Tuesday, August 6, 2013

I'm a Bartender, Not a Foodtender, how dare you?!?!?

I have had a job since I was 15. I have worked in customer service - whether it be retail, hospitality, property management, or food service - for 15 years. I'm good at it. I am good at pretending people don't annoy me (when they almost always do), I can tolerate high levels of shit in any given day, and I understand (usually) that when people are yelling, it is usually just that I am in front of them, they aren't really mad at me specifically. I feel that after so many years working in a bar, I am a better property manager. I am better at what I do now because of what I did for so long. I swear, no one is ever as big of an ass hole than when they are hungry. Hell, where do you think we came up with the term hangry? Uhh, from all those ass holes (myself included) who get mad when they don't eat. And hangry people have taught me that my job could always be worse. I could serve ranch dressing for a living. And I am glad I don't anymore.

That said, this blog is not at all about shitty jobs, nor is it is a rant about how servers are underpaid, undersappreciated, overworked, and tipped shitty. Don't get me wrong, that is often true. But this blog is actually more about the ass hole food servers out there who believe that you no longer have to actually work to receive a tip, and those of us who know how taxes are calculated and therefore feel obligated to leave that damn 13 percent even when your server sucks so bad you'd rather papercut their eyelid with your receipt than write in a tip.

What brought on this rant was the horrible service Kitty and I received from the bartender when we had lunch at our hotel in Las Vegas. This guy was everything you do not want in a bartender. He was rude, condescending, slow, arrogant, SLOW, stupid, grouchy, SLOW, and just generally was the worst person on Earth to be in the public.

Kitty and I sat down at the bar, thinking we'd grab a quick lunch and head back to the pool. We sat next to a very friendly black woman who chatted with us about traveling, her first time in Vegas, and how crappy the service was from the guy who had, in the 10 minutes we'd been sitting there, not yet said hello to us.

Fast forward 10-15 minutes and Mr. Attitude saunters over to where we're sitting, handing us each a water. "Did you want menus?"

Nope, we thought we'd just sit here with this water.

A: Dude does not have menu behind the bar, so he has to go get them from the host. After he cleans the bartop. After he pours a shot. After he picks a wedgie.

B: He is clearly annoyed that we want food. At lunch time.

He sets down menus and walks away. When we wave him down to order, I ask for a chicken wrap and request that they add cucumbers. Sure, he says, and I ask for a soda. Kitty orders a salad and asks that they hold the beans and corn (as any primal girl would). Apparently, adding cucumbers is ok but leaving off beans is definitely not, because Mr. Bartender rolls his eyes. Not a discreet annoyance as he walks away, but a blatant, get the fuck out of here eye roll AT HER. As she attempts to say "and a diet coke," he has already walked away to ring in that incessantly annoying food order we had the audacity to order. So she hollars down the bartop, uuuhhhh and a diet coke please (what a bitch she is, right?!).

And as a side note for all of you bartenders who are thinking, well it is annoying when people sit at the bar and order food without booze, fuck you. I tip at least 20% everywhere I go, upwards of 25-30% when I know I am being high maintenance, and we were the only 3 people in the place. Besides, its your job.

Anyways, so our food arrives and it looks amazing. Too bad I had to just stare at it since I didn't have any silverware. He eventually saunters over with a napkin and fork, and refills both her diet and my regular with utter confusion over why they're not both diet or both regular because 2 drinks means 2 buttons on the soda machine, and asks exactly one time if "it tastes ok."

When our glasses are empty and plates are cleared (napkins on top to indicate we've finished), we stare at our dirty dishes while the guy stares at the wall, picks his nose, daydreams about life, and contemplates how many ways he has chosen the wrong career path, until eventually he brings us a check.

Side note number two. If you are a bartender in Las Vegas and 2 women sit down at your bar, then assuming they don't give you the vibe that they are a couple, perhaps you should consider this sentence: "Would you ladies like one check or two today?" It seems that those words might make life easier for you overall. Instead, we receive exactly one check, which he slaps down in front of us as he walks by, not giving us the option to stop him and ask that he split it. But whatever. Kitty and I are two educated women who can do math. We set the check down with both debit cards on top of it, and here is the real kicker: he walks by, shoves my card out of the way, picks up her card and the check, as if to say, Kitty will be paying for this tab.

By this point, we've been in the bar for well over an hour and have had the worst service I can remember in my life, and now he is trying to just decide that we can't pay separate. "HEY," I hollar as he walks off, and explain that, no, there are 2 cards here to his bewildered, ass hole face. He runs both cards at a snail's pace, brings them back - we ask if we can please sir borrow a pen to sign your fucking receipts - and its time. And I can't do it. I try to write in a zero, or more realistically the words yea. fucking. right. in the tip line, but I am physically unable. Instead, I leave, hoping that I made a valid point with the $1.73 he received to even my charge out to a nice round $20.

What is possibly the most irritating thing about the whole ordeal is that bartenders and food servers don't ever walk away from a shitty tip thinking, hey I really dropped the ball, I probably had that one coming. I could practically hear him calling me a cheap ass bitch as I walked out the door. I obviously should have known that his eye roll, his slow service, his dickhead attitude, and his shitty nature were all just part of his "thing," and known to leave him a big fat wad of cash that he so rightfully does not need to work for but rather just deserves.

Guess what. You deserve your hourly wage. You earn your tips by being nice, or at least civil. I don't expect perfection and have honestly never stiffed a server on a tab, even when it has been warranted. But when I waited tables, I busted my ass and so should this guy. If my plate is empty, take it out of the way. If my water is empty, fill it up. If I want to pay for my own tab, run 2 credit card transactions. And when I order food, don't be mad. You work in a fucking restaurant, dude, and it is 12:30 in the afternoon.