The Bitter Bistro

Today is National Wait Staff Day!  Hell must be freezing over.  That's right world, a day to recognize the people who: make your mojitos recommend wine pairings put up with you ordering one drink at a time tell you the specials take your picture with 5 different cameras clear your plates seat you take your reservations get you more ketchup get you more ranch listen to you list everything you're allergic to listen to you complain about the traffic and how long it took you to get to the restaurant have to interrupt you when you're making out at the table have to maintain professionalism even when your right boob has popped out of your dress take your order when you're breastfeeding your child bring you another knife when you can't see the one in front of you split your check  take 8 forms of payment have to cut you off when you've had too much to drink put up with you writing "can't tip. Mother of two" on the gratuity l

The heat wave has made the freaks come out.  And as my luck would have it, they all sat in my section.  To say the least, my shift the other night was anything BUT dull.  I have previously stated in posts that all a customer has to do is complain about anything and they'll get something for free.  I stand corrected. It seemed as if a giant trailer from a trailer park had pulled up in front of my restaurant and let out a bunch of people.  The people that sat in my section were a box-wine-drinking, demanding, and tube-top wearing bunch of hillbillies. One woman sat herself at a table.  She responded to my "Hello, how are you tonight?" with, "I want bread and butter." I told her I would take her order first, and then bring some bread. "How much is your cheeseburger?" "Let me check," I replied.  I checked the price and came back.  "It's $21.00." "That's too much.  I'll have a salad.  How big are they?&qu

The title of this post seems fitting to what happens in a restaurant on a daily basis.  We harass the crap out of each other.  (Allegedly.)  The fact that a place wants to cover their ass in case someone files a sexual harassment suit is understandable, but handing out a handbook with the title "Sexual Harassment Training" is telling us that it's a book to teach us how to sexually harass our co-workers, and we are going to take advantage of it.  Because a restaurant is not complete without sexual harassment. There's really not a day that goes by where somebody finds a way to use the "that's what she said" line.  It's almost second nature.  It's a great way to make any conversation that much better, take a jab at somebody, and keep you on your toes.  (That's what she said.) And it never fails that after a seminar for sexual harassment, the sexual harassment level rises exponentially for the next week.  Because it's on our minds.  I t

Mother's Day is almost here.  In honor of the woman who squeezed you out of a hole the size of a lime, you show her your appreciation with Hallmark Cards, corsages, and making a reservation at four different restaurants for brunch. Why not get her more than one corsage?  Multiple Hallmark Cards?  No?  Making reservations at more than one restaurant is a lame idea as well. I was glancing over the reservations at my restaurant the other night and saw a long list of people coming in for brunch on Mother's Day.  To a server, this should mean (CHA CHING!)  But working in the industry as long as I have has taught me to not believe anything reservation until I see their annoyed faces crammed into my section. STOP MAKING RESERVATIONS AT MORE THAN ONE RESTAURANT BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DECIDE WHERE THE HELL YOU WANT TO GO! The restaurant may or may not take a credit card to hold your reservation, so we are counting on you to show up.  And by counting on you, that means that we w

When a guy hears that size doesn't matter, think again.  Well, for the obvious and also for food.  I recently have been getting a lot of questions about how big the dishes are at my restaurant.  These inquiries have gone way beyond the "I don't want a huge amount of food" type of people. Just the other night, a couple kept me for longer than needed at the table because of their questions about the size of all of our fish entrees.  In my college nutrition class, I was taught that a serving size of fish should be no bigger than the size of a check book.  Unfortunately, nobody knows what the hell a checkbook is anymore. So I'm stuck using my hands to describe the size of the fish.  But if you were watching me, you probably would be thinking that I was describing the size of my penis by the way I was showing the distance between my thumb and fingers.  By as it may, a serving size of fish is about the size of an average penis. But customers don't even grasp