<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319</id><updated>2012-01-13T16:24:11.023-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bitter Bistro</title><subtitle type='html'>An inside view of society through the eyes of a man with 15 years of service industry experience, and too much common sense.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>44</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-4496740429955300289</id><published>2012-01-09T01:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-09T08:43:45.625-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Honesty es no bueno!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kFh5vXdNfi4/Twq01g3dtQI/AAAAAAAAAQI/uRT2vphD6Uc/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kFh5vXdNfi4/Twq01g3dtQI/AAAAAAAAAQI/uRT2vphD6Uc/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am an honest person, and I believe that there is some form of karma in the world. &amp;nbsp;Some people are put here to test you and see how well you can interpret those situations. &amp;nbsp;After what happened to me one night, it seems that honesty is not always the best way to go about your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A gentleman was dining by himself in my section. &amp;nbsp;After some mild chit chat, I had determined that he spoke the Queens English, and this meant I was going to get a lousy tip. &amp;nbsp;(Sorry, but British people don't tip. &amp;nbsp;It's a fact.) &amp;nbsp;His total bill was 76 dollars. &amp;nbsp;He placed cash inside, got up and left. &amp;nbsp;When I went to pick up the check, I counted five 20's. &amp;nbsp;And on his actual check, he filled in the total with 80 dollars, and wrote in a tip of $4.00. &amp;nbsp;(I know, horrid. &amp;nbsp;But focus on what this blog is about.) &amp;nbsp;I counted five 20's again and determined that he was drunk and accidentally placed one too many 20's in the mix.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chased him down the hall. &amp;nbsp;He was staying in the hotel, so he was on the way to the elevator. &amp;nbsp;I caught up with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I saw that you wrote in 80 dollars for your total, but you accidentally left 100." &amp;nbsp;I explained.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hmmm... you're right. &amp;nbsp;You must be an honest person." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On my better days, yes." &amp;nbsp;I proudly stated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You should've just kept the extra 20." &amp;nbsp;And with that he stashed the 20 into his pocket, and POOF! disappeared into a cloud of black smoke leaving me stunned and upset that I somehow was the person who was wrong. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: &amp;nbsp;Honesty is not always the best policy to live by. &amp;nbsp;And Brits have lousy senses of humor and need to finally free Ireland!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-4496740429955300289?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/4496740429955300289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=4496740429955300289' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4496740429955300289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4496740429955300289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2012/01/honesty-es-no-bueno.html' title='Honesty es no bueno!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kFh5vXdNfi4/Twq01g3dtQI/AAAAAAAAAQI/uRT2vphD6Uc/s72-c/images-2.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-4497426255871276420</id><published>2011-12-20T15:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-28T14:04:48.253-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Vodka's not strong enough!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GuGMkC99RIM/TvuR9aNHNZI/AAAAAAAAAQA/mgtNSTKO4RE/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GuGMkC99RIM/TvuR9aNHNZI/AAAAAAAAAQA/mgtNSTKO4RE/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the fun things about many restaurants is that not only do they have a creative, seasonal, and fun food menu, many of them also have a drink menu to compliment the food menu.  (I'm not talking about the Cheesecake Factory's drink menu!  Too many choices.  And the poor bartenders who have to learn all of those ridiculous recipes. (One word that you should NEVER associate with bartending is "RECIPES.")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One shift, I had a table of seven people who all ordered drinks. &amp;nbsp;Everybody ordered some sort of fluffy cocktail, while one girl ordered a Grey Goose Vodka martini.  There are three ingredients in this martini:  1. Olives.  2. A glass.  And, 3. Vodka. There is very little of the first two, and a lot of number 3.  So basically the whole drink is Vodka. Perfect for any lush who thinks that she is still attractive, even though her attractive ship sailed ten years ago.  After the first drink, she waves me over..."I love this martini, but I don't feel buzzed, and I would usually would feel a little fuzzy by now.  It doesn't take a lot to get me drunk."  She raved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I politely explained, "The only way to make your vodka martini any stronger, would be to use a bigger glass." (And seriously, who doesn't want their drink served in a cauldron?) &amp;nbsp;She didn't take the hint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, can you ask the bartender if they could make the martini a bit stronger? &amp;nbsp;It's the least you could do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of course. &amp;nbsp;I'll ask him that." &amp;nbsp;I, actually, was making my own drinks this night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CUT TO: &amp;nbsp;20 minutes later...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The "not-drunk-girl" waves me over. &amp;nbsp;"Where's my drink?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I talked to the bartender. &amp;nbsp;He said he could try to make your vodka martini a bit stronger. &amp;nbsp;So would you like me to order another one for you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I ALREADY order another one from you. &amp;nbsp;Get me that drink!" &amp;nbsp;She barked. &amp;nbsp;(I say barked because I believe that is her first language.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of course. &amp;nbsp;It was my miscommunication." &amp;nbsp;I love this game. &amp;nbsp;It's the closest thing I can get to punching a customer in the throat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go back to the bar, make her martini the exact same way, except... I switched the proportions between vodka and vermouth. &amp;nbsp;It' the equivalent of putting Visine in someones drink. &amp;nbsp;Without the side effects of explosive diarrhea. &amp;nbsp;So now it's a vermouth martini, disguised as a vodka one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here's your stronger "vodka" martini. &amp;nbsp;Can I get anybody anything else?" &amp;nbsp;The rest of her friends now finally see the truth about their friend, and apologize and thank me. &amp;nbsp;Knowing they are going to unfriend his troll after the dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She takes a few sips. &amp;nbsp;"Wow! &amp;nbsp;That's a strong vodka martini." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That it is." &amp;nbsp;(WINK!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-4497426255871276420?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/4497426255871276420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=4497426255871276420' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4497426255871276420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4497426255871276420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/12/i-want-stronger-vodka.html' title='My Vodka&apos;s not strong enough!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GuGMkC99RIM/TvuR9aNHNZI/AAAAAAAAAQA/mgtNSTKO4RE/s72-c/images-1.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-6248232350339549099</id><published>2011-12-07T16:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-11T16:42:00.388-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You Got Yelped!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YvF_c7-ZqTw/TuVNvs1-GGI/AAAAAAAAAPw/9AWwAlTzxc4/s1600/YelpLogo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="176" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YvF_c7-ZqTw/TuVNvs1-GGI/AAAAAAAAAPw/9AWwAlTzxc4/s320/YelpLogo1.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it's time again for one of my favorite things to do, call people out who enjoy writing long, ridiculous, and pointless dissertations on the website &lt;a href="http://www.yelp.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Yelp&lt;/a&gt;. &amp;nbsp;I've purposefully kept the names of the establishments out to protect the innocent, and to bring more attention to the colossal waste of time these people put into writing these reviews. &amp;nbsp;I've made my comments in bold italics. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one goes out to Katie L. from Valley Glen, CA. &amp;nbsp;Katie writes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;"&gt;Huge Disappointment! And I've been sick for the past 18 hrs since eating here.... &amp;nbsp; (&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hard to believe since food poisoning takes over 24 hours to start to make you sick.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;) &amp;nbsp;Had a TravelZoo voucher, which unfortunately did not make the meal any better... &amp;nbsp;The restaurant is located inside the beautiful (omitted) LA hotel. The design of the hotel is beautiful. The $8 valet fee WITH validation at (restaurant) ... not so beautiful. &amp;nbsp;It was 7:30pm on a Sunday night. The restaurant was dead. &amp;nbsp;(&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Why do people always have to comment on how busy or slow it is in the restaurant? &amp;nbsp;If you really want it to be busier, then invite more friends to come eat with you. &amp;nbsp;Or at least, rent some more friends.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;) &amp;nbsp;We were seated in a nice booth and were ready for a great meal. That never happened. &amp;nbsp;A bread basket was the first thing we received- it was delicious. Lots of different breads in there. I ate them all. &amp;nbsp;(&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Shocker!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;"&gt;Appetizers-&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;fried rock shrimp: some over friend, (&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;I didn't know rock shrimp could have too many "friends."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;) some under fried, breading was overwhelming.&lt;br /&gt;Crab Cake: average cake. Boooooooring. &amp;nbsp;(&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;You should've ordered the crab cake that can sing and dance. &amp;nbsp;Not boring at all&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Dinner-&lt;br /&gt;WANTED to get Lamb Porterhouse... but they were all out. LAME. &amp;nbsp;(&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;You should've asked your server to go and and hunt some lamb for you. &amp;nbsp;After all, you want the freshest&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;Short Ribs: meat was cooked nicely. Watercress was so boring. So so boring. (&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Again with not liking food that doesn't entertain you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.) &amp;nbsp;Sweet potato pancakes were more like a breakfast item. &amp;nbsp;(&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;I'm going out on a limb here and suspecting Katie is in the red on the BMI chart&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;Australian Wagyu Sirloin- what a waste of $50!! It was undercooked, over seasoned and just a big wallet buster.&lt;br /&gt;Side- Truffle Mac and Cheese: EWWWWWWWWWWW! WAY TOO MUCH TRUFFLE OIL! We literally could not take more than 1 bite. Such a shame. &amp;nbsp;(&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Because Katie likes to finish her food&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;Dessert- Peanut Butter Bar w Salted Caramel Ice Cream: Ice Cream was a little too salted. Peanut Butter Bar was too sweet.&lt;br /&gt;Also, the lighting in there is horrible. I felt like a 95 year old woman (I'm 26 w great eyes). I could not see a single thing I was eating and I actually got super tired and thought it was bedtime! &amp;nbsp;(&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;or it could've been the food coma that Katie was going into&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;Our waters stayed empty for a lot of the time, our server's presence was barely known and we will never go back. Never. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Well Katie, for someone who has picky standards for her food, I doubt that you would not ever return to this restaurant. &amp;nbsp;Since you mentioned that you used a "Travel Zoo" voucher, which gives you a substantial discount at restaurants, you obviously enjoy eating a lot but pay very little for the food you consume. &amp;nbsp;But look at it this way, since you've been sick for the past 18 hours since you last ate, think of all the food you will be consuming when you feel better. &amp;nbsp;Katie L. from Valley Glen, CA... YOU GOT YELPED!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-6248232350339549099?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/6248232350339549099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=6248232350339549099' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6248232350339549099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6248232350339549099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/12/you-got-yelped.html' title='You Got Yelped!!!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YvF_c7-ZqTw/TuVNvs1-GGI/AAAAAAAAAPw/9AWwAlTzxc4/s72-c/YelpLogo1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-425408901713963359</id><published>2011-11-23T16:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-25T13:51:27.345-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Future Holidays!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NX-ZOQaPDeI/TtALlGFxkyI/AAAAAAAAAPo/ROAHMfNaUvo/s1600/BLACKFRIDAY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="80" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NX-ZOQaPDeI/TtALlGFxkyI/AAAAAAAAAPo/ROAHMfNaUvo/s320/BLACKFRIDAY.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Today is "Black Friday." &amp;nbsp;Originally the meaning of this horrid day began with the start of the Christmas shopping season, and the point when retailers would start to turn a profit, and were "in the black." &amp;nbsp;Now I feel it is called "Black Friday" because of the color of people's hearts that venture out to conquer the best deals possible, at the expense of their souls. &amp;nbsp;And not just the shopper's souls, but retailers as well. &amp;nbsp;(Apple's deal on iPads today saves you a whole $45.00! &amp;nbsp;Woo Hoo! &amp;nbsp;Now I can finally buy that iPad AND fill up my gas tank!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nRPymAmYP0w/TtAKE3-A7MI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/ppDfmEZ6djU/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nRPymAmYP0w/TtAKE3-A7MI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/ppDfmEZ6djU/s1600/images.jpeg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;You can't even enjoy the currant holiday anymore because you are constantly being made aware of the holiday that is coming up next. &amp;nbsp;Stores are putting up holiday decorations, and the music to fit earlier and earlier. &amp;nbsp;Starbucks started to offer the "holiday lattes" a couple of days before Halloween. &amp;nbsp;And they try to be cute with their chalkboard signs that say, "Can't wait for the holidays to enjoy your favorite lattes? &amp;nbsp;Wait no longer. &amp;nbsp;Get your Christmas Latte before you go out trick-or-treating tonight!" &amp;nbsp;I had to step out of line and choke every employee working there that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mtjfiypxpz4/TtALaWNJEuI/AAAAAAAAAPg/7U_FDAusdaA/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mtjfiypxpz4/TtALaWNJEuI/AAAAAAAAAPg/7U_FDAusdaA/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Believe it or not, I actually do enjoy the holidays. &amp;nbsp;It puts me in a good mood, the California winters are beautiful, chilly but tolerable (sorry Lou's mom,) and my entire family gets together for merriment and mirth. &amp;nbsp;But the way that they are blended together now, makes it seems like September through December are one 30 day month. &amp;nbsp;Next thing you know, some advertising agency is going to switch the days of the holidays, and we'll be celebrating Christmas on Halloween, Thanksgiving on Labor Day, and Halloween on Summer Solstice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my professional opinion, I think the only thing I can say to these people/ corporations/ sloths who are trying to rush us through every holiday of every month is this... Suck it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-425408901713963359?