

Me: “You want a lemon wedge in your Sprite?”
Her: “Uh…yea?”
Me: “It’s already got lemon in it. You know…lemon-lime?”
Her: “What’s lemon-lime?”
Me: “Wow.”

So when I get a table of four women and they all order (no exaggeration) eleven drinks between them, I assume that the waters the four women ordered need lemons in them. Boy how I was wrong.

Her: “What’s this lemon doing in my drink?”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Usually waters come with lemon.”
Her: “I’m allergic to lemon!”
Me: “You’re…what?”
Her: “I’m allergic to lemon! Did I ask for lemon in my water?”
Me: “No, but I assumed since you were getting the salmon dinner that’s cooked with lemon you’d be okay with it.”
Her: “Since when is fish cooked with lemons?”
Me: “Umm…forever?”
Her: (Rolls eyes)

P.S. You black people need to step it up. You Europeans too. I’m getting less and less from you guys and the white people are having to make up for it.


The Worst Day Ever: As Told By Mallory.

October 21, 2006

I have a co-worker, Mallory, who recently had a terrible, no-good, bad kind of day.

She came to work and complained that the haircut she got that morning was “too short” and looked like a “boy’s haircut”. I didn’t even notice anything because she always keeps her hair short. She kept mentioning it over and over and I guess that’s what made everyone notice it. Mallory, here’s a little tip: Don’t want people to notice your haircut that got cut a little bit too short? Don’t say a word. Not one.

Anyway, she thought her hair was too short. I’m getting some drinks for a table and I hear one of my fellow servers, John, talking to a chef, Mike. As Mallory comes walking up right behind them, the conversation goes as follows:

John: “You know, it [her haircut] kind of reminds me of my aunt’s.”
Mike: “It kind of reminds me of my uncle’s.”

Guys, harsh.

Not an hour later, one of Mallory’s customers asks her point-blank: “So, how far along are you?”

Cue Mallory walking to the bathroom to cry.

Poor girl. I will say one thing in her defense: Those kimonos (for girls) and happy coats (for guys) we have to wear put on at least 20 pounds to whoever’s wearing them.