the bitter waiter: A side of stupid

When stupid people are nice, I can overlook their incompetence. When stupid people are rude, I cannot.

I waited on a family of four a few days ago (they all blur together - the families and the days). They beat me to my 5pm arrival time, and the host, in all his well-concealed wisdom, sat them in my section 15 minutes before I clocked in. I greeted them, and they were justifiably annoyed. They's also country, a reminder of my Oklahoma days and a rarity in Los Angeles.

"I'm so sorry," I said genuinely when they let me know how long they'd been waiting. "Our host is high" (and he wasn't the only one).

"We just wanna make sure we don't miss the window for Kids Eat Free," mama told me.

"Kids eat who?" I replied. "We don't have a 'Kids Eat Free' special."

"Yeah....you do," Papa said in a disciplinary tone.

I turned my head and studied him like Michael Myers examines his next victim.

"I promise we don't," I replied real uppity.

"Is this not [a loose variation of the name of the restaurant]?" he asked.

"It's [the correct name of the restaurant]," I clarified.

"The place with the sundae bar?" Mama inquired.

"Strike two," I responded.

"Sounds like false advertising," Papa concluded.

"Sounds like you went to the wrong restaurant," I replied real uppity.

"Well we'll see if there's anything we like on the menu," he said dismissively. "I'll let you know."

"Fingers crossed," I smiled, and off I skipped.

After I made them wait much longer than they made we wait, I walked by and gave an intentional "Oh I forgot all about you!" look. "Y'all ready?" I asked.

They ordered two portions of pasta and one order of fried chicken, with four Cokes to wash down their feast. Minutes before their food was ready, I noticed the booth was absent. Cleared, cleaned, and reset with silverware for the next guest.

"What the fuck is going on with table 34?" I demanded from the host, interrupting FaceTime with his boyfriend of three minutes.

"Ohhhh," he said, slowly, struggling to thread the words together. "Yeah, something about finding out the right restaurant? They left."

"Oh really?" I said with fake shock. "Here I thought they were waiting in the break room to surprise me. Were you going to tell me?? They didn't pay for their food!"

"Ohhhh," he said like a hypnotized mute. "Yeah...

I marched to the manager's office and interrupted her cat meme time. I let her know that this dine and dash was absolutely not coming out of my pocket. She agreed but ignored my suggestion that she write up/fire/castrate the host.

Minutes later, in the empty break room, I feasted on fried chicken, fantasizing about what I'd create at a sundae bar.