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/425408901713963359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=425408901713963359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/425408901713963359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/425408901713963359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/11/happy-future-holidays.html' title='Happy Future Holidays!!!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NX-ZOQaPDeI/TtALlGFxkyI/AAAAAAAAAPo/ROAHMfNaUvo/s72-c/BLACKFRIDAY.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-8573639913501195608</id><published>2011-11-14T18:13:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-15T04:08:03.569-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gateway to the Service Industry</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCBuoVl5la0/TsJTLPGuwgI/AAAAAAAAAPE/lvjW8nOYLiM/s1600/paperboy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="242" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCBuoVl5la0/TsJTLPGuwgI/AAAAAAAAAPE/lvjW8nOYLiM/s320/paperboy.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have written quite a bit about my battles with customers, tipping, and the way people behave in restaurants. &amp;nbsp;I have put up with a lot, (and to be honest,) some customers have put up with a lot from me. &amp;nbsp;What I haven't talked about yet is how I was introduced to the wacky world called the "Service Industry." &amp;nbsp;The high of getting my first gratuity, and the low of getting stiffed. &amp;nbsp;How I learned to give good service, and how I learned to get back at customers who didn't tip me. &amp;nbsp;This, my friends, is an origin story. &amp;nbsp;So, to be cliche, it started when I was eleven years old...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; FADE IN:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to have a way to make extra money. &amp;nbsp;The extra chores that I could do around the house didn't excite me. &amp;nbsp;Mainly because the only choice I had was to pull weeds from the front hillside. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's the point?" &amp;nbsp;I cried. &amp;nbsp;"They just grow back. &amp;nbsp;It's a conspiracy!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And after quickly learning that I was running out of tricks to fool my parents that the weeding had &lt;u&gt;actually&lt;/u&gt; been accomplished; i.e. complaining that they were violating child labor laws... getting my friends to help me out... burying the weeds with the dirt from the hillside; I looked elsewhere for monetary satisfaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Jason who lived across the street was looking to give up his paper route with "The Camarillo Star Free Press." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You just roll up the papers. &amp;nbsp;Put them in the bag, put the bag on your bike, and simply throw the papers onto your customer's porches." &amp;nbsp;He skillfully persuaded me. &amp;nbsp;"And at the end of the month, you collect the money your customers owe for their subscription, and then they tip you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My blue eyes stayed wide with anticipation. &amp;nbsp;"What's a tip?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's money they give you for doing a good job. &amp;nbsp;It's like your paycheck for delivering the papers."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in. &amp;nbsp;And the best part, it was an afternoon paper. &amp;nbsp;It had to be delivered by 5pm. &amp;nbsp;But the weekends it was by 8am. &amp;nbsp;So my would-be boss Christine came to my house to meet me and have my mom sign something. &amp;nbsp;I remember her being weird and ditzy. &amp;nbsp;We all sat down in our living room. &amp;nbsp;She explained the job. &amp;nbsp;I agreed. &amp;nbsp;My mom signed the form. &amp;nbsp;Then it got weird when Christine tried to touch the family Bible that was on the coffee table. &amp;nbsp;The hairs on the back of my neck rose as my mom thwarted Christine's attempt by simply saying, "Don't Touch That!" &amp;nbsp;(The Irish have a way with words.) &amp;nbsp;Christine quickly left, and I was hired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I started to learn about what customer service was all about. &amp;nbsp;Some of my customers wanted their paper before a certain time. &amp;nbsp;Others wanted it with a double rubber band, and a rain bag. &amp;nbsp;(Even if it wasn't raining!) &amp;nbsp;And the hardest of all, some wanted their paper placed perfectly in a designated spot. &amp;nbsp;Right in front of their door. &amp;nbsp;The middle of the driveway. &amp;nbsp;Not on the lawn, but on the stone step in front of the lawn. &amp;nbsp;In the mailbox. &amp;nbsp;And... in front of their gate because they have two little dogs who will eat the paper if I throw it over the gate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first, the placement of the paper was nearly impossible. &amp;nbsp;I'm riding a BMX bike, one-gear, up multiple hills, with a thirty pound bag of newspapers sometimes hanging from my handle-bars and other times wearing it over my head, all while trying to gracefully hurl a rolled up paper 18 feet to hit it's mark. &amp;nbsp;I received many complaints. &amp;nbsp;Phone calls to my house. &amp;nbsp;Etc. &amp;nbsp;But I managed to get the hang of it, and my route times were becoming quicker and quicker. &amp;nbsp;I was proud of the work that I was doing, and pleased that I was giving my customers what they waned. &amp;nbsp;Until I went collecting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Collecting" is a term for paperboys which means going to your customer's houses at the end of the month to get the money that they owe you for their newspaper subscriptions. &amp;nbsp;This is when they would also tip me. &amp;nbsp;What I really learned here was that customers expect you to do everything for them, and if you don't, they punish you with excuses, canceled subscriptions, and bad tips. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can I pay you tomorrow? &amp;nbsp;I don't have my check book with me." &amp;nbsp;One customer pleaded. &amp;nbsp;First of all, I had to ride my bike their house to get the money that they owed me. &amp;nbsp;So now I have to make an extra trip all the way to their house when I have other important eleven year old things to do. &amp;nbsp;And second, who the hell doesn't have their check book with them?! &amp;nbsp;Do you have a second home that you house your check books at?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They old paperboy got my paper where I wanted it every time. &amp;nbsp;I would gave him five dollars. &amp;nbsp;You should try to be more like him." &amp;nbsp;As they handed me a whole dollar.&lt;br /&gt;"The only times I missed your porch was when it was pouring rain. &amp;nbsp;I kept crashing on my bike to get up your driveway." &amp;nbsp;I politely defended myself.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sure I could just ask for a different person to deliver my paper. &amp;nbsp;And I'd like fifty cents back from that dollar."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some customers flat out didn't tip me. &amp;nbsp;At first, I didn't understand why. &amp;nbsp;I put the paper in front of their gate like they instructed. &amp;nbsp;Their dogs didn't get the paper. &amp;nbsp;I had done no wrong. &amp;nbsp;But they never tipped me. &amp;nbsp;Until I figured something out... retaliation. &amp;nbsp;My customers that tipped, got their paper the way they wanted it. &amp;nbsp;On time. &amp;nbsp;"X" marks the spot. &amp;nbsp;Those that didn't tip, found their newspaper torn to shreds by their two little white dogs that somehow found the paper on the wrong side of the gate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; FADE OUT:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dog customer eventually got the message. &amp;nbsp;Other customers stayed loyal, while others canceled their subscriptions and went with the "LA Times." &amp;nbsp;The paper route helped shape the person that I am today. &amp;nbsp;Hard-working, diligent, and professional. &amp;nbsp;But the thing that truly has stayed with me to this day is that being given a gratuity is a compliment. &amp;nbsp;But when I don't receive compliments, I am a bitter person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-8573639913501195608?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/8573639913501195608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=8573639913501195608' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8573639913501195608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8573639913501195608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/11/gateway-to-service-industry.html' title='Gateway to the Service Industry'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCBuoVl5la0/TsJTLPGuwgI/AAAAAAAAAPE/lvjW8nOYLiM/s72-c/paperboy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-7287875451744811331</id><published>2011-11-02T01:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-11-02T01:44:42.621-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll have the special and have you seen my kid?</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6XdvtW1mdts/TrEBioPA3jI/AAAAAAAAAO4/ol2vdzInylc/s1600/merry-go-round.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="252" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6XdvtW1mdts/TrEBioPA3jI/AAAAAAAAAO4/ol2vdzInylc/s320/merry-go-round.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;McDonald's has had tremendous success incorporating playgrounds into their campaigns. &amp;nbsp;There is a reason why they work: &amp;nbsp;McDonald's has happy meals, dollar menus, and the playgrounds are &lt;u&gt;outside&lt;/u&gt;. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;The same is not true for restaurants. &amp;nbsp;You are seated by a host, handed menus, and you are waited on by a server. &amp;nbsp;When the hell did it become a good idea to let your two year old run around a restaurant, bothering other customers, and having waiters avoid running into them like a game of "Frogger?" &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;"He'll calm down after he tires himself out." &amp;nbsp;Said the mom to me after I almost, (I said, almost,) stabbed her kid with a steak knife that I was bringing to another table.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;"If you need to tire him out, he can bus Table 23 for me, and take the drink order for the couple on the patio." &amp;nbsp;In other words, get your kid the f@*k out of the way. &amp;nbsp;Your child may be cute, but he won't be cute after he's been run over and step on by servers, food runners, and drunk customers who unfortunately didn't see him because he was chasing after his ball the you threw for him. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;I like kids, but a restaurant is an opportunity to teach them how to behave in public. &amp;nbsp;And if they don't behave, as Tom Leykis would say, "Get your God damn kids out of the restaurant. &amp;nbsp;Drinks are on me."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-7287875451744811331?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/7287875451744811331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=7287875451744811331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/7287875451744811331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/7287875451744811331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/11/restaurant-playground.html' title='I&apos;ll have the special and have you seen my kid?'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6XdvtW1mdts/TrEBioPA3jI/AAAAAAAAAO4/ol2vdzInylc/s72-c/merry-go-round.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-2659170570184907575</id><published>2011-10-14T14:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-14T15:02:42.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>BOOBIES !!!</title><content type='html'>My buddy &lt;a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/lets-get-bloated/id390411136?ign-mpt=uo%3D4"&gt;Lou Santini&lt;/a&gt; says that when you "say the word 'boob,' you can't help but to smile." &amp;nbsp;Well, when you see one pop out of a woman's dress sitting in your section at a restaurant, you can't help but giggle your ass off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's right. &amp;nbsp;An unintentional, non-breast feeding, in-your-face boob popped out to say "hello," and I was there to wave "hello" back. &amp;nbsp;But let's not rush into this. &amp;nbsp;I am still under fire from co-workers about what should have been said during the ordeal, so let me present all of the evidence, and let you guys pass down judgement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A husband and wife are seated in my section. &amp;nbsp;I heard some sort of accent, so I think that they are European. &amp;nbsp;The husband is looking at the cocktail menu as I approach the table to greet them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Welcome. &amp;nbsp;How are you doing this evening?" &amp;nbsp;I said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hello." &amp;nbsp;The husband muttered. &amp;nbsp;"I want champagne. &amp;nbsp;What would you recommend?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, I went into my usual script of dry and sweet champagnes and sparkling wines that we offer by the glass. &amp;nbsp;The husband places his order, and I turn to his wife who is still looking over her husband's shoulder to read the cocktail menu. &amp;nbsp;(I could go into the whole argument that the husband ordered before his wife, but that would take away from the meat... [ahem]... of this blog.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And what may I offer you to drink?" &amp;nbsp;I say with as much faux sincerity as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want something sweet." &amp;nbsp;She says. &amp;nbsp;But then I notice that the right side of her dress is much more "flowy" and less full than the left side. &amp;nbsp;Because the right side of her dress has been pinned down by her right &lt;b style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;BOOB!&lt;/b&gt;&amp;nbsp; No bra. &amp;nbsp;No exterior armor. &amp;nbsp;Just one of the girls coming out to play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have worked in the service industry for many years. &amp;nbsp;From The Four Seasons, and The Beverly Hills Hotels, to Wolfgang Puck... none of the training I have had prepared me for the professional thing to say or do. &amp;nbsp;The only thing that kept coming to mind was, "BOOBIES!" &amp;nbsp;But what made it worse, was that the woman had absolutely no idea that her boob was out and about. &amp;nbsp;I'm looking around for my other co-workers to see if they are looking at this car crash, fumbling with my pad of paper, all while trying to wipe the stupid grin off of my face. &amp;nbsp;I had to focus my attention back on the husband, who also had absolutely no idea that one of his wife's mammary glands was taking a breather. &amp;nbsp;(At this point, the food runner did see what was going on, and he informed me that I was beet red, and had a huge smile on my face.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is the Lychee Martini sweet?" &amp;nbsp;The wife asked, still naively questioning me about drinks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is sweet." &amp;nbsp;I answered, looking down at the table, up at the ceiling, basically anywhere but the direction of the woman. &amp;nbsp;"Perhaps you might like to try the cocktail of the day? &amp;nbsp;The "Slippery Nipple."