Well Done Fillet

Well Done Fillet

Waiter Stuff

The more you ignore me, the closer I get

I'll roll em
you call...

I like to start the new working week in a happy and positive frame of mind. I scan the booking sheets for regular customers and bookings of interest. Example being last weeks reservation for 15 girls celebrating a 21st birthday , that's the sort of booking I look forward to (and I wasn't disappointed and neither were they). Large bookings have to be confirmed especially if they weren't taken by a member of the restaurant staff. I am anally retentive when it comes to the booking sheets, all details must be exact and legible. I'm not bitching but "Table for 6 to 20 people at 8ish on Saturday for Smith or was it Brown" is not a fucking booking you muppets! And writing it in Sanskrit doesn't help either. I have a certain Rainman quality when it comes to bookings and availability. It's oh so very sad.

This week though I have a terrible feeling of foreboding. There are lots of fairly run of the mill bookings, nothing to get excited about, certainly nothing worth having a shower for. I mean that with the greatest of respect, I love all my customers! But there is one reservation that has me pulling my hair out in clumps, and as I am bald, I mean my chest hair. This particular table has been booked for about 6 weeks or so. I hadn't dealt with the initial booking so I knew nothing about it. The details on the booking sheet were fairly run of the mill, nothing lead me to believe that there was anything special about it. So with a week to go until the booking I thought I would give the lady, in who's name the table was reserved, a little ring and get confirmation. Standard practice really, we check on numbers, arrival time, menu choice, special dietary requirements etc. It's what a good waiter does. I'm not a fan of surprises.

Well beat me with a service cloth and call me Basil, did I regret that!

"Hello Mrs Cuntish Bastard it's Manuel from [insert restaurant name here] I'm phoning with regard to your booking for next Thursday." I was all sweetness and light, happy at my work if you will.

"Yes, what?" Not a good start I thought...

"I just wanted to confirm some details with you for that night such as time and numbers."

"I don't know why, I SAID I would confirm everything next week."

"Yes madam, (I carried on, ignoring that bit if I left it to customers to confirm their bookings I would be left with a half empty restaurant every Saturday night) if I could just check that you will be bringing 22 in total and at 7pm?"

"It's 23 not 22. I told the other man from the restaurant this when I booked."

"23 madam, I'll change that for you now."

"You shouldn't have to change that, I booked it for 23."

"No problem madam, yes 23 in total then." I was getting a bit fucking cheesed off with her snapping at me.

But like a good little soldier I persevered , "And you will be in the private room madam as you requested and as you are in early you can have that room for about 4 and a half hours or so." I thought this would bring a smile to her voice if not her face. Normally people get the room for 2 maybe 3 hours tops. But alas...

"Sorry excuse me, what's your name again..."

"As I said, Manuel" I was struggling to comprehend what had her so aggressive towards me.

"I have that room booked for the whole of the night, we are having a quiz after our meal and we have arranged to have the room for the whole night."

"Oakie dokie (as all the best professionals say) then madam, my apologies. It's just that those details aren't down on my booking sheets. I'll amend the sheets now.

"Yes please do. I don't know what you people are doing there. I had all this arranged with the other man from the restaurant."

Now this "other man from the restaurant" thing had me very confused. I am the only "man" working in the restaurant. I asked her who she had been talking to but she couldn't remember. She then asked me to name all the men who worked here! Get fucking real. I'm the only male in the restaurant but the bar is full of them. I started with the most most likely culprits and guess what I was right! Some people shouldn't be allowed to talk to people in public let alone over the phone.

Once we had these and some other details ironed out I checked on what menu she had decided upon. Again she gave me the "I've already told the other man" thing again. BUT NO ONE HAS BOTHERED TO TELL ME SO IF YOU WANT TO GET WHAT YOU WANT STOP FUCKING SAYING THAT AND TELL ME WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT BEFORE I REACH DOWN THAT PHONE AND FUCKING STRANGLE YOU WITH THE CORD please. That would be the "other man" who quoted her the wrong price, wrong number of courses, and omitted to tell her about the service charge. So we have to honour the prices etc quoted, the waiters wont get a bean, and I hate her and "the other man" before she has even arrived! Now that's a first even for me.

As I rang off I said "Well, many thanks for confirming those details and I look forward to seeing you next Thursday". I hate to tell lies too. I then went and necked four straight shots of vodka, such is a waiter's want, to calm my nerves. Then I compiled a list of people I needed to kneecap in the back of the head for leaving me out there dangling by my short n curlys with Mrs Cuntish Bastard.

But wait, the story doesn't end there! Oh no, I should be so fucking lucky. She phoned the next day and confirmed it all over again with a manager. The same manager that failed to pass on the details on to the restaurant staff in the first fucking place. She said she didn't want to deal with me! Is that fucking right then? Don't want to deal with me is it? Pissing off the entirety of the waiting staff before you have even sat down is never a smart move Mrs Cuntish Bastard. As you will no doubt discover...

So here is my dilemma dear readers, should I work the table and prove to her that I am the greatest thing to happen to restaurants since Heinz Ketchup or should I keep my nose well out of it and let sleeping dogs and nasty women be served by one of my esteemed colleagues? I said last week that I wouldn't even open the door for them but now it's like I have a point to prove. And I don't like people saying they "don't want to deal with me". That fucking hurts. You've hurt me you cuntish bastard. As Morrissey say's,

"The more you ignore me, the closer I get.
You're wasting your time
Beware !
I bear more grudges
Than lonely high court judges..."

There's a poll in the sidebar. I trust your advice.It's up until I go to work at 2pm on Thursday.

Oh and they are teachers, and you know how much I love them....