I was stuck waiting on five fratty dudes the other night. I could tell they were displeased when I, a male, approached their table. In fact, they couldn't immediately decipher why I came to their table. However, once I made my intention clear with a drink order inquiry, I learned just how stupid they were.
"Aaaah bro, you're our WAITER?!" announced Joey D. "We thought you were just coming to, like, chat or something because you just stood there staring at us. I was gonna be like 'Duuuude don't just come randomly chat with a bunch of dudes.'"
"Yes I can see how my coming to your table in a restaurant while wearing an apron with a pad of paper and pen in my hand would be misleading."
"Hey bro," interrupted Joey T. "Can I get a beer?"
"Any one in particular?" I asked.
He looked at me as if I'd just asked him to name the eight wonders of the world.
"Dude, whichever's cheapest."
You're in a restaurant decorated with stuffed armadillos that's in between two drug stores, a Gap and a combination burger/donut/milkshake shop. It's all cheap, dickhead.
"Do you all have buckets of beer?" Joey G. asked.
"We do not."
"Gah, this place sucks bro," Joey E. informed me. "I'll do a margarita."
"Any one in particular?"
"Which flavors you got bro?"
I rattled off the flavors with the aplomb of a stoned Baskin Robbins employee.
"I'll have a strawberry margarita," Joey E. declared.
"Dude," Joey T. cautioned him, "Don't get a fruity drink. Everyone will think we're gay."
Right. You're just five muscle-bound guys with freakish tans and freshly shaved chests wearing colorful wife beaters and ironic RVCA hats that match your chartreuse sneakers. The only thing that would make your table gayer is if Michele Bachmann's husband sat down and blessed your food.
Joey E. gave Joey T. one of those awkward "I'm craning my neck and opening my eyes in the direction of our waiter because I think what you just said might offend him and thank God he can't see me doing this" looks.
"Ooooooh," Joey T. said with pensive realization. "No offense to gay people, dude."
"None taken, collectively," I replied.
In defense of the bros, they bought me a shot of cheap tequila (albeit one that had first been refused by the slutty girl at the table next to them). And shortly thereafter, upon seeing a different table of three average-looking college girls arrive, they cashed out with me and invited themselves to sit with the girls.
However, an hour later, Joey D. drunkenly approached me as I was taking another table's order.
"Hey dude," he said. "I think I over-tipped you, and I'm all outta cash. I need to buy that girl a shot of something."
With that, I handed him back his tip in its entirety. All two dollars of it.