Monday, June 6, 2011

Why Your Server Hates You

Why Your Server Hates You.

You're Forgetful.
You order a vodka tonic. I walk from your table to the bar, make it, and bring it to you. Then you remember you'd like a lemon, not a lime. When I bring you that, you then remember you'd like a glass of water as well. I bring you that, and you remember you'd also like a lime with the water. FUCK YOU. Order all this shit at once or forget about it! If I have to make one extra trip to you I'm annoyed, but more than that, you're getting short poured for the rest of the night, you indecisive forgetful fuck.

You're British.
You fucking British fuck. You KNOW tipping is expected in America. You are the only foreigners who pretend to not know this to save your stupid one dollar, which is worth like half of your stupid euro. And you speak English! You KNOW. Saying "Cheers" at me is not enough. No other European people do this! People from Spain know about tipping, people from France know about tipping, fuck, people from Australia know about tipping and they might as well be from another planet! What makes it even worse is when your American buddy reminds you to tip and you stare him down like he just blew your cover in some covert assassination operation.

You're Cheap.
You make me list the price of every single drink we have, shaking your head and frowning at each one. Then you naturally order the cheapest thing. When it comes time to pay you wink and tell me "Just ring me up for a tea". Yeah, FUCK YOU. You aren't some special snowflake and if you can't afford to go out, don't go out! Also don't ask me if theres a "buy one get one free deal" or when I ask you what your tab name is don't tell me "put it on your tab". FUCK YOU.

You're Picky.
You know the names of many obscure liquors and beers, even though you can't taste the difference when you're accidentally given a well drink. You ask me "Do you have Rumpstockenbechlt 13-year old Light Rum?" and actually look disappointed when I say "What the fuck are you talking about?" The liquor we have is clearly displayed right in front of you. That is what we have. We don't have anything else. So spare me the ten minutes of "Do you have...*insert name of something they make only in the small Icelandic village of Krumpeschpraten*".

You're a Giant Douchebag No One Will Talk To.
Every single person in this bar has rejected your attempt at conversation because you are just such a giant fucking douchebag. So naturally you decide to attempt conversation with the one person who is quite literally trapped and sort of forced to be nice to you. You come up to my bar and attempt to start a conversation with a way too personal question like "What is the meaning behind your tattoos, like, what do they represent?" or "Do you have an emotional connection to that song you played on the jukebox?" My only defense is to try to look incredibly busy, but even if I AM incredibly busy, you are still going to sit there, talking at me, until you get angry and say "Hey, I'm TRYING TO TALK TO YOU!!" I am not your therapist, you giant douchebag, go pay someone to listen to you.

You Won't Fucking Leave.
You haven't ordered a new drink in three hours and are sitting at the largest table with twelve of your friends, most of who ordered nothing, and the rest also nursing the last few melting ice cubes in the glass of the one drink you ordered. You're taking up the largest table of my section and I'm wondering if you're going to bust out a tent and camp there. You are costing me money, asshole. You are taking up space that could be used by people who are actually going to buy something. If you want to sit around and chat and not order shit, have a house party. Now get the fuck out!

You Brought Your Kid/Dog/Ferret/Other Messy Obnoxious Being:
This is a bar. Why did you bring your kid to a BAR? Of course it is now bored and smearing anything it can find all over its plate, the table, the floor, and the walls. And why did you bring your dog to a bar? Its inevitably going to pee on something. Naturally you make no effort to clean up anything your obnoxious being splatter painted everywhere, and tip me fifty cents on a $60 tab. Because you've got this kid, see, and you just don't have the money for "extras" right now.