W is for Waitress Thoughts

I penned an open letter to diners a while back where I covered some of the basics regarding the patron/waitress relationship. What I failed to do in that letter is really give those patrons a clear picture as to what goes on inside a waitresses mind while she’s slinging food to pay the bills.

I mentioned that even the sweetest, softest-spoken server has strung cuss words together in a creative way back in the kitchen; this is my warning to you: this post contains colorful language… because I am not the soft-spoken server, I’m the unapologetically loud one.

Greeting a Table…

Fuck, what are the soups today?

Hi, hello… I’m talking!

Silently judging…silently judging…silently judging…

Taking Orders…

Why are you pointing? Can you not read? Do you think I speak a foreign language? 

Of course you picked my suggestion. Just because I love it, doesn’t mean you will.. please don’t hold this against me.

I have no fucking clue what that drink is. I mean I wrote it how it sounds…I hope the bartender knows what the hell I’m talking about.

Time…

Monday: Two hours passed and it’s winding down… maybe I should start folding some napkins.

Friday: Two hours passed and it hasn’t even begun. 

All Week: Why won’t these people leave? Please, for the love of God, take your chattering elsewhere.

Condiments…

Fuck, I forgot the ranch. 

I bet you enjoy melted butter with your haddock every time, maybe you could have told me that while you were placing your order – but it’s not big deal I’ll run back to the kitchen and get that – I have nothing else to do.

Seriously, how can anyone consume that much ranch in one sitting?

Separate Checks…

Who the fuck had the pork chops and why the hell is there an extra Bud Light? WHO HAD THE BUD LIGHT?!

I wonder what the rest of my tables are up to, and what new ones have arrived, while I spend an eternity making sure this party of 24 people receive the right fucking checks.

Congratulations sir, the Bud Light is going on yours cause I have to fucking clue – please don’t notice. 

Tipping…

Do these people not realize we make two bucks an hour? I’m so happy they treated themselves to dessert instead of leaving a proper tip, assholes.

I don’t get it… they were so nice.

Shit, I feel bad for judging those people.

I can’t wait to offer that compliment to the electric company when they call to tell me my bill is due. “…Listen, they said I did a great job and everything was perfect – that has to amount to something.”

Wow, everyone is so generous tonight! Must be the weather [this is thought whether it’s sunny or rainy because the weather actually makes no difference].

Children…

Do you allow your offsprings to throw that much food on the floor at home? I don’t remember mine ever making the floor this soggy anywhere…

I hope this kid doesn’t think he’s getting cherries in his kiddie cocktail refill. 

I hate kids.

Wow, that kid actually said please and thank you – I love a kid with manners.

The Glamorous Side…

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I think I drank my weight in free diet coke and coffee tonight.

I wonder what I’ll have for dinner tonight at 10:30pm…

Holy shit, I forgot I had to pee this bad.

With all of that being said and thought, I do love my job. There are not many places of employment that would allow for my sailor mouth to let loose behind closed doors or that I can sit after my shift and drink adult beverages with my co-workers. Everyday is different, every shift provides new opportunities to bitch. Waitresses are good at that shit – but we appreciate the patrons who swing the judgement the other direction too.

It’s a waitress life and I fucking love it.

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