Thursday, December 10, 2009

A blast from the past. Well, like 5 years ago.

I found this is the archives. It's an oldie but goodie.

Seriously, I have been schlepping food for 5 years and grow exhausted from it. I am tired of food, I am tired of watching people eat, I am tired of the constant noise in restaurants (clinking, clanking, yelling, breaking glass and exhaust fans- which I seriously think are rendering me partially deaf...)

I can quite often come up with humerous stories from the food service front lines- but today I'm telling the tale of the Harpie.

The Harpie is a 70+ year old lady who comes in most Sunday nights with her brow beaten husband. I will attempt to meet them at the door and am ususlly (no kidding) pushed aside by her as she charges in to her favorite table. God forbid that table 7 is occupied- God Forbid. I tried to offer them a different table one night and she grabbed my arm, dug in with her nails and shrieked "We're SITTING THEEEERE." Right you are, off you go. After they are seated I politely introduce myself and offer up a tasty beverage. This is met with "WE ARE NOT DEAF. DO NOT SPEAK IN THAT TONE." Okaay. I lower my voice to a hushed whisper, explain the specials and excuse myself. Every Sunday the Harpie orders sirloin, medium with a baked potato and a salad with bleu cheese. One time, long long ago she got a steak that was closer to medium rare. She has never forgotten that fateful day,despite the fact that she has consumed 2,300 steaks cooked to a perfect medium since then. I go to the table and inquire in my most silent whisper what they would like to have for dinner then I jump back (you'll see why.) "Sirloin" she barks, "Cooked MEDIUM." "Come closer" she says (as I cringe) and like a flash she reaches out and grabs my arm, nails digging in. "It must be done the way I LIKE it" she snarls "OR" (and at this point her beady little eyes narrow to slits and her voice lowers to a hiss) "I will send it back, I will NOT PAY and I won't come back" Oh, if only I could be so lucky I think to myself as I break free and dash to the other side of the table to take the husbands order. I put the order in and run to the kitchen and beg them to please, please send the steak out the second it reaches the right temp. Then I examine my war wounds and contemplate what sort of workplace compensation I can get for nasty-nail scratches. Typically at this point everything goes well, the steak is good, she temporarily forgets that she harbors an unprecedented level of hate for me and I am granted a moments peace. Until that is, the check has to come out...... Always, always without fail there is an item on the check that the Harpie has an issue with. My reflexes at this time have quickened to the point of being able to avoid her freakishly fast arm grabbing routine but I am usually subjected to a verbal beat down. I offer to get the manager, the husband at this point interjects, looks at the bill and reminds Harpie that she did in fact order, eat and enjoy the SIRLOIN and therefore must pay for it. GAHHHHHD, I think as I flee the scene of the disaster about $1 richer for all my troubles.

There are plenty of perfectly nice people who come in to make up for this wretched little woman, but it's the bad ones that you remember to avoid.

My word of wisdom for today is to treat your server nicely, we work very hard and are smart people (much to the dismay of many!!) So be nice people, please and thank you. XXOO MAW

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