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No. &amp;nbsp;I think I'll get champagne too. &amp;nbsp;It's too early for Martinis. &amp;nbsp;I don't want to get too crazy yet."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her right boob is way ahead of her. &amp;nbsp;"I'll be back with your champagnes. &amp;nbsp;And I'll adjust the AC. &amp;nbsp;I can see it's getting a bit chilly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get their drinks. &amp;nbsp;Return to the table, and sure enough, the woman covered herself with a shawl. &amp;nbsp;I don't know if they knew that I knew. &amp;nbsp;But I knew. &amp;nbsp;Some of my co-workers told me that I should have told the woman about her "wardrobe malfunction." &amp;nbsp;What the hell was I supposed to say?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Psst! &amp;nbsp;Ahem! &amp;nbsp;Ma'am, you want to holster that breast? &amp;nbsp;If you don't put it away, I'll have to charge you a corkage fee." &amp;nbsp;I believe I handled it correctly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I usually attach some sort of picture to coincide with my blog, but in keeping within FCC regulations, the fact that my mom reads my blog, and to leave something to your imagination, this post will not have a pic. &amp;nbsp;And I just noticed that this is the longest blog I have written to date. &amp;nbsp;What can I say? &amp;nbsp;I've got something to say about BOOBIES! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-2659170570184907575?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/2659170570184907575/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=2659170570184907575' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2659170570184907575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2659170570184907575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/10/boobies.html' title='BOOBIES !!!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-849608625850411719</id><published>2011-10-07T15:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-07T15:05:05.897-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A little PDA goes a long, long, way...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tpukPkBNysA/To93dc3AO7I/AAAAAAAAAOY/9AhJPj0qaNo/s1600/pineapple-sorbet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tpukPkBNysA/To93dc3AO7I/AAAAAAAAAOY/9AhJPj0qaNo/s320/pineapple-sorbet.jpg" width="213" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many of you have asked me to blog more often about the things that people do in restaurants and bars. &amp;nbsp;I try to write about what happens as much as I can, but sometimes, I am so shocked about some of the things that I see and hear, it takes awhile for me to digest it all, and transcribe it to you. &amp;nbsp;Now that I've finished digesting, here you go...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've noticed in many fine dining establishments, that to cleanse the palate in-between courses, they will bring you a scoop of sorbet. &amp;nbsp;It's refreshing and gets your taste buds ready for the next course. &amp;nbsp;Here in Los Angeles, some customers have a better way of cleansing their palates... by jamming their tongues down the throats of their dinner guests. &amp;nbsp;And why not? &amp;nbsp;Don't birds do the same thing? &amp;nbsp;One evening, I had a table of three people, one guy and two girls, who were eating on the patio at the restaurant I was working. &amp;nbsp;To say they were having a good time is an understatement. &amp;nbsp;I went out to check on them, and the guy was making out with one of the girls with the other girl sitting behind them eating. &amp;nbsp;Then they stopped making out to eat some more of their meal. &amp;nbsp;I figured the food most be fine, and their water glasses were full, so they didn't need me to hang around the table staring at them. &amp;nbsp;So I went to the side-station to stare at them from there. &amp;nbsp;After they ate some more, the guy then turned to the other girl and started making out with her. &amp;nbsp;I think this is what athletes call carb loading. &amp;nbsp;Needless to say, this cycle continued on until the meal was complete. &amp;nbsp;A compliment to the chef... perhaps. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This would now be the time that I would offer them a dessert menu, but I figured they wanted something that wasn't on our menu. &amp;nbsp;And lucky for the three of them, we were at a hotel, so they could get a room. &amp;nbsp;Which is what I told them when I presented the check. &amp;nbsp;And who knows, maybe the were European? &amp;nbsp;Like Clark W. Griswold said, "European standards are very different from Americans."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-849608625850411719?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/849608625850411719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=849608625850411719' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/849608625850411719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/849608625850411719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/10/little-pda-goes-long-long-way.html' title='A little PDA goes a long, long, way...'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tpukPkBNysA/To93dc3AO7I/AAAAAAAAAOY/9AhJPj0qaNo/s72-c/pineapple-sorbet.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-4720882873807456895</id><published>2011-09-10T11:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T11:49:01.598-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stronge' You stink therefore you are!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CTiMMDRbRIs/Tmuv-ZF6goI/AAAAAAAAAOU/kJb0c1XuJ-M/s1600/chanel-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="168" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CTiMMDRbRIs/Tmuv-ZF6goI/AAAAAAAAAOU/kJb0c1XuJ-M/s200/chanel-5.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Dress for success. &amp;nbsp;First impressions are lasting impressions. &amp;nbsp;I understand all of that. &amp;nbsp;But keep this in mind when you are going out to eat; I should not be able to smell you, your perfume or cologne all the way from the other side of the restaurant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I respect my elders, but I believe it's fair to say that the older you get, the less you can smell. &amp;nbsp;Especially if you are dousing yourself in Chanel no. 5. &amp;nbsp;Please ladies, even if your sniffer is out of order, at least count the number of spritzes you depress upon yourself. &amp;nbsp;It will not only save you money, but save the people around you and the people in the surrounding counties as well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for the guys. &amp;nbsp;The pimps, the players, but mainly... the Persians. &amp;nbsp;(This is not racist. &amp;nbsp;I have Persian friends so I am allowed to say this.) &amp;nbsp;My buddy &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/lousantini"&gt;Lou&lt;/a&gt;  told me that he asked a Persian why they wear so much cologne. &amp;nbsp;They said, "My friend, it's because Persian men like to stand out." &amp;nbsp;Not only do you stand out in a restaurant, but even the garlic cloves have to pinch their noses and run out the door. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But like I said, it's not just Persian men, it's other meatheads as well. &amp;nbsp;I can only imagine how much cologne some guys must go through in a single week. &amp;nbsp;Like the old saying goes, a lot goes a long way. &amp;nbsp;But by the standards of these men, that way is not that long. &amp;nbsp;(Which reminds me, I need to buy stock in Drakkar Noir.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this brings me to the people who don't need to wear any kind of perfume at all. &amp;nbsp;They wear "Ode de Anus." &amp;nbsp;They simply smell bad. &amp;nbsp;The only time I can stand these people is if they are sitting next to the people mentioned above. &amp;nbsp;They cancel each other out. &amp;nbsp;In short, take a quick whiff before you depart your dwelling for your night out. &amp;nbsp;Some people have stunk me out so badly that my contacts have melted. &amp;nbsp;And if you don't have the money to cover your stench, do what my friend &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/tkocomedy"&gt;T.K.&lt;/a&gt; does in his joke, "I don't wear cologne. &amp;nbsp;I just drive through Glendale with my windows down."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter. &amp;nbsp;Party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-4720882873807456895?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/4720882873807456895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=4720882873807456895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4720882873807456895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4720882873807456895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/09/stronge-you-stink-therefore-you-are.html' title='Stronge&apos; You stink therefore you are!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CTiMMDRbRIs/Tmuv-ZF6goI/AAAAAAAAAOU/kJb0c1XuJ-M/s72-c/chanel-5.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-2951322205192807941</id><published>2011-09-01T13:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T13:24:50.023-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Freshmaker!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OBCIrHwu_fg/Tl_p2ZHMZsI/AAAAAAAAAOM/OhcfqoA_aZU/s1600/Mentos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="255" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OBCIrHwu_fg/Tl_p2ZHMZsI/AAAAAAAAAOM/OhcfqoA_aZU/s320/Mentos.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always loved the old "&lt;a href="http://youtu.be/y_KsOnyuCGA"&gt;Mentos&lt;/a&gt;" campaign which showed that you could get out of any of life's dilemmas simply by taking a step back, popping a Mentos into your mouth, and immediately be struck with a creative sense of resourcefulness to get what you wanted.  If it were that easy, I would've been popping Mentos throughout my entire service industry career.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;I understand when your food comes out wrong you're upset because you are hungry and now we have to find a solution to what should be a small problem, but what is it with these people who suddenly come up with a case of the "I'm not hungry anymore, or I'll just eat off of my friends plate" plague?  Yes, sometimes a small hair drops on the plate, or a tiny bug manage to escape it's death by not getting washed off, but does that really dampen the good times that you came to have in the restaurant?  And if I was the friend sitting at the table with you, and you said that you would just eat off of my plate, f@&amp;amp;k no!  I'm like a dog.  Stay away from my food bowl and my mouth when it's time to eat.  (And I know I'm not alone on this one.)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there's the "glass is half empty" people. &amp;nbsp;These are customers who absolutely have to have their water glass filled to the top at all times or else they can't focus on their company or even attempt to eat their meal. &amp;nbsp;You know who you are... your water glass has at least a third of water left in it, and you tell the entire restaurant staff that you need your server. &amp;nbsp;I rush over to stop the apparent rape that is happening, and without saying a word, you motion to your water glass meaning to top it off. &amp;nbsp;I'm all about optimism, but this would even make the Dalai Lama say, "this bitch is nuts!" &amp;nbsp;In the industry, we make it a point to keep things filled, but if there's still some water in the glass, you'll survive. &amp;nbsp;After all, we're in a drought for Pete's sake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-2951322205192807941?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/2951322205192807941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=2951322205192807941' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2951322205192807941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2951322205192807941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/09/freshmaker.html' title='The Freshmaker!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OBCIrHwu_fg/Tl_p2ZHMZsI/AAAAAAAAAOM/OhcfqoA_aZU/s72-c/Mentos.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-3056066654381350653</id><published>2011-08-12T14:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-15T16:10:01.360-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm nuts!  And I'm also allergic to them.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMc6wTTkJ_8/Tkmm4fshwkI/AAAAAAAAAN8/5v6oXVeJmCA/s1600/223755_248178998533604_100000245179424_956383_2886710_s.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 98px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMc6wTTkJ_8/Tkmm4fshwkI/AAAAAAAAAN8/5v6oXVeJmCA/s200/223755_248178998533604_100000245179424_956383_2886710_s.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641223497769402946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harry Potter should stop chasing evil wizards and put on a chef's coat and get in the kitchen.  That is the only way these evil "menu changers" would be able to get the food that they really want to get.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Since I'm allergic, I'll have the peanut bar but without peanuts...  I'll have pecans instead."  I didn't know there was a choice of nut for this dessert.  News flash... if you are allergic to peanuts, and you're looking at a dessert menu that has an item called "the peanut bar," you probably should decide on something else.  (Right, Irene?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll have the 'beet and goat cheese salad' but I don't like goat cheese, what would you suggest?"  I suggest you order one of the dishes that doesn't have a main ingredient you don't like.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or better yet, "Is there a lot of crab in the 'crab salad?'  I'm not a huge fan of a lot of crab."  If the main ingredient is in the title of the entree, there's a good chance that it's the majority of the dish.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If a restaurant lets you walk in and order whatever you felt like eating at that moment, chances are, you're still at your house.  Chefs create menus based on their creativity and what's readily available during that season, not off a customer's personal preferences for that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-3056066654381350653?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/3056066654381350653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=3056066654381350653' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3056066654381350653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3056066654381350653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/08/im-nuts-and-im-also-allergic-to-them.html' title='I&apos;m nuts!  And I&apos;m also allergic to them.'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMc6wTTkJ_8/Tkmm4fshwkI/AAAAAAAAAN8/5v6oXVeJmCA/s72-c/223755_248178998533604_100000245179424_956383_2886710_s.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-2295707152164745090</id><published>2011-06-26T09:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-26T11:00:52.923-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a la Jerry Seinfeld, "Who are these people?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IMbhrnO79I8/TgdzBOeCvFI/AAAAAAAAAM4/kbXy-txWlqM/s1600/Unknown"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 151px; height: 196px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IMbhrnO79I8/TgdzBOeCvFI/AAAAAAAAAM4/kbXy-txWlqM/s200/Unknown" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622589124696521810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talk a lot about the annoying things that I have encountered with customers throughout my illustrious service career.  People with allergies.  Splitting checks.  The tale of the tip.  So, I think it would only be fair to spend a little time talking about the other side of the coin; People who work in the service industry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try not to judge other people in the industry.  