I can't tell you what a pleasure it was waiting on Annie, a precocious, confident young 20-something. I can't tell you, because it was fucking miserable. Entitled, fake, and desperate for attention, she's the embodiment of what I detest about many restaurant guests.
She kept her unfriendly parents waiting silently in my section for 20 minutes before she finally arrived.
"Sorreeeeeeeeeeeeey!!" she announced in a pitch several octaves higher than her usual speaking voice. She held up bags from Nordstrom to show it was selfishness, not traffic, that made her tardy.
"Get something good?!" dad said, suddenly springing to life. He and mom smiled and doted on Annie. I didn't wonder where she found her wellspring of positive reinforcement.
And then she set her sights on me, smiling at me like I was a sick kid in a hospital about to meet Jennifer Lawrence.
"Hiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee," she said with a terrifying smile. "I need a drink, like, yesterday! Hahaha!" The three of them laughed, oh how they laughed.
"Is your Moscow Mule good?" she asked me.
"I like it," I replied, "and it's very popular."
"But neither of those answers if it's good," she said.
"Why don't you solve the mystery and order one?" I offered.
"Great!" she said. "But don't go too far because I'm starving and we'll be ready to order in literally 30 seconds. So that'd better be a quick mule, hahaha!"
They laughed, oh how they laughed.
I returned at my leisure with a mule for an ass.
"Is the salmon burger good?" Annie asked.
"Yes it's the best salmon burger in the world," I told her.
"I want that!" she exclaimed. "But I'd better like it, or I'll blame you, hahaha!"
"That's logical," I replied, then took mom and pop's orders.
Minutes later, the bus boy found me and said, "Bitch at table 63 need you."
I approached the table. "Everything in order?" I asked.
Annie just muttered "Hmmmm"s in increasing volume. I waited for her to express herself.
"I don't think you and I are, like, gelling on this Moscow Mule," she said.
"Want something else instead?" I asked. I could tell she wanted me to pat her head and apologize for that mean mule ruining her perfect day of shopping and leaching off her parents.
"Oh, well, okay..." she said in a wounded way. "Just the drink list," Annie replied in a much bitchier tone.
When I delivered their entrees minutes later, Annie ordered a Pinot Grigio without looking at me. The three of them inhaled their meals, then asked for dessert menus.
"Are your desserts good?" Annie asked.
"The most good," I replied.
"We'll try the pumpkin bread pudding," she said. "And you're lucky; that salmon burger was really yummy. Probably bumped your tip back up after the drink sitch." Annie and her parents laughed, oh how they laughed.
"I'll be sure to mark my thanks in my diary tonight," I said.
They left shortly thereafter, leaving a 10% tip and a frowning face on the receipt.
I polished off the rest of Annie's barely sipped Mule and thought about what I'd have for dinner later; something good.