I had the pleasure of waiting on Ebony recently, along with her two thrifty sistas.
I replayed my standard greeting of insincere pleasantries while setting down the chips and salsa. Instead of acknowledging me, Ebony barked:
"Y'all got any other chips?"
"What kind of chips would you like?" I asked.
She looked at me with a mixture of confusion and offense, as if I had just recited the alphabet backwards while wearing a Klan hood.
"What other kindsa chips you GOT?" she asked.
"Hmmm none." I replied. "Most Mexican restaurants only have tortilla chips."
"Yeah well your chips are nasty," she said, arms folded and head rotating like the Tilt-a-Whirl at a state fair. While continuing to devour the nasty chips.
"May I bring you anything to drink?"
"What kindsa margaritas y'all got?" Ebony's friend (heretofore referred to as Chardonnay Johnson) inquired.
"Do you mean which different fruit flavors?" I asked.
"Uhm, no, I mean what kindsa margaritas y'all got?" Chardonnay repeated.
"There's a drink menu," I said with restrained contempt as I pointed to the menu she was holding.
"Dang, $6 for a margarita? Don't you have, like, two-for-one like they do at [mumbled name of bar I couldn't understand, I assume it was near LAX]?"
"Are you sure?" Ebony asked while batting her Rite Aid brand eyelashes at me. To say she was barking up the wrong tree, well...no clever quip about understatement could ever do the sentiment justice.
"Well what DO you have?" Ebony asked while repeating state fair ride motions.
"There's a drink menu," I said with not-so-restrained contempt as I once again pointed to the underrated and apparently useless conveyor of information.
"We need a minute," Chardonnay said.
I walked away. But before I could take three steps...
"HEY!" Ebony snapped.
I turned around, folded my arms, and raised my bitchiest eyebrow. Unless the building is on fire, or unless tequila is free-flowing from the fire sprinklers above, do not ever address me by yelling "HEY!"
"Mm hm?" I muttered.
"Don't y'all bring out cheese sauce or gwuacko-mo-lay dip?"
"Not unless you verbally express an interest in ordering it," I replied.
Ebony looked at her sisters. Clearly I was being unreasonable by not anticipating their cravings. I felt an immediate sense of regret for having been cross earlier.
Just kidding. These dumb entitled bitches were pissing me off more than ever.
"We'd like...cheese sauce...and gwuacko-mo-lay dip...okaaay?" she said.
"Ok," I replied calmly. "Anything else you'd like to order from me while I'm here now?"
"We'll let you know," she said.
The appetizers arrived. I checked back a few minutes later, and by "checked back" I mean Chardonnay tapped me on the shoulder while I was taking another party's order and informed me that my presence was requested.
I returned to the ladies.
"Mm hm?" I inquired.
"Actually," Ebony began in her "Let me tell you something" tone, "We're really unhappy with the service and the prices, so we're just gonna leave. But we at least wanted to be polite and let you know."
"Fantastic," I replied, "I'll be right back with your bill."
"Uhhh, esssuse me?" Ebony said.
"The bill?" I reiterated. "For your queso and guacamole?"
"Nah, see, we shouldn't be charged for that," she said. "I don't think that's fair."
You're right. What would be fair would be for me to let you walk out on your bill, small as it is, then rightfully call the cops on you. Let's let your friends and family down at County deal with your unfounded sense of privilege, your complete lack of class, and your bizarre sense of offense at everything I say, you massively unpleasant **n*.
"If you don't want to pay, I'll have the manger come over," I said. "You ordered those two things, you ate all of them, what's FAIR is for you to pay for what you consumed." I was unnerved by how much I was unnerved. I heard my voice quiver and my hands begin to tremble. But I stood my ground. I glared daggers at all three of them. I would have gone to the trouble of explaining that when someone walks out on a tab, I'm left to pay for it, but you can imagine how much faith I had in their sympathy.
So instead I sent over the manager. He listened to Ebony rail on and on about the gross injustices committed against her. He made them pay the bill, and they exited (do I even need to throw in the detail about no tip?).
Sometimes when I deal when unpleasant people, I think it's amusing and I can't wait to run home and blog about it. Other times, I become frustrated with the expectation that I'm supposed to be nice to EVERYONE, even when their perverse claims of discrimination are manifested in their own intolerant, hypocritical, disrespectful treatment of others.
But enough gravity. No one's forcing me to stay employed as a server, I realize that. And as long as someone appreciates my bitter little voice, I can justify the frustrations.
Still...dumb entitled bitches...