TalesFromYourServer: Entitled salad guy.
So I’m not a great storyteller but I’ll do my best here.
I’ll preface this by explaining that I’m in a unique position of management where I can still work service shifts to make some extra scratch, and when I’m cut and my tables are gone, I go change my uniform, switch my clock in, and act as M.O.D for the rest of the night to close down the house. I have regular management shifts too, but I can help out on nights we’re short on servers. This was one of those nights.
Saturday night was really balls-to-the-wall crazy. 2 hour wait, long ticket times, everyone in the weeds. Because of this I had to serve a bit longer than originally planned before I could take a cut and relieve the volume manager. Around 9pm I got my last table, five gentlemen. Well, four gentlemen and one douchebag. We’ll call him DB.
Table started pretty rocky because it was a slightly long greet (maybe five minutes) because I still had four other tables that were in various stages of closing out/leaving, and as soon as I approach the table and before I could properly introduce myself DB barks his cocktail order at me. I’m pretty no BS at this stage at the night so I kinda just ignore him and get the other guys’ drink orders. DB demands two appetizers.
Bring back drinks, ask if they’re good to order dinner. They are. DB: You didn’t forget about our appetizers right?! No. They’re still being made. Finish taking dinner order.
At this point my volume manager is expressing his desire to leave (he was only supposed to be there until 8) so I tell him I can probably hold it down till I finish my table.
Apps come out, no problems. After apps there is a salad course. Here is where things get irritating.
As I’m dropping salads:
DB: There’s something missing here, don’t you think?
Me: Not that I know of. It’s the house salad.
DB: No it’s not. Where’s the egg? And the cheese? And the bacon? This is like nothing.
Me: You want like, a small Cobb salad?
DB: NO. I want the house salad. Not this bullshit.
Me: Sir our house salad has diced tomato, cucumber, red onio- (he cuts me off here)
DB: No, I don’t want to hear what you think it is, I want the house salad. I’ve been here before and this is definitely not your normal house salad.
Me: Sir. Please don’t talk to me like that.
DB: Excuse me? You don’t talk to ME like that. Just give me what I asked for. Ok?
Me: (trying to pick my battles here) fine.
I grab his apparently wrong house salad and walk off. I might mention here that his other four cohorts said nothing about their salads and ate in awkward silence during this exchange.
I fix up DB’s salad nice and pretty as a little Cobb. This is the point in the movies where the server/kitchen staff takes the opportunity to add some extra ingredients of their own into the mix, and might I say it was tempting, but I have some moral and professional reservations about that.
I bring back DB’s salad.
Me: does this look better?
DB: Oh wow, look guys, he finally brought me the right salad. Bravo. (golf clap)
Me: Anything else?
DB: Bring me a manager please.
Me (still in waiter attire): That’s me.
DB: Oh he’s funny too. No. Bring me YOUR MANAGER.
Me: I am the manager. I’m waiting tables to help out. What can I do for you?
DB: You’ve gotta be kidding me. What kinda fuckin place is this? I’ve got a waiter with an attitude who’s also the manager?
Me (dropping all semblance of pleasant customer service): An attitude? Dude, if anyone’s got an attitude it’s you. You’ve been really rude tonight. I’m hard pressed not to ask you to leave.
DB: you know what? Give me your GMs card. I can’t believe a waiter is talking to me like this.
(Finally one of his friends speaks up)
“DB. Shut the fuck up. You’re being an asshole, and this is why we didn’t want to come here with you tonight.”
This led into a really bad yelling match, I ended up backing off for a minute. DB gets up and storms out. I come back and ask if they’re ok. Guy that spoke up said “yes. We’re fine. And I’ll take his tab. Sorry man.”
Closed them out, standard 20% grat.
So I think I may have inadvertently been involved in the end of a friendship.