After all, to some, I'm just as whacky and bitter as the rest of them.  But sometimes, I can't help but wonder how some people got hired to work in the service industry, when the main focus of the job, is SERVICE oriented.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one place I used to work, this  girl from the Eastern block of the world was hired as a hostess, the first line of defense in a restaurant, but the girl doesn't use English as her first or even secondary form of language.  One of the most amusing things I saw this girl do one night was when she sat a party of four, and it turned out that it was only going to be a party of three.  The hostess, in her thick-Slovak accent, confronted to guest about only having three people show up when it was supposed to be four.  "The reservation says four people, and you are only three!  What happen to the other?"  Confrontation is usually never a good idea for anybody in a restaurant, especially the guests.  Now that I think about it, maybe the hostess had a friend standing by in the wings who could join the table for situations like this one.  But I will say this for her, she liked to have things numerically correct.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most recently I ordered a Turkey Burger, and a bunch of other food from a restaurant to be delivered to my house.  The girl on the phone asked me, "How do you want your Turkey Burger?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want it delivered with the rest of the food."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No."  She scolded.  "How do you want your Turkey Burger cooked?  Medium?  Medium-well?"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is why it's always important that you know your product before you sell it.  Especially with something like, say, poultry?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh... medium.  I like my Turkey Burger with just a touch of Salmonella.  And instead of fries, I'd like a side of E. coli."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-2295707152164745090?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/2295707152164745090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=2295707152164745090' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2295707152164745090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2295707152164745090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/06/la-jerry-seinfeld-who-are-these-people.html' title='a la Jerry Seinfeld, &quot;Who are these people?&quot;'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IMbhrnO79I8/TgdzBOeCvFI/AAAAAAAAAM4/kbXy-txWlqM/s72-c/Unknown' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-3801129532001850331</id><published>2011-06-12T10:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-12T11:16:26.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My parents neglected me as a customer.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QSeomgrx-iw/TfUBKKCQTCI/AAAAAAAAAL4/GgDGB-ihjSc/s1600/wonder_woman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 153px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QSeomgrx-iw/TfUBKKCQTCI/AAAAAAAAAL4/GgDGB-ihjSc/s200/wonder_woman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617397384218692642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There aren't too many places you can go in the world, where you are constantly stroked, hand-held, and paid attention too as you are when you are sitting as a customer in a restaurant, and your server is taking care of you.  For that amount of time, your server treats you as if you are their only child.  Whatever you want, it's brought to you.  If you don't like something, they will get you something you like.  And even in some instances, if you don't like your server, a new one will be brought to you and you can start anew with that one.  It's like a perfect little customer universe that was created with one thing in mind... to please the customer.  You are basically allowed to pick and choose the family you always wanted to have, at least for two and a half hours.  But even then, it's still not enough!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember this one unforgettable Saturday night, (believe, it's not like I haven't tried to forget it.)  It was a table of three ladies.  They were going to go to an "80's" party afterwards so they were dressed the part.  I thought they were dressed like "Wonder Woman."  They corrected me and said they were dressed like "Madonna."  But apparently we all were wrong, because my manager said that they were "Cougars."  (Tres Bien, Freddy!)  They were having a great time.  Taking pictures, getting the attention of other customer's, drinking!  Then, the woman sitting in the middle stops me and asks, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I wanted to ask you a question?"  Next thing I know, the other two women stop her and say that everything is fine, and that I am doing a great job.  Now, unfortunately I can't let this go.  But finally she says, "oh, never mind."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, please.  Now I have to know what your question is?"  I pleaded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay."  She says.  "Are you neglecting us?  I see you going around to other tables, but I kind of feel neglected."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of course not."  I swear.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sorry," she claims, "I just wear my heart on my sleeve.  I had to ask."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But like I've said in the past, I will anticipate my guests needs.  So I said, "I wouldn't do that, but since you've asked, I'm going to neglect you now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-3801129532001850331?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/3801129532001850331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=3801129532001850331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3801129532001850331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3801129532001850331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/06/my-parents-neglected-me-as-customer.html' title='My parents neglected me as a customer.'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QSeomgrx-iw/TfUBKKCQTCI/AAAAAAAAAL4/GgDGB-ihjSc/s72-c/wonder_woman.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-191357576930413263</id><published>2011-05-29T11:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-08T14:32:31.732-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Only Birthday in the World...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xVcs2Rfwk70/Te87lN6gGSI/AAAAAAAAALw/0KU5VbFTBqk/s1600/birthday-cake2.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xVcs2Rfwk70/Te87lN6gGSI/AAAAAAAAALw/0KU5VbFTBqk/s200/birthday-cake2.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615772770930530594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Birthdays that are celebrated in restaurants are apparently the only birthdays in the world.  (At least for that day.)  Don't get me wrong, birthdays are fun, and it's great to get together with friends to celebrate a birthday at a restaurant, but keep this in mind... there is a strong possibility that there are other people celebrating birthdays that same day as well.  I know, hard to believe, but it is possible that there were multiple births on that day.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we've all seen this happen.  Out at a restaurant and one of the friends get up from the table to go to the bathroom, this is the universal signal that they are going to tell their server that it's their friends birthday, and they would like them to do something special.  Oh, and of course, make it a surprise.  A surprise?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Surprise!  Happy birthday!"  Says the server.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh my God!  I had no idea it was my birthday."  Shrieked the surprise birthday person.  Apparently they used to be a Jehovah's witness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or how about this... It's a Saturday night, and the server gets to the table with a candle in some sort of dessert, and everybody at the table, including the birthday person, all look at him like they don't know what the hell he's doing and the server is standing there like  he's some whack-job standing at their table with a flaming cupcake.  Then the server second guesses themselves at the last second because he thinks he made a mistake even though these are the same people who told him that it was their friends birthday.  So he doesn't know what to sing...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Happy... Saturday to You!"   What's the matter with this guy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-191357576930413263?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/191357576930413263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=191357576930413263' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/191357576930413263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/191357576930413263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/05/only-birthday-in-world.html' title='The Only Birthday in the World...'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xVcs2Rfwk70/Te87lN6gGSI/AAAAAAAAALw/0KU5VbFTBqk/s72-c/birthday-cake2.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-2963490630855504329</id><published>2011-05-28T14:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-29T10:50:10.782-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Money Can't Buy You a NEW ATTITUDE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_zOuH6Iq2Mg/TeKAnDa8KjI/AAAAAAAAALk/3r_TODriCws/s1600/5516190786_76808b5688.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_zOuH6Iq2Mg/TeKAnDa8KjI/AAAAAAAAALk/3r_TODriCws/s200/5516190786_76808b5688.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612189494078614066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://youtu.be/GGCRZdDkmms"&gt;The Countess LuAnn&lt;/a&gt; was right when she sang, "Money can't buy you class."  And I know, who the hell is The Countess LuAnn?  Subject for another type of blog.  But the people who think that because they are spending a lot of money at a restaurant/hotel, entitles them to become part-time owners of the establishment.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've spent over 25,000 dollars at this hotel, I should be allowed to smoke inside if I please!  That's the least you could do for me."  --Of course.  We'll get the Governor on the phone and change the law for you right away.  In the meantime, perhaps you could light yourself on fire so you could get that warm feeling from smoking.  Let me know if I can help. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or the people who spend a good amount of money for dinner with 8 or 10 of their friends, (thankfully only 1 person paid the check, not 8 different forms of payment--see my joke about "paying the check.)  The restaurant closes, and the people are still there like they're "squatting" on their house that was foreclosed.   There is a reason why it's called "business hours," because at the end of those hours, the business is CLOSED.  I have an account at Wells Fargo, but when they're closed I don't get to continue to sit in the lounge at drink free cappuccinos.  "What do you mean you're closed?  My money is here!  And I know Wells!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great time.  Spend tons of your money.  But you don't own the place.  Besides, if you have that much money to spend, buy your own place.  And while you're at it, buy a new attitude.  Let's incorporate a new standard for going out to restaurants... SIT DOWN.  SHUT UP.  and SMILE.  The "3 S's."  Keep it simple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-2963490630855504329?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/2963490630855504329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=2963490630855504329' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2963490630855504329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2963490630855504329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/05/money-cant-buy-you-new-attitude.html' title='Money Can&apos;t Buy You a NEW ATTITUDE'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_zOuH6Iq2Mg/TeKAnDa8KjI/AAAAAAAAALk/3r_TODriCws/s72-c/5516190786_76808b5688.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-9114529162904792193</id><published>2011-05-08T02:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-09T18:07:00.542-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sample Winers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mmxc7jdlGWA/TciPorTDorI/AAAAAAAAALU/neFzPdG8Fh0/s1600/unnamed.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mmxc7jdlGWA/TciPorTDorI/AAAAAAAAALU/neFzPdG8Fh0/s200/unnamed.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604887665242776242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;UHG!!!  Enough with the people who think that they are foodies and wine connoisseurs.  Believe me, I am a huge fan of "&lt;a href="http://www.bravotv.com/top-chef"&gt;Top Chef&lt;/a&gt;,"  but that doesn't make me go into a restaurant and question every ingredient of each dish, and the complexity of each grape that goes into every varietal of wine.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One night, I have this couple in my section, and they begin to ask a few questions about some wines they had the last time they came in to eat.  FINE, but then they suddenly need something "fruity," but "smooth."  "Wait.  Maybe not smooth, but more fruit forward.  Yes, we want a wine that is a fruit-bomb."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fruit bomb?" I confirm.  Getting hard to control my smart-ass tendencies at this point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."  Said the woman.  "Something that will please my palate, then explode in my mouth."  (Not kidding!  Actual words.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A fruity, palate-pleasing, mouth exploding wine.  Sir you are a lucky man.  I have just the wine for you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But what about a Zin?"  The man interrupted.  Then he proceeded to ask questions about EVERY bottle of wine that was on the wine list.  Followed by, "I would like to try some of the wines."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YOU ARE NOT AT YOGURTLAND!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Restaurants can help you pair wines with food, and you should try one or two wines AT MOST, but keep in mind that if they're only two of you at the table, you should not have eight empty wine glasses in front of you from sampling wines.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-9114529162904792193?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/9114529162904792193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=9114529162904792193' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/9114529162904792193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/9114529162904792193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/05/sample-winers.html' title='Sample Winers'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mmxc7jdlGWA/TciPorTDorI/AAAAAAAAALU/neFzPdG8Fh0/s72-c/unnamed.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-6592142225558905103</id><published>2011-04-17T11:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-25T02:59:59.132-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Favorite Customer Quotes !!!  PART I</title><content type='html'>The 1980's gave us such great things like MTV, the Apple IIE, and the saying..."the customer is always right."  With that being said, here is a list of some of my favorite customer quotes from my career in the service industry.  Of course, I will be adding some comments to justify why they said what they said, but the list will be as true today as when they said it to me the first time.  Feel free to comment and add some of your own favorites as well.  Without further delay...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you our server?" &lt;br /&gt;--No.  I a regular customer just like you.  Except I enjoy wearing all black with a black apron and hanging around your table for the past 45 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We thought you forgot about us."&lt;br /&gt;--Trust me.  