Coming Soon To A Dinner Table Near You

During my little weekly password/email checks here at the library, I've decided to write some more about the people I've met in my secondary job at a restaurant, because they are decidedly infinitely more interesting than the people in my professional job.

Still writing here now and then is also my little "fuck you" to the boys in the BH (and the women that love them). I'm still here, I'm still writing...despite your bullshit.:)

So here we go, boys....with love...from your favorite "toy."

So I guess I passed my hazing initiation with flying colors because for whatever reason, all is well with the "head cheerleaders," their archnemeses, and everyone in between...like me.:)

Perhaps it was because of the "Insight Into You" break room game I started, or perhaps they had a hormonal upswing fluctuation, who knows, but things are markedly improved around there.

Also, I just found out that I actually....kick ass as a server. I'm not sure why, I used to suck at serving years ago. I think it has something to do with becoming a mother and learning how to multi-task amongst chaos, lol. I'm particularly good when there are children at the table, the kiddies tend to love me.

However, there are still those days...

So after I take the order, which inexplicably takes 10 minutes, the Alpha female at the table whispers that there are two birthdays, could we sing, .and could we create a sampler of some of our appetizers as her entree.

I go to put in my order in the computer. Now, lol, the last thing anyone should've ever done is given me a keyboard for the prep part of ordering, upon which I can type in anything I want on the ticket going to the kitchen.

"Filet mignon, butterflied...medium well...will you go with me? Circle yes or no."

"Add lobster. ..who's your mommy?"

I go to pick up a Cobb salad and reserve it for mealtime, writing my name on a napkin and placing it with the other train of salads with names, which read:

"Katie. Jenny. Matt. Eric. Kill Whitey."

I chuckle to myself as I pick up glasses for iced teas.

"Behind you, with a knife!" .shouts Eric.

"Behind you" is the restaurant way of letting you know not to turn around quickly, to keep you from running into a tray and dropping whatever you or that person is holding, or impaling yourself on the steak knife.

I shout..."I NEED SINGERS, TABLE 43... IN 30!"

"Singers heard!" shouts back Sally, service/window manager tonight.

"Sally, can we make an appetizer sampler for high-maintenaince ho at table 43?"

"Argggh, I guess...okay."

Anthony, the bartender, breezes in for a salad.

"Chrys, ask Garrett about his wild night playing strip poker with some really hot chicks last night."

"Dohkay, since I AM all about hot chicks playing strip poker and all...do I detect a note of sarcasm?"

"Just do it, you'll see."

"Sooo Garrett, what's this about you playing poker with some really hot chicks last night?"

HAHAHAHA!

"Wow. I'm really glad you two are enjoying this, but I still have no idea of what you're talking about...and am not sure I want to."

Garrett pulls out his cell phone. There is a picture of a 300-lb naked woman with something stuffed up her nose and two Bud Light bottles covering where her nipples should be.

"JESUS...I was...totally unprepared for that, I'll have nightmares. Wow, she's pretty sexy, I hope you got lucky."

"I...don't remember...AND...I have no explanation for that."

"Tinyyyyy...order up!"

"Tiny" is my nickname, except when James says it, it comes out "Tinnnnehhhhhhh."

"Thank you."

"Here you go, shithead" says Brent (pimp daddy from the story below).

"Thank you, ball-less wonder. Wait a minute...kay, I'm missing the sampler, and this is a Delmonico instead of a filet. SHIT, I forgot the lobster tail. I NEED A LOB ON THE FLY!"

James shouts, "You fucking idiots, I need a filet on the fly. And Chrystal, there's no such thing as a lob on the fly, it takes 15 minutes, lol. And what the hell, a sampler???"

"Oooopppps...sorrrryyyy....but I love you, madly? Sally, what about the sampler?"

"Oops, sorrrrrryyy...I'll get on the sampler" Sally grins sheepishly.

"It's cool, I'll stall and say it's because the ribeye is well done."

I turn to see Sally flapping her arms wildly like a chicken. She is speaking to the appetizer chef, Geraldo, who speaks virtually no English.

Sally: "No no...two PLATES of wings, two wings on the PLATE. Ya know...pollo (flaps her arms). DOS POLLO! On the plate."

Geraldo: "Ches, chicken have two wings...on plates."

Sally: "Oh Sweet Jesus, Ricardo? Please make him understand?"

I am now...doubled over laughing, though I will now receive a 5% tip, if that.

"Where the hell are those Delmonicos for 47? Sally...I...need a minute to smoke, this is chaotic"... says hot (and hotheaded) new bar manager, helping out in the kitchen.

Sally and I simultaneously look at each other and raise an eyebrow...MEN. They can't handle this kind of stress; as I said, we mothers are used to chaos and multitasking and it's no big deal.

"NO, GERALDO....TWO WINGS ON THE PLATE, NOT TWO PLATES OF WINGS!!! OMG, Chrystal...he's going to punch me, right in my face, and I don't blame him.

I am now peeing myself with laughter at this display.

"Chrystal, I'm not leaving this kitchen to that table to apologize until I have a lob, a filet, and the sampler" Sally says, grabbing onto the metal bar at the counter.

"Me neither. Let's chain ourselves in solidarity...(sings)... We Shall Overrrcomme."

"Tinehhh.....order UPPPP!"

Out we go, Sally kisses their asses.

Ten minutes later, it's birthday showtime, but everyone is too busy to sing.

"Sally, I'm trying to salvage any sort of tip whatsoever from this table and everyone's too busy to sing and there are two birthdays, can we NOT ruin these people's birthdays?"

"I NEED SINGERS TO TABLE 43 RIGHT NOW OR THERE'S EXTRA SIDEWORK AND I'LL KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP...GO...NOW!"

So now fourteen singers, Sally, and myself approach the table, clapping.

"Ladies and gentlemen...may I have your attention please. Though Pam and Rick's friends and family would never even think of embarrassing them for their birthdays, their friends and family here at ____ have...absolutely no problem with that whatsoever. Please join me in singing the ____ birthday song."

And that three-ring circus would end up leaving me with?

Big smiles, no idea of what went into their meal (or what was initially omitted) and?

A $50 tip, thank you....:)

all's well that ends well.:)

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

As always, I'm posting/visiting nowhere else but here, so if you receive emails, visits, comments, or anything else that appears to be associated with me, my name, or picture (and you don't know me in real life to call me and verify or view my computer emails/visit history).... it's not me, and it never was...believe that or not...but how could I prove it anyway?

At this point, I pretty much know who was involved. Trying to investigate/figure out who kept doing these things for two years (and why) only became flipped around back on ME into "stalking"...so I would advise anyone else experiencing "issues" with this same group to be very careful.

Gain as much documentation as you can, but be prepared for the same response, if you're dealing with those from that posse.

If you have the money (and want the drama), I would advise letting professionals do your investigation for you....though cyber harrassment/stalking IS very difficult to prove.

Even if you have an IP address, you can't prove it was that person, at that computer, at that very moment...and the BH tend to use dynamic IPs.

So until next time, enjoy your dinners....we always do.:)