I don't mean to be difficult...

Why even bother prefacing a request with that sentence?  Especially when what follows is an inane litany of needless modifications and feined allergies.

Take, for instance, Cindy.  Cindy, along with her seven personality-deficient co-workers, came in for an office lunch birthday "party."  No drinks.  No dessert.  No smiles.  Just eight people sharing an awkardly silent meal.

Cindy, the token female of the bunch, was a cat-sweatshirt loving valley girl receptionist whose desperate need for approval and validation was apparent at the very beginning of this exercise in tedium.

"Oh Ron, did you want to sit here on the booth side?  Are you sure?  No, Ron, let me move.  I'll totally move.   I'll totally sit in the chair.  No, Ron, seriously, like, please sit on the booth side.  Oh you're sure you don't mind?  You're sure?  Seriously, Ron, just, like, tell me if you want to trade seats.  Even if it's after our food has come.  You're super sure you don't mind me sitting on the booth side?"

Enter me, trying to see how long I could hold my breath in an effort to kill myself.

"May I bring you all anything to drink?"

"I don't mean to be difficult," Cindy said, "but could I, like, get a half Coke, half Diet Coke?  Is that crazy irritating of me?  Do you hate me now?"

No.  I hated you before I knew of you.

"That's a rather simple request," I said, dismissing her need to be reassured.

"Ohmeegosh, thank you!  I always feel super guilty being annoying in a restaurant."

"Hmmm," I responded.

Everyone else ordered a water with lemon. 

"Ohmeegosh, should I have ordered a water instead?" Cindy asked.  No one responded. 

Once it was time to order, the eight of them played the passive aggressive game of "Let's See Who Orders First So I Know How Much I Should Spend."  I tapped my pen on my paper.  I looked at my watch.  I called out "I'll be right there" to non-existent customers.

Cindy decided to break the ice.

"I don't mean to be difficult, but could I get, like, cheese enchiladas but with grilled vegetables instead of rice and beans?"

"Sure," I responded.

"Because, like, I am allergic to rice."

"Ok."

"You're sure you don't mind?  Do you hate me?  You seem like you hate me."

"No, actually, this is how I address most people."

"Should I just get a salad instead?  Would that be easier??"

"And what may I get for you?" I asked Ron. 

Once the food was delivered, everyone huddled over their plates, elated to have a distraction from interacting with one another.  As soon as I walked by, Cindy half-raised her arm in the air with that faux look of guilt on her face.

"?" my eyebrow said.

"I am so, so, sorry," she stared.  "I totally don't mean to be difficult, but I don't like these vegetables.  Can I just get, like a side of fruit instead?"

"We don't have fruit."

"Well, like, how do you make your fruit margaritas?" she asked.

"With a fruit puree."

"Well, like, couldn't I just get a side of the fruit puree?"

"It's rather bland in taste [as are most articles in your closet I would imagine], and it's rather soft in form, so I'd have to bring it out in a bowl."

"Oh, no, nevermind," she said.

"Ok."  I began to walk away.

"I mean, it doesn't sound like you want to bring it out, and I don't want to be difficult, so I'll just eat the veggies I guess."

"Ok."

"Like...last time I was here the waiter just seemed more, like, I don't know.  He didn't make me feel like I was being annoying."

"I told you I'd bring out a side of the puree," I said.  "It's unfortunate if you feel like you're coming across as annoying.  What may I do differently?"

Silence.  Crickets. 

"Uhmmmmm nevermind," she said.  And for the first time, I saw anger.  "We'll just take the bill."

"But what about birthday dessert?" Ron inquired.

"No," Cindy snapped.  "We have cake at the office."

"No we don't," Ron said. 

"We'll just take the bill," Cindy repeated.

Minutes later, I returned to the table with a birthday dessert and placed it in front of the androgynous birthday creature.  Cindy glared daggers.

"I don't mean to be difficult," she said.  "But could you bring out the manager?"

"Golly, of course," I responded.  "Everything ok?"

"Well, like, it's just that you brought out the birthday dessert."

"Ok.  So you're upset that I brought out a free dessert for your friend's birthday.  Got it.  I'll let the manager know."

I watched as our imbecilic owner did the "Customer Dance" with Cindy, a dance consisting of cheesy compliments and insincere pleas to return to the restaurant. 

The owner, for all his years of moronic decisions, found Cindy's complaint to be silly.  I wasn't even scolded, something that I've admittedly started to enjoy.  Instead, Cindy and her co-workers left after splitting the bill eight different ways (Happy Birthday!).  And as I stood pretending to polish glassware, I listened to her as the party walked to their cars.

"Ohmeegosh, was I being super annoying today?  Was that, like, kind of uncool of me to call over the manager?  Do you guys hate eating out with me?  Was I a bitch about not wanting the dessert?  Am I the only one who thought the server was rude?  Do we really not have any cake back at the office?  I can totally go buy one at the grocery store. "

 

Comments

[Vicki]

People like her are why I walk in the back of the restaurant telling my staff that, "I hate people." And I'm the manager. LOL.

[Jasmine]

I've definitely been there. Why must there always be that ONE person? Everybody else at the table is fine, but here comes that one person who wants to control things...shame on that one...

[Bagel Fairy]

Saying, "I don't mean to be difficult, but..." is just like saying, "I don't mean to be bigoted, but..." in that it invariably precedes a difficult request, bigoted comment, or whatever else you claim to "not" be doning. Falsely presenting yourself as self-aware only serves to draw more attention to your douchebaggery.

[fed-up]

That's a pathetic excuse to call over the manager. I've never heard of such a thing.

"I called out "I'll be right there" to non-existent customers."

I'm going to use that when customers are being high-maintenance since my rushed looks at other tables sometimes isn't obvious enough.

[ubermouth]

You should have bitchslapped her into next week!

[Daniel]

If I had a million to blow I would buy a Mexican restaurant and hire you to run it and train all the servers. It might not make a lot of money but I would smile every single day.

[MM]

I think I have waited on Cindy and her co-workers before. Work in a hospital or something, yes?

[Kelly E.]

Curious. If you could compose a "dream team," or rather "nightmare" team for your ultimate worst table ever, would you include her? And whom else? The sassy black sisters, the loud bday Mexicans, the smelly Aremnians? You need to turn this into a TV show!!

[Walt Batycki]

Stories like this take the sting out of my terminal case of unemployment.

Bless you Bitter Waiter for taking a bullet of frustration in service to diners as an additional service to the rest of us.

I offer a 15% tip of my hat.

[Christie]

Clearly her only sign of self-awareness was being cognizant of the fact that she was, indeed, too fat to be eating free birthday dessert and thus was flouted by your determination to deliver said temptation to the table. Well played, sir, well played.

[Angry Waitress]

OHMEEGOSH I want to punch her in the face.

[Jodi]

That phrase makes me shudder and gives me horrible flashbacks of when I waited tables. You showed complete and utter restraint with her, in my opinion!