The night started out like any other, with one of the bartenders, Kentucky, yelling "Let's get 'em drunk people, let's get 'em drunk." The only sad part is that at 3:30 in the afternoon there weren't that many people to get drunk. I proceeded to sit and eat, like usual, until 4:15 when I got my first table. From these small clues you can already tell that the night is taking a turn for the worse.
My first table turned out to be two business men from Tennessee and North Carolina. They were great, until they transferred to the dining room to have dinner. They assured me they would come back to the bar for after dinner drinks, all the while, praising my serving skills. This small fact holds importance only because what happened later that night.
While walking through the living room, I was balancing two plates when the first one fell. This is monumental, being that it is the first plate I have dropped in my five-year waitressing career. So I did what any typical cocktail waitress would do...I ran to the kitchen and got the bus boy to clean it up.
The only problem was, as the 1oz. container of cherry mayonnaise spun wildly out of control to the ground, it drenched me. I was practically covered from head to toe in cherry mayonnaise. I know this sounds impossible and like an exaggeration, but it's practically true. So before I was able to move to get the bus boy, I looked down having spread vegetables, french fries and a chicken breast sandwich around the room and realized that my ensemble was now a light pink color. Oh great.
The worst part of this scenario is that the men from the bar before and other guests had paused in their eating to take in my misfortune.
Hours after trying to wipe the mayonnaise off, to no avail, the men from before came back and decided to have a few beers with me.
While smelling of mayonnaise, I took the gentleman's' drink order, one Sierra Nevada and one I.C. Light - we are in Pittsburgh.
The next two hours consisted of me flirting diligently with their table in an effort to get a big tip. Once they found out that my boyfriend was at least a decade older than me, they launched into a 45 minute dissertation on my youth, beauty and the fact that I should not be dating a man who has kids in my own generation. The man from North Carolina tried to convince me that the man from Tennessee, who is potentially running for congress, had a son who was asked to take part in the adult film industry because of being so well-endowed, but decided not to and go to college instead - obviously someone I need to date.
The night went on like this and eventually we hugged good-bye like long-time friends. I figured that all my amicability and patience would pay off. As I opened my check presenter to look at the tip Mr. Tennessee left on his credit card, I was disappointed to see that it was only $6.10 on a $40 bill.
Not only had I wasted the last two hours flirting with these men when I could have been cleaning up and paying attention to my other tables, but they left me a $6 tip and I smelled like mayonnaise.
The mayonnaise smell still has not washed out of my apron.
My first table turned out to be two business men from Tennessee and North Carolina. They were great, until they transferred to the dining room to have dinner. They assured me they would come back to the bar for after dinner drinks, all the while, praising my serving skills. This small fact holds importance only because what happened later that night.
While walking through the living room, I was balancing two plates when the first one fell. This is monumental, being that it is the first plate I have dropped in my five-year waitressing career. So I did what any typical cocktail waitress would do...I ran to the kitchen and got the bus boy to clean it up.
The only problem was, as the 1oz. container of cherry mayonnaise spun wildly out of control to the ground, it drenched me. I was practically covered from head to toe in cherry mayonnaise. I know this sounds impossible and like an exaggeration, but it's practically true. So before I was able to move to get the bus boy, I looked down having spread vegetables, french fries and a chicken breast sandwich around the room and realized that my ensemble was now a light pink color. Oh great.
The worst part of this scenario is that the men from the bar before and other guests had paused in their eating to take in my misfortune.
Hours after trying to wipe the mayonnaise off, to no avail, the men from before came back and decided to have a few beers with me.
While smelling of mayonnaise, I took the gentleman's' drink order, one Sierra Nevada and one I.C. Light - we are in Pittsburgh.
The next two hours consisted of me flirting diligently with their table in an effort to get a big tip. Once they found out that my boyfriend was at least a decade older than me, they launched into a 45 minute dissertation on my youth, beauty and the fact that I should not be dating a man who has kids in my own generation. The man from North Carolina tried to convince me that the man from Tennessee, who is potentially running for congress, had a son who was asked to take part in the adult film industry because of being so well-endowed, but decided not to and go to college instead - obviously someone I need to date.
The night went on like this and eventually we hugged good-bye like long-time friends. I figured that all my amicability and patience would pay off. As I opened my check presenter to look at the tip Mr. Tennessee left on his credit card, I was disappointed to see that it was only $6.10 on a $40 bill.
Not only had I wasted the last two hours flirting with these men when I could have been cleaning up and paying attention to my other tables, but they left me a $6 tip and I smelled like mayonnaise.
The mayonnaise smell still has not washed out of my apron.
No comments:
Post a Comment