If ever a time when I'd want short-term memory loss, it would be to forgot that you were sitting in my section.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can I get a new water?  There's something gross in mine."&lt;br /&gt;--(An ACTUAL porn star said this to me)  More things have gone in and out of you than the Lincoln Tunnel.  Your body can tolerate some "gross water."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you sure this coffee is decaf?  If I'm up at three in the morning, I'm coming after you."&lt;br /&gt;--(blank stare)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is the vegetarian pasta, vegetarian?"&lt;br /&gt;--Did you forget to wear your helmet today?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What are these bubbles in my coffee?"&lt;br /&gt;--That's what happens when you pour coffee into a cup.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We didn't know we drank THAT much, so we're not going to pay for half the bill."&lt;br /&gt;--Apparently I work at the 'pay what you can' restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Customer) "I'll have the 42." (Me) "That's the price."&lt;br /&gt;--Apparently I work at a Chinese restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know the chef."&lt;br /&gt;--So does everyone else who owns a television.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I sit there all the time."&lt;br /&gt;--You still can, you'll just have to sit on that woman's lap who's ALREADY sitting there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They let me order it before."&lt;br /&gt;--That was so you would stop talking about how bad your life is because you can't get what you want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My wife doesn't like eggs for breakfast, but she enjoys eating fruit.  What should she have?"&lt;br /&gt;--How about the fruit plate?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This table's too close to the kitchen"  (After moving)  "This table's too far from the kitchen."&lt;br /&gt;--You're not buying real-estate!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want the chef to make me this dish that I had at this other restaurant."&lt;br /&gt;--Sure.  Just go to that restaurant, get the recipe, and stay there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, are you an actor too?  Have I seen you on anything?"&lt;br /&gt;--Right now you can see me acting like I'm happy you're here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is our food ready yet?"&lt;br /&gt;--When it's in front of you, it's ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm allergic to the following...  (laundry list of items)  ...what do you recommend?"&lt;br /&gt;--I recommend the water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(These two ladies got drunk, and left the restaurant and sat in the lounge.  I finally found them) "We were looking for you."&lt;br /&gt;--You could have found me back at your table.  Where you ate your food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can you do something about the hot light?"&lt;br /&gt;--(Woman was sitting outside, motioning towards the sky)  The Sun?  Of course.  I'll get a busboy to move it for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-6592142225558905103?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/6592142225558905103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=6592142225558905103' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6592142225558905103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6592142225558905103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/04/my-favorite-customer-quotes-part-i.html' title='My Favorite Customer Quotes !!!  PART I'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-3053406471824082568</id><published>2011-01-30T17:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-30T17:29:18.892-08:00</updated><title type='text'>And my cat will have the veal.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TUYQH3orpUI/AAAAAAAAAKs/Tm1_ulDsxe4/s1600/dog-cat-18.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TUYQH3orpUI/AAAAAAAAAKs/Tm1_ulDsxe4/s200/dog-cat-18.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568155716669908290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You think you've seen it all in restaurants and hotels.  Think again friends!  Now menus are available for ALL of your children.  Not just the human ones, but for your animal children as well.  The best place to get take your furry friend for a birthday dinner, none other than Beverly Hills, CA.  I'll never forget working at this restaurant in the heart of Beverly Hills, one of the nicest customer's to eat there was Vidal Sassoon.  Yes, the guy who doesn't look good, if you don't look good.  He and his wife were super friendly, great tippers, no egos attached to this couple.  But, whenever they would dine with us, their two dogs dined as well.  The restaurant went as far as to keep the dog bowls in the restaurant for them.  Nothing was too good for their canines.  Chicken breast.  Egg whites.  Apparently the dogs were on Atkin's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I've seen many luxury hotels catering to the animal clientele.  And not just Charlie Sheen.  (BAM!)  When you order room service, or even if you have turn down service for your room, now the maids leave chocolates for you, and some carob treats for your pets to nosh on before calling it a night.  Seriously, who wants to carry a fifty pound bag of dog food when they travel anyways?  What's next?  Bars serving up pet cocktails?  I don't think that's too far off.  And if that does happen, I thought of it first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-3053406471824082568?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/3053406471824082568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=3053406471824082568' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3053406471824082568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3053406471824082568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/01/and-my-cat-will-have-veal.html' title='And my cat will have the veal.'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TUYQH3orpUI/AAAAAAAAAKs/Tm1_ulDsxe4/s72-c/dog-cat-18.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-6727889867993488408</id><published>2011-01-08T02:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-08T02:34:17.999-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Can I warm up your caffeine for you?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TSg9EPx14pI/AAAAAAAAAKI/ebAV6AQApiA/s1600/decanter_orange.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TSg9EPx14pI/AAAAAAAAAKI/ebAV6AQApiA/s200/decanter_orange.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559760883153232530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Throughout my illustrious career serving the lucky people who have walked into the establishment that I was employed at the time, I have served drinks ranging from the "Long Island Ice Tea," to "Soy Vanilla Extreme Ice Blendeds."  The difference between the two?  Serving drunk people is much easier than serving caffeinated.  People who want booze like to "sit and stay."  People who need their coffee want to "grab and go."  Of course, most towns don't let you order alcoholic drinks to go, unless you're in Vegas or New Orleans.  Or if you are courageous enough to have your server put your alcoholic drink in a to go coffee cup.  And if you do the latter, double the tip for that server, and admit to him that you are an alcoholic.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worked at The Coffee Bean for five months one year, and that was the longest five months of my life.  All of the bartending gigs I have had seemed to be a blur, (not just because of the booze,) but seemingly because time stands still when you are being ordered around by a customer twitching for their "double-short-nonfat-2 pump-no sugar added-soy-latte-w/easy whip."  And of course the kicker, after I had made that drink for said customer, I had to say, "double-short-nonfat-2 pump-no sugar added-soy-latte-w/easy whip for Tim the Twitcher."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's how specific coffee junkies are:  I was serving a customer their "French Press" coffee.  I poured it at the table for him.  He points to his cup and says, "What's that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I being the professional smart-ass reply, "That's coffee."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He comes back with, "What are those bubbles in my coffee?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I peer into his cup, look back at him and confess, "That's what happens when you pour coffee from a pot, into a cup.  Would you rather have the 'bubble-free' coffee?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-6727889867993488408?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/6727889867993488408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=6727889867993488408' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6727889867993488408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6727889867993488408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2011/01/can-i-warm-up-your-caffeine-for-you.html' title='Can I warm up your caffeine for you?'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TSg9EPx14pI/AAAAAAAAAKI/ebAV6AQApiA/s72-c/decanter_orange.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-8462101976143442439</id><published>2010-12-01T02:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-01T02:55:56.443-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Natural</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TPYprrbllGI/AAAAAAAAAJA/1yPTLzH7tc8/s1600/home_logo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 156px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TPYprrbllGI/AAAAAAAAAJA/1yPTLzH7tc8/s200/home_logo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545665821522891874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holiday people, (see last year's post,) are at it again.  Servers get many special requests, but this one is definitely priceless.  Pushing water to customers is an easy way to get one's check average, (the total of each check a server rings in,) higher.  It's usually the first item that a server will offer you when he/she greets the table.  "Can I start you with some flat or sparkling water?"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past Thanksgiving, I offered a lady at my table some water to start.  She comes back with, "Do you know where the water is bottled?  Because I don't drink water that comes from a mountain.  I don't know who's been on that mountain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ma'am, I assure you that we get our water only from desolate mountain tops.  The water is completely isolated, and free from any contact to anybody."  And see wondered why she wasn't invited to anyone's house for Thanksgiving dinner?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-8462101976143442439?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/8462101976143442439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=8462101976143442439' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8462101976143442439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8462101976143442439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/12/its-natural.html' title='It&apos;s Natural'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TPYprrbllGI/AAAAAAAAAJA/1yPTLzH7tc8/s72-c/home_logo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-6324106287500112743</id><published>2010-09-11T03:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-21T18:47:32.775-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Splitting Visas... Counting Cash</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3PrD0KHry40/TYf_cWGNIYI/AAAAAAAAALM/6s3RRlgujmc/s1600/pick-a-card.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 175px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3PrD0KHry40/TYf_cWGNIYI/AAAAAAAAALM/6s3RRlgujmc/s200/pick-a-card.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586714725209416066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The biggest scam going around restaurants these days are from the tables that want their check split 9 1/2 different ways.  You know who you are.  You're at a big table, (that the restaurant had to put together three small tables, to make your big table,) with 10 of your closest friends.  Everything was perfect the entire night, then you get the check.  Now nobody's close.  And of course the comment that always follows, "This was the worst service, ever!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody wants to pay the check.  Because you can't remember what you ate or drank, and you expect the server to keep track of everyone's consumption.  (Sweet!  All servers have the time to monitor the calorie intake at the table.)  So the check gets passed around like a new born baby, but when you see how ugly it is, you make a face, put your payment inside and quickly get it to the next person without having the memory of it burned into your frontal lobes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God for the friend who also works as a volunteer accountant.  This person is always a girl.  They are the ones who make sure everybody puts in, and they always speak for the group when explaining the breakdown of the cash, credit cards, and promissory notes.  Our country is a trillion dollars in debt, and this woman can decipher the exact amount for each bite taken by each person at the table.  This is fantastic, but there is usually one problem, YOU ALWAYS COME UP SHORT!!!  And not by a few dollars, more like 75 bucks.  So now, when the server has to go back to the table and explain the lack of money for the bill, somehow it has become their fault, and one of your friends has to put in more than they should have, and when everyone leaves and the server finally has the time to close everything out, the person who is shorted at the end is none other than, the server.  Of all the money that was thrown in for the bill, you didn't throw in enough for a tip.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned:  Friends don't let friends count cash and credit cards and not leave a tip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-6324106287500112743?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/6324106287500112743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=6324106287500112743' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6324106287500112743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6324106287500112743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/09/splitting-visas-counting-cash.html' title='Splitting Visas... Counting Cash'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3PrD0KHry40/TYf_cWGNIYI/AAAAAAAAALM/6s3RRlgujmc/s72-c/pick-a-card.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-269916776026325324</id><published>2010-09-07T02:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-29T00:30:19.516-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Am Your Server</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TKLq4Hpb2WI/AAAAAAAAAIo/-SmMAIfTNmA/s1600/darth+vader.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 118px; height: 78px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TKLq4Hpb2WI/AAAAAAAAAIo/-SmMAIfTNmA/s200/darth+vader.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522234342956063074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can you tell our server that we're ready to order?"  The lady in white barked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of course.  I am your server."  said the frustrated comic/writer/ server for the lady in white's table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is all too common.  Do all server's look the same?  If they do then that's racist!  Is it really that hard to remember the face and body composition of the person who's been standing over you since you sat down at your table, and repeated the specials back to you three times, because on the second time your friend couldn't resist the "I'll have the Halibut, for the 'Hell-of-it.'  (HELLO!!! RIM SHOT! BAM!!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was always fun too when the customers didn't believe that I was their server.  "No.  It was a bald man with an east coast accent and attitude."  I just tell them, "Oh, he went on break.  