We may smile gently and tuck your napkin in for you, but what we’re actually thinking and doing behind your back is far from sweet.
There are certain rites of passage all waitresses go through. Text book classics include; being far too drunk to waitress, having your trousers fall down as you’re carrying plates, spilling a pint over your WHITE shirt in front of a busy bar and totally ballsing up an order beyond belief and blaming the chef. The memories I have of my waitressing days are fond, vast and varied, from the day I brought over a ‘cork’ to a Geordie man who’d asked for a coke, to the time I knocked myself out cold on the dishwasher door and ‘came to’ in a sink of shellfish. I can honestly say that some of the best years of my life were spent as a waitress in my local village pub. I can also honestly say that waitressing would be the best job in the world, if it wasn’t for the people. With that in mind, I felt it my duty as a proud ex-waitress to tell you all what us waitresses really think of you and who are least favourite customers are…
You arrogant bastards. With your egos and your I’m-so-busy-and-important-don’t-you-know-who-I-am-attitudes. No, I don’t know who you are. I don’t care how hungry you are. I don’t even care if you’re willing to pay me more money and buy me nice things. You haven’t booked, therefore I hate you. Just remember this the next time you turn up somewhere without a reservation, the waitress wants you dead.
We know you’re pretending you’re famous or being filmed for MTV. How do we know this? Because you’re fake, you’re dressed like you’re an extra in a One Direction video and you’re looking at me like you look at your cleaner. No, diet lemonade won’t get you drunk, and yes, just to amuse myself I will put the garnish on it to make it look like you’re drinking a cocktail. We do that for purely selfish reasons as it makes you look stupid, not so you can trick the group of twenty-something lads who are staring at you that you’re drinking vodka whilst pushing your 32A padded tits out.
Vegetarians/lactose intolerant/allergy freaks
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Yes, there is only one vegetarian option. No, I don’t know how difficult or annoying that must be for you. I’m a waitress. I don’t care about your plight and I’m on minimum wage. Have the steak without meat and quit bitching. And you madam, you’re allergic to wheat but still want the Croque monsieur? Here’s some cheese on a plate. I honestly don’t think starving people of this world are this fussy or would complain of a “swollen tummy brought on by too much wheat.” Go f*ck yourself.
People who come in large groups and… PAY. SEPERATELY.
These are often groups of women but can also be; ramblers, church groups or work colleagues. None of them want to be there, they’re normally only there because Julie in accounts has a birthday and they are certainly not going to enjoy themselves. They will always order and pay separately, they are likely to order soda water or a cup of tea and they will treble check the bill, often using a calculator to ensure they’re not paying a dime over what they should be. Idiots.
Old angry couple
No matter where the pub or restaurant is, there’s always a really old, really angry couple. They will always insist on sitting at the same table, even though they hate it. They will order the same food and drink, even though they hate it. They may even insist on having you as your waitress, even though they hate you. Well guess what, we hate you too.
Mothers and children
Yes we will coo over your little angels and get you hot water for your milk. We won’t even judge you for breastfeeding or knocking your wine over because you have an infant hanging off every limb. But if you dare… DARE let your children run around and scream in the path of a waitress carrying hot food… on your head be it. It’s a restaurant, not a crèche. I’m a waitress. I don’t care about your plight and I’m on minimum wage.
Pervy old rich men
Everyone has encountered a pervy old rich man who seems to think that snapping ones fingers results in waitresses to be at his beck and call. It doesn’t. What snapping your fingers to a waitress actually results in ranges from us using dirty teaspoons to stir your whiskey to us licking your bread in the kitchen before we smile sweetly as we serve it to you at your table. The only reason we’re nice to you is due to the small chance you will tip well. So yes, we may loosen our top button a little and laugh at your crap jokes, but that’s only because we want that rolled up bunch of twenties that’s hiding in your top pocket.
If the restaurant closes at 10pm, these people will expect a table at 10pm. “But sir, the kitchen closes then” is heard as “of course you can have a table as late as possible then expect to be served after everyone else has gone home.” Well no, you can’t. If you turn up at anytime after about 30 minutes before the kitchen closes, we want you to choke on your food and leave.
Loud drunk patrons.
In every pub, in all of the land there is always an absolutely hammered local who’s in there, every… single… night. Sometimes they’re endearing and their wine soaked charisma charms you into being polite to them. But there’s always that part of the evening where their wandering eyes and hands take it one step too far. That’s when they’ll feel the sharp tongue of a tired and busy waitress. Don’t try us drunkards, we’re far too sober and stressed to entertain your dirty ol’tricks.
Miserable ‘fucking’ women
When I asked my friend, who now has her own pub, what group of customers she detests the most her instant reaction was this, “miserable fucking women.” I had to concur. Every waitress comes across this vile group one too many times. They consist of a group of women so miserable, they look like they’re in pain. They will never ever be happy about a single thing, they will complain about the ice being too cold, the food being too hot, they’ll even complain about the sunlight coming through the window at the wrong angle. They are unbelievably miserable and were clearly born that way and they are the only customers I’ve ever told to never, ever come back to a restaurant ever again.