But I can take your order and give you attitude."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even better... "Have you seen our server?"  Actually one of my all time faves.  This one I will give the customers a little leeway, considering the I was probably texting in the back somewhere waiting for the last possible second to approach the table.  Don't judge.  If you hadn't ignored me the past three times I approached the table, I wouldn't of felt like I had time to text my buddy about how the restaurant was sucking my soul from my head.  "Yes I saw your server.  He's out playing on the freeway.  He'll be back soon if he doesn't get hit by a truck."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like Darth Vader said to his tables, "MA'AM... I AM YOUR SERVER!  And tonight's soup is Lobster Bisque."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-269916776026325324?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/269916776026325324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=269916776026325324' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/269916776026325324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/269916776026325324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/09/i-am-your-server.html' title='I Am Your Server'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TKLq4Hpb2WI/AAAAAAAAAIo/-SmMAIfTNmA/s72-c/darth+vader.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-3958232969008731184</id><published>2010-09-07T02:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-29T02:12:34.458-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Can I have your autograph?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TMqPFj6WQRI/AAAAAAAAAIw/tM2wRq2IZpc/s1600/david_copperfield1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TMqPFj6WQRI/AAAAAAAAAIw/tM2wRq2IZpc/s200/david_copperfield1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533392417880162578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To some people, credit cards most be a new technology for them.  "Wow!  You mean you swipe my card and my bill gets paid?!"  You use them at the mall, the body shop, and for your waxing lady.  You never leave those establishments without signing the slip to complete the credit transaction.  Then why are you doing this at restaurants?  "I just ate a big meal.  Don't have the energy to sign my name."  Or, "if I don't sign the slip, then they won't be able to tell I actually ate the food that they claim I did."  Hey David Copperfield, stop making both vouchers disappear by slipping them in your pockets.  Or this one... stop signing one of the slips, and putting the signed copy into your wallet, purse, or satchel.  Maybe it's a food coma?  Now the server has to chase you down like Lindsey Lohan after her dealer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TMqPfeT-AiI/AAAAAAAAAI4/sVJoRLJfw-Y/s1600/Lindsey-Lohan-Jail-1-495x329.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TMqPfeT-AiI/AAAAAAAAAI4/sVJoRLJfw-Y/s200/Lindsey-Lohan-Jail-1-495x329.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533392863053611554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen up people!  You eat.  We swipe.  You sign.  Done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-3958232969008731184?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/3958232969008731184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=3958232969008731184' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3958232969008731184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3958232969008731184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/09/can-i-have-your-autograph.html' title='Can I have your autograph?'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TMqPFj6WQRI/AAAAAAAAAIw/tM2wRq2IZpc/s72-c/david_copperfield1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-3457570001551729822</id><published>2010-08-27T03:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-28T11:41:48.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll just have a some lettuce leaves.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/THlYRhljVZI/AAAAAAAAAIg/KAVyn_pCAkA/s1600/lettuce.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 199px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/THlYRhljVZI/AAAAAAAAAIg/KAVyn_pCAkA/s200/lettuce.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510532677161407890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've worked a hard day.  You've finally made it home and spend a bit of time getting ready to go out to that great restaurant with your friends.  The reservation.  The traffic.  The valet.  Finally you've made it to your table, heard the specials, and you order... "A side salad."  WTF???  That's all you're ordering?  "And what side would you like your salad?... Be-side your ice-water?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or better yet, a party of over ten people, and all that's ordered is two small pizzas and a side of fries.  Oh, and water without ice.  If you're going out, order big and eat.  If not, eat Digiorno's at home.  It's delicious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-3457570001551729822?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/3457570001551729822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=3457570001551729822' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3457570001551729822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3457570001551729822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/08/ill-just-have-some-lettuce-leaves.html' title='I&apos;ll just have a some lettuce leaves.'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/THlYRhljVZI/AAAAAAAAAIg/KAVyn_pCAkA/s72-c/lettuce.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-4581532642294945700</id><published>2010-07-26T03:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-26T03:27:26.180-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just your name... nothing else.</title><content type='html'>Of the many letters, emails, and comments customers have sent about me and my service at whatever dining or club establishment I was currently employed, I've often found that no matter how terrible they thought the service was, it was made even worse by the fact that I didn't have the decency to give them my name.  "The steak was over cooked.  I blame "what's his name?!"  "Things probably would not have been so bad if that guy had told me his name."  "Do you normally have your employees not introduce themselves when they are taking care of customer's?  My wife and I spent a lot of money in your restaurant, I'd expect to at least know the server's name!"--all true comments, by the way.&lt;br /&gt;My name?  I had no idea it was so valuable.  If I had known that my name would be so magical in making a crappy dining experience that much better, I'd approach each table with a high school marching band and glee club exalting my name to the heavens.  And while we're mentioning heaven, I'll have some airplanes sky-write my name above the approximate area the table is located below.  Nobody pays attention to their server from the get-go.  Osama bin Laden could climb out of my mouth, but you would be too busy texting the person sitting right next to you to see me standing there.  Most of the time, people would get me confused with a bald server named "Joe" anyways.  (Good server, BTW.)  "And my name is Joey, and tonight's soup is Lobster Bisque."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;until next time, "Servers don't pay their rent with compliments."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com/"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-4581532642294945700?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/4581532642294945700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=4581532642294945700' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4581532642294945700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4581532642294945700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/07/just-your-name-nothing-else.html' title='Just your name... nothing else.'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-1767915732651774492</id><published>2010-07-01T13:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-02T02:04:16.347-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So Closed!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TC2rcEQiNfI/AAAAAAAAAHc/8UHqFWluzdg/s1600/noname.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TC2rcEQiNfI/AAAAAAAAAHc/8UHqFWluzdg/s320/noname.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489232019502282226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The hours of operation are from 9am-5pm."  That means you can patronize that business for 8 hours during the day.  After 5pm, the doors are closed and locked.  Why do customers in restaurants feel the need to sit and stay even after the restaurant has closed?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just because you've paid X dollars, doesn't entitle you to own Table 10 as a piece of "restaurant real estate."  And that goes for the slow eaters as well.  Seriously, when will customers understand the concept of time?  You can't make a reservation for 6, show up at 8, (without a phone call,) and expect your table to be waiting for you.  "But I made a reservation..."  Yeah... because all reservations have a statute of 3 months before we release the table.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Ferris Bueller said at the end of the movie, "You're still here?  Leave.  It's over.  Go home."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;until next time, "Servers don't pay their rent with compliments."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter, party of one?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebitterbistro.com"&gt;The Bitter Bistro&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-1767915732651774492?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/1767915732651774492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=1767915732651774492' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/1767915732651774492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/1767915732651774492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/07/so-closed.html' title='So Closed!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/TC2rcEQiNfI/AAAAAAAAAHc/8UHqFWluzdg/s72-c/noname.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-2903004165796827967</id><published>2010-04-19T17:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-19T17:28:59.786-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yelp!</title><content type='html'>"Everybody is a food critic" is the new "everybody is a comedian."  With that being said, Yelp.com is the new MySpace.com.  This site offers people the opportunity to write a review about the restaurant or bar they happened to patronize.  Most of the reviews people write are negative, referring to poor service, food quality, and overall dining experience.  What's the new term for "get a life" people?!!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a review from Andrea L. from Los Angeles regarding her restaurant experience:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"This place is just a letdown. When you choose to go to a nice restaurant for a girlfriend's birthday, what are you looking for? Great food, great ambiance, great service - hell, we would have been happy with 'good' food, 'good'..... &lt;br /&gt;Saturday, dinner was at nine. Restaurant was pretty empty considering the night and time. They hit the mark on some of the aesthetic factor but the rest was lacking. Hate to say it but the food was just mediocre - despite the price. The highlight being my friends Ahi Tuna entrée, although she disliked most of the other items that came with it (wasabi mash, random head of bok choy..). Braised beef was passable but nothing fantastic. Same for the fries and the chicken curry soup (bland). Ah, and the service? When your restaurant is practically empty, I know it's difficult but please rise to the challenge of keeping some water in my glass and bringing the check in something that at least resembles a reasonable amount of time. Oh, and would you mind sending someone in to stock the bathroom supplies? That might be nice.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey Andrea, if you want servers to re-stock the bathroom next time, that's fine.  But then remember THEY are the ones bringing your food to your table.  And then if you're wondering what that funny aftertaste is from the braised beef, it's probably something that came from the bathroom that the server had to take the time to re-stock for you.  And Andrea still wonders why she's still single.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the best advice I can give people when going out to eat for a good time... HAVE A GOOD TIME!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time, "Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter?  Party of 1?  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;www.thebitterbistro.com&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-2903004165796827967?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/2903004165796827967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=2903004165796827967' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2903004165796827967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2903004165796827967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/04/yelp.html' title='Yelp!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-1858175095873347070</id><published>2010-02-16T11:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T00:46:21.930-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You gotta fight. For your right. Assault and B a t t e r y !!!</title><content type='html'>(I do not condone violent behavior, nor do I encourage it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that disclaimer... Have you ever have those fantasies where you beat up your boss at work?  Or a customer leaves you some change for a tip off of a check for over a 100 dollars, and you walk up to them and throw it in their face?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Welcome one and all to the world of the service industry.  Just the other week, I had one of "those experiences" with a guest.  This &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;said&lt;/span&gt; guest was staying in the most expensive room of the hotel.  The Presidential Suite at $1500.00 a night.  She was sat in my section and I was told it would be a four top.  (Four people in her party.)  She didn't want to see any menus.  She simply told my manager to send out a three course meal and a couple of bottles of wine.  She finally was sat.  I greeted her and quickly assessed that she would be "high maintenance."  Not a big deal, if handled correctly.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If there were ever a training video on how a guest/server relationship can go wrong, this would be the template.  There were too many plates on the table.  Not enough silverware.  (Apparently you need a new fork and knife in between every bite.)  The candle's too bright.  The wine's too cold.  The food's too hot.  Apparently I was serving "Goldilocks."  Get more cocktails before more wine.  Don't open that wine until the last two bites of appetizers are left.  This woman was like a bad GPS.  North was South.  East was West.  But she had no idea where the hell she was going.  Just as long as the GPS voice pointed her towards the direction of food and booze, this broad was in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point you got to be saying, "Why did you put up with all of this?"  It was hard, trust me.  All of this going on AND I had other tables in my section that I basically had forgotten about.  I kept going with it because it reminded me of the girl fights in high school.  I couldn't believe this was happening, and I was anxious to see how it would end.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's how it ended.  Can someone say assault and battery?  Between all the confusion and clouded thinking with this woman, she managed to stack up the dirty plates on her table.  In between demanding that I remove them and ordering me to get two more bottle of wine, she arm-barred me across my chest and pushed me away saying, "go get the wine.  Now!"  Being the professional that I am, I calmly said, "Get your fucking hands off me." I turned and walked away.  Told my manager to gratuity the table, that I wasn't going to wait on this bag any longer, and that I was getting the tip.  And my manager complied.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned:  "Don't walk where you're not supposed to walk because there might not be someone with super human strength to save your little ass."  Okay, no.  But I love that line from "City Slickers."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter?  Party of 1.  Your table is ready."&lt;br /&gt;www.thebitterbistro.com&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-1858175095873347070?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/1858175095873347070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=1858175095873347070' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/1858175095873347070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/1858175095873347070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/02/you-gotta-fight-for-your-right-assault.html' title='You gotta fight. For your right. Assault and B a t t e r y !!!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-1039477838491219766</id><published>2010-01-11T02:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-11T02:54:46.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby service</title><content type='html'>A baby is a parents top priority, but that doesn't make it a server's priority.  I would get pleasantly annoyed when people would present me with services that their baby would require.  "Can you wash out the baby's bottle and fill it with luke warm water?"  "Bring the baby's food first, but not too soon.  And don't let it be too hot!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;News flash parents... we're servers, not sitters.  Take care of your kid's necessities before you set in my section.  Let me take care of serving you filets and cabs, while you serve your kid peas and naps.  That way the only one crying during your meal will be just the baby and not me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time... "Bitter?  Party of 1.  Your table is ready."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-1039477838491219766?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/1039477838491219766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=1039477838491219766' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/1039477838491219766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/1039477838491219766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2010/01/baby-service.html' title='Baby service'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-4065584853159918010</id><published>2009-11-30T16:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T17:34:35.750-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mind Reading 101</title><content type='html'>Servers apparently can do it all now-a-days.  Along with suggesting wine to compliment your "Lamb Shank;" listen to why you decided to become a "vag"-a-tarian; and refill your ice-teas, add another skill to the repertoire... mind reading.  Why else would you, the customer, have that surprised/upset look of, "you didn't know I have a peanut allergy" scraped across your face?  Or, "my God doesn't allow me to eat pork products."  Well, my God doesn't allow me to read minds.  So if you have a food allergy that can potentially kill you, (a la Gene Wilder in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,") "Please.  Stop.  Don't eat that."  Tell your server before you order your food.  Unless, of course, you enjoy eating the emergency room Jello.  But I already knew that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;until next time, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of 1.  Your table is ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://thebitterbistro.com"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;www.thebitterbistro.com&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-4065584853159918010?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/4065584853159918010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=4065584853159918010' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4065584853159918010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/4065584853159918010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/11/mind-reading-101.html' title='Mind Reading 101'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-3897494432899103930</id><published>2009-10-02T16:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-02T16:57:57.661-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Child baggage</title><content type='html'>This "bistro" blog is going outside of the boundary for a bit to look into the world of checking baggage on airplanes.  More specifically:  Children.  If anybody should get a discounted airline ticket, it should be the adults.  On a recent flight from LAX to Chicago O'Hare, the almost four hour flight was a non-sleeping flight due to a five year old boy who kept kicking the back of my seat.  His parents were sitting on either side of him managed to do nothing about the situation.  What made the situation even worse, the child has an allergy to dairy, yet the parents didn't bother to bring any appropriate snacks for their kid, allergy or not.  And then the parents expected the flight attendants to be able to handle the situation, but most domestic flights don't carry a wide variety of food choices suitable for children with dairy allergies.  (Too bad.)  &lt;br /&gt;Through the flight of kicking and much screaming and crying, (I'll admit, some crying was my own,) the child finally managed to shut it's mouth when my girlfriend turned around and choked the kid.  (Just kidding.)  She offered the child a box of raisins.  It seemed to pacify the situation for a bit.  No "thank-you" from the parents, by-the-way.  And even better, that was my "diabetic" snack!&lt;br /&gt;To remedy this situation, I suggest we stow the children under the seats in front of us, or above in the over-head compartments.  I would like to suggest down below with the dogs, but like Lou's mom, Mary Leonesio says, "why torment the dogs that way?  Put the kids on the wing!"  Anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-3897494432899103930?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/3897494432899103930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=3897494432899103930' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3897494432899103930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3897494432899103930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/10/child-baggage.html' title='Child baggage'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-7743894560885095582</id><published>2009-06-27T03:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T00:35:43.045-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Customs</title><content type='html'>Perhaps this is a bit of a "re post" from awhile back, but I would like to remind the foreigners of a little thing here in the States called "the gratuity."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you pass through customs, along with the stamp to get into the country, there should also be a pamphlet in various languages explaining how to tip.  15% is no longer an acceptable gratuity.  It is all about 18 and even 20 percent.  Don't get me wrong, it should not be just taken for granted.  The server or bartender should put in the effort and service for the money.  But this is not a salary position.  The gratuity is how, WE, the service industry, pay our bills.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So whatever language you are fortunate to speak, just make sure you tip.  And if you don't speak English, please have someone translate this blog for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-7743894560885095582?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/7743894560885095582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=7743894560885095582' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/7743894560885095582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/7743894560885095582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/06/customs.html' title='Customs'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-8829054915868500017</id><published>2009-04-01T11:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T14:26:08.266-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Please and Thank you</title><content type='html'>Two words that used to mean so much are clearly absent from the English language, "Please," and, "Thank-you."  Especially in restaurants.  Of all places you'd want to treat someone nicely, it's the place that brings you food and drink that was prepared OUT of your line-of-vision.  Now, I'm not going to go into any horror stories of spitting in food or drink.  I personally, have never seen a chef spit in a customer's food.  One time I did witnessed the bartender spit in a martini.  (Aiden!)  But it was a "Lychee Martini," who would noticed?  Am I right?  Hello!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Customers seem to feel that once they have set up camp at their table, that they own the entire forest.  Including treating the waitstaff like animals.  Barking orders.  Yelling at the server from across the restaurant.  Snapping fingers.  Whatever!  A pleasurable dining experience is ultimately in the hands of the servers/bartenders/bussers.  Let us do our jobs, so you don't feel the need to be our boss.  If you feel the need to boss somebody around, boss the manager.  It'll get them off of our backs, and the favor will be returned with excellent service.  "Please," and, "Thank-you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, "Bartenders and servers don't pay their rent with compliments."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-8829054915868500017?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/8829054915868500017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=8829054915868500017' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8829054915868500017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8829054915868500017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/04/please-and-thank-you.html' title='Please and Thank you'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-8640288650000277596</id><published>2009-02-13T04:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T04:43:48.700-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Do you know who I am?</title><content type='html'>So you've reached the pinnacle of celebrity.  Congratulations!  Let the parade begin.  However, do the floats have to continue to go by every restaurant you walk into?  Granted, having a celebrity in a restaurant does help bring in some business, but that doesn't mean you are on the restaurant's payroll and deserve to get free stuff.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't like to mention names of certain people who are "over-actors" or can't read cue cards... (that would be cruel,) BUT... everyone can learn from a certain individual who has Bob Barker's old gig.  Have a low bill and tip well above it.  "Come On Down!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And by the way, those of you who are the newest contestants on whatever reality-show-contest you are on, the restaurants in Los Angeles aren't like the ones in your hometown of Tallahassee.  Have respect and class.  At least if not for yourself, but for the show you represent and for the people who work in the establishment you are annoying them at.  And if the show you are on is a singing competition... save the singing for the competition!  I get it.  You can sing.  But, Jesus/Mary/ and Joseph...  Stop singing at your table!  The server is trying to tell you the specials, not hear your accapela version of Paula Abdul's "Cold Hearted Snake."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-8640288650000277596?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/8640288650000277596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=8640288650000277596' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8640288650000277596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8640288650000277596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/02/do-you-know-who-i-am.html' title='Do you know who I am?'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-9137248323301769561</id><published>2009-01-20T00:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T01:00:30.595-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday People</title><content type='html'>(Re post from December 28th, 2008.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The holidays have once again come and gone.  We're still eating leftovers and exchanging clothes that are the wrong size.  But the one thing I'll always remember about working at a restaurant during the holidays are the "Holiday People."  These are people that HAVE to eat at restaurants during the holidays because they were not invited anywhere else.  Why?  Because they're A-holes!  (source, Joe Kelly.) &lt;br /&gt;And now these people take it upon themselves to walk into whatever dining establishment, without a reservation, seat themselves, and make the lives of servers and bartenders miserable as if they are related to Scrooge.  Everything is wrong:  Too expensive!  The pour is too short on their glass of wine!  The service is too slow.  I'm too smiley!  Don't say "Merry Christmas," I'm Jewish!  Don't say "Happy Holidays," I celebrate Christmas!  And of course, the biggest "Bah Humbug" of all... the lousy tip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All because someone didn't invite them over for the holidays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter, party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-9137248323301769561?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/9137248323301769561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=9137248323301769561' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/9137248323301769561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/9137248323301769561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/holiday-people.html' title='Holiday People'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-198060849473056541</id><published>2009-01-20T00:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T00:58:19.597-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gum control!</title><content type='html'>(Re post from November 18th, 2008.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Didn't your teachers tell you that you couldn't chew gum in class?  Well, the same goes for restaurants!  And what's even more disgusting is how this is now the server's responsibility to dispose your mangled morsel of Trident. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a few people who attempt to have SOME class by asking for a paper napkin to place their gum in and then put it on a plate to be immediately thrown out.  But for most... either directly on their dinner plate or better yet, on the TABLE.  Now the gum just sits in the middle of a showdown with the server and the customer to see if either one is going get rid of the gum, or if it is going to become a permanent fixture on the table for all to see for weeks to come like an art exhibit on tour at museums across the country. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is fresh breath necessary before you consume alcohol and food?  I can see how Extra's "Bubble-mint" flavored gum really enhances the flavor of a filet and your pinot noir, but if that's the case... swallow it, and be done!  And besides, didn't you read the sign, "No outside FOOD or DRINK!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-198060849473056541?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/198060849473056541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=198060849473056541' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/198060849473056541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/198060849473056541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/gum-control.html' title='Gum control!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-9145610453377678189</id><published>2009-01-20T00:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T00:55:23.555-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The few.  The proud?  The Managers!</title><content type='html'>(Re post from September 24th, 2008.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've seen them in restaurants.  Usually wearing some sort of leisure suit!  They look authoritative, but still walk aimlessly around doing nothing more than getting in everybody's way.  That's right!  They're the Managers! &lt;br /&gt;If you are wondering why you might be getting poor service, or why the staff seems to be a little too stressed out, (even though the restaurant isn't that busy;) chances are a manager has reared their ugly mug into the equation.&lt;br /&gt;That's their job.  Making a servers job harder then it already has to be.  Here's a little known fact... you ever want to get a free meal?  Free anything?  Throughout your meal, say everything is fine to your server, or bartender.  Then when presented with your bill, call the manager over, and complain about how uncomfortable your chair is, or how the dim lighting in the restaurant gave you food poisoning.  9 times out of 10, something will be free.  Maybe your ENTIRE check. &lt;br /&gt;I believe that when an individual enters into restaurant management, they are entering into a marriage.  That person has given their soul to the owner; becomes a slave, and is never allowed to see their friends again.  (If a manager had friends to begin with.)  Somehow this blog has turned into a Budweiser commercial, "Real men of genius!  We salute you who make restaurants had places to work."&lt;br /&gt;So the next time something is not right during your dining experience, take a look around.  They're there!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-9145610453377678189?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/9145610453377678189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=9145610453377678189' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/9145610453377678189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/9145610453377678189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/few-proud-managers.html' title='The few.  The proud?  The Managers!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-3044572779344179538</id><published>2009-01-16T05:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T05:25:30.266-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Allergy Freaks!</title><content type='html'>(Re post from March 14th, 2008.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People think they can get away with anything when they're eating out at a restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day, I over-heard a conversation of a lady sitting at the table across from me tell her waiter this, "I'm allergic to:  1.  Beef  2.  Dairy  3.  Peanuts  4.  Garlic, and 5.  Lettuce.  What would you recommend?"...  I recommend you get back in your mother's womb and finish cooking!  You're not done, you ALLERGY FREAK!.  Eat at home.  Who let you out of your bubble?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Put it this way, if you have a severe enough food allergy that warrants you to admit that "lettuce" will kill you... stick with the water.  I know people enjoy taking "shots" after meals, but not of "epinephrine."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders/Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-3044572779344179538?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/3044572779344179538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=3044572779344179538' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3044572779344179538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/3044572779344179538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/allergy-freaks.html' title='Allergy Freaks!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-1777119255342154497</id><published>2009-01-16T05:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T05:21:09.986-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Euro Summer</title><content type='html'>(Re post from October 5th, 2007.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Euro-summer" is over.-- To those who have never worked in the "service industry," that is the time from June to the middle of September where our "friends" from Europe venture forth to the land of the free to vacation, dine and complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The one thing that they forget to pack in the carry-on, is the "European to-the-rest-of-the-World" dictionary.  I understand that English is not everyone's first language, so I would not expect a bartender/ server in a restaurant, in a foreign country to be able to speak it fluently.  But when I can't speak French, in my own country,  I now have somehow disgraced my nation, and my forefathers because I cannot understand how you want your eggs cooked.  By the way, in President Bush's next "State of the Union" address, he is going to announce the ground-breaking discovery we've made with eggs here in America.  Scrambled.  Poached.  Omelettes.--What!?  No way!  We won't cure Diabetes for the next century, but our "foreign friends" will now be offered the luxury of choice when it comes to how they have their eggs prepared.  "Sunnyside up" is going out like Napoleon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would try my best to communicate with customers who couldn't speak English, but many felt the need to SHOUT their orders at me.  As if suddenly... the YELLING would flip the fluency switch in my brain.  Apparently I am multi-lingual... but only at higher decibels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And "NO!," tip is not included.  If you believe it is... you also believe that OJ is innocent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders/Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-1777119255342154497?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/1777119255342154497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=1777119255342154497' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/1777119255342154497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/1777119255342154497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/euro-summer.html' title='Euro Summer'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-6482329615220679634</id><published>2009-01-14T15:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T15:57:16.278-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Are you an actor?</title><content type='html'>(Re post from July 8th, 2007.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question that soooo many of us who have plowed through the numerous restaurant and bar jobs have heard before... Are you an actor too?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever I was asked this, I was amazed at how quickly I could justify blowing somebody up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your honor, my client was merely telling the customers the specials of the day, when unsuspectingly, all of there heads exploded.  He was amazed that he wasn't hurt."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Customers seem to think that colleges have offered degrees and courses in serving and bartending.  Although I did go to UC Santa Barbara, (where bartending was more like an elective,) and I haven't check the class schedule at Devry lately, for the most part, most of us found that the restaurant job allowed us to make a living while pursuing our other endeavors. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would love to see the day when I run into an aspiring accountant waiting tables at a restaurant waiting for his big "accountant" break! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as my mom always would tell me, "It is a means to an end."  Although sometimes I have to wonder... who's end?  So let's keep that in mind after you've had a hard day at the office, and now you are out in a restaurant. (Which is supposed to be ENJOYABLE!)  Now you are at your server's office, or your bartender's, or whomever's.  Just because they are working hard for your tip, doesn't mean that your attitude should be included with it.  Check your attitudes at the door with your coats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders/Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-6482329615220679634?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/6482329615220679634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=6482329615220679634' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6482329615220679634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/6482329615220679634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/are-you-actor.html' title='Are you an actor?'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-8561584835621599500</id><published>2009-01-12T18:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T18:59:27.581-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A quiet table please.</title><content type='html'>(Re post from July 2nd, 2007.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that many customers have failed to believe that sound travels.  "Can we get a table in the quiet section of the restaurant?"  Are you dining at the library?  "Of course.  How about a nice table between "non-fiction," and the "biography" section?"  News flash!... the noise from the "busy" restaurant IS evenly distributed throughout the entire establishment.  Which means that if you want a quiet table, then bring your bubbles to sit in ala GET SMART.  That's the only way I can assure that you are not going to hear the conversation from the next table, the baby crying, or somebody complaining.  (Which is probably you... complaining about how much you hate the table you are sitting at...) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, the table you are sitting at does not set your "social stigma."  Your table is determined by how full the restaurant is, or what tables are reserved.  Note to customer... make a reservation for the weekends.  Showing up without a reservation on a Friday or Saturday night, and wondering why you are waiting for an hour to be sat usually means that every table is reserved.  Hence the phrase, "reservations." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And passing up three tables to finally sit at your fourth choice isn't going to help you out either.  It's a table.  You are not buying REAL ESTATE.  Keep in mind that most restaurants keep record of customers whom are PLEASURABLE to serve.  We want to keep your business.  Customers who aren't so pleasurable are put on a different record... "The Kid's Table."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-8561584835621599500?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/8561584835621599500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=8561584835621599500' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8561584835621599500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8561584835621599500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/quiet-table-please.html' title='A quiet table please.'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-2922005731330201745</id><published>2009-01-12T02:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T02:15:35.627-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Check please!</title><content type='html'>(Re post from June 15th, 2007.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get it.  You are in a hurry.  You have to do "x" and you only have "y" amount of time to do it in, and now you are sitting in my section of the restaurant.  Like I said, I understand being pressed for time. &lt;br /&gt;So I get you your drinks and food in a timely manner.  Then the big statement...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"CHECK PLEASE!"... if you even say this.  Usually people are so pressed for time that they cannot even use words to communicate.  I usually get the "check gesture" in the air.  (We've evolved a long way.)  I bring you the check.  (I've managed to learn sign language,) ... and instead of paying right away, you leave the check in front of you for the next two hours.  Amazing how your schedule freed up so quickly.  And wow!  Now you have three friends joining you at a table for 1 person.  But you still haven't put out some form of payment, and my shift should've been over an hour ago.  (You think that I don't have important things to do.  I've got blogs to write for the love of corned beef!) &lt;br /&gt;Now I have to do the continual "fly byes."  And do the "whoops!  I thought you had a credit card out" move, just to get you to pay, and quickly leave.  When, that's what you wanted to do in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-2922005731330201745?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/2922005731330201745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=2922005731330201745' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2922005731330201745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/2922005731330201745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/check-please.html' title='Check please!'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-8333137813086119920</id><published>2009-01-12T02:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T02:11:26.028-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Signals</title><content type='html'>(Re post from May 14th, 2007.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week, we'll explore the finer points of "non-verbal" signals.  Many people are big believers in the "clean plate club."  (I am actually "sergeant-at-arms" of this club.)  But let's help our wait-staff out by placing your fork and knives diagonally across your plate when you're finished eating.  That way, your server or busser knows to take your plate.  This leaves more room for you to place appropriate body parts on the table... (Arms... Elbows...and Boobs.)  And try to leave glasses or cups to the side of your place setting.  This helps by leaving the space in front of you free and clean so the food runner can neatly place another plate of food in front of you.  (If you have more food coming, of course.)  This way, the "runner" doesn't have to stick his arm pit in your face and play a quick game of "twister" with you, while trying to make room for your plate of food.  All in all, keep it simple, and keep it neat.  Nobody likes to make your dining experience a game a "tetris."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-8333137813086119920?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/8333137813086119920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=8333137813086119920' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8333137813086119920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/8333137813086119920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/signals.html' title='Signals'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3356723675078315319.post-5388664549188513108</id><published>2009-01-11T20:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T20:36:48.338-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello</title><content type='html'>(Re post from May 14th, 2007)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If people think that you have poor social skills, then perhaps being out in a restaurant is not the best place to practice them.  Start slow.  Then work your way up.  Walk up to somebody, say "hello."  Walk away.  Don't turn and say ANYTHING else.  You don't want to ruin your confidence.  That's all you need to get you to the social top. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, Bartenders and Servers don't pay their rent with compliments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter?  Party of one.  Your table is ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3356723675078315319-5388664549188513108?l=www.thebitterbistro.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/feeds/5388664549188513108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3356723675078315319&amp;postID=5388664549188513108' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/5388664549188513108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3356723675078315319/posts/default/5388664549188513108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.thebitterbistro.com/2009/01/hello.html' title='Hello'/><author><name>Bitter.  Party of 1</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhm2eUe9Hbc/SoKPteS_WNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vOmKgp-mZ2A/S220/Joey+215.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
