I work as a waitress in Sal's, a somewhat popular pizza place in Nashville, but not downtown. (No, because I'm a waitress does not mean I am lacking self-confidence. Nor does it mean I am a recent divorcee/parolee. I'm a 20 year-old girl in between college semesters who happens to be changing her major and is- in the mean time- making a living, a so-far failed attempted "killing.")
Our air conditioner has been on the fritz for the past few weeks, making working conditions almost in the section at the top of the "Unbearable Pyramid." Thank God for people like you- all of you. You make it all seemingly the worthwhile. No, not because of your tips. (But let's work on those, too. There's always room for improvement.) You, dear pizza-consuming people of Nashville, keep me entertained. This is for all of you. Enjoy.
First, to you with the family... You appear to be a fairly well educated middle-aged man. You have 3 beautiful children and an attractive-minus-the-hideous-perm wife. I noticed the boat attached to your truck. You've got money and/or time to kill on the lake on this beautiful July afternoon. Whether you realize it or not, this pizza place is a fairly small restaurant, allowing almost everything you say to be overheard. While your oldest daughter aged at maybe 11 read the menu out loud, she came across "VEE-al PAR-mess-ON," in her best Mario & Luigi voice. She asked you what it was. You pronounced it right for her, and I honestly expected you to provide her with a correct explanation of the menu item. Instead, you told her this, "It's deer meat. Remember when Uncle Charlie made that deer jerky last year? It's the same thing, only more tender. It's the same meat from before they dehydrate it. Your mom loves it, right?" And your poodle headed wife agreed. "I love deer meat, but I don't think it's good with cheese." Are you fucking kidding me?! Veal is IMMOBILIZED BABY COW. It's "tender" because in some cases, they feed the baby cow milk and only milk and break its legs so it never moves, never allowing the muscle to get firm from movement. I wanted to shout this from across the room! VENISON is deer meat, by the way. That's why people like you always order pepperoni pizzas. With a side of Ranch dressing.
Now to you, Mr. and Mrs. Older Kinky Couple. Lady, you resembled everyone's grandmother. You were giving me more compliments than I deserved, as if you were surely practicing your sweet-talk speech for someday when someone entertains the idea of sending you to a nursing home. Who would want to rid themselves of someone so sweet? Mister, your jokes were borderline sexual, but I assumed you couldn't have possibly meant it "like that." How wrong of me! I mean, asking me if I was a "sausage and meatball kind of girl" could've been referring to my preference of spaghetti sauce, but it also could've been referring to whether or not I liked male genitalia. I want to say you were in your late 60s, early 70s. I made a remark in the kitchen about how you were so friendly, that it almost seemed as if you were both flirting with me. I laughed it off as my mind being in the gutter until you left. My tip was a $5 bill, 3 quarters, and a napkin that had "You're cute. We're interested if you are. ;) ," written on it, followed by your phone number. I got your voicemail. Damn.
Now on to you girls who come in, clearly on a date. You're all the same. You dress like you came out of a Teen Magazine. Half of you either order a salad or let him order for you. You sit there and play with your hair and talk about your exes and all their faults. When he orders a Bud Light, you order one, too. We all know you don't drink beer. You are clearly a Smirnoff Ice kind of girl. When he orders a second and a third, you've still only taken 3 sips out of your first. When I ask if you'd like something else to drink, you act as if you didn't hear me or you say, "I'm still drinking this beer." Same thing when I ask if you'd like a refill on the soda you inevitably order after your 4th sip. You're rude as shit to me because the guy you're on a date with is laughing at my jokes. You wish you could open beer bottles with your elbow. Oh, and you have a trail of toilet paper on your shoe. So freakin' cuuute. Also, I hear you argue about the tip because you think, "$8 is too much! Our pizza was only $13! That's like a 50% tip! $2 is enough!" He slipped me a $10 when he held the door open for you so you could strut your pretty ass out to the car.
I always like when you come in. You're sexy, you're funny, and you're clearly a lesbian. I think you're mixed. The first time I met you, you were trying to decide what would be cheaper- buying 4 slices individually, or buying a whole small pizza. My manager tried to sell you the slices because they were already made. But you and I both knew what he was up to... It IS a business. Anyway, I'm totally interested in hanging out with you. I know you could kill me at basketball. By the way, you were rocking those navy dress pants the other day.
To the obnoxious teenagers that come in. Learn to fucking tip. Yeah, the 14 of you ordered four extra large pizzas. You all got sodas, too. I know because I'm the one who refilled all of them at least three times. Not only did I fill them multiple times, but I gave you all to-go cups so you could take them with you. Don't look at me like I'm crazy because your bill is just over $60. It comes out to under $4.50 a piece. If all of you chip in $5, it's JUST like leaving me a $6 tip. FOR ALL OF YOU. Like each one of you left me fucking $0.43. Really?! And only 3 of you leave a $5 bill and DON'T ask for your change back... Really, REALLY?! Why don't you just have one of your mothers pop something in the microwave for you? Yeah, we're probably only 2 years apart in age, but you've CLEARLY never had a job as a waitress.
And let's not forget you, my favorite customer. You come in every week, sometimes two or three times. You've confided in me that you can't cook- that you could burn cereal. Believe it or not, but you're a breath of fresh air when you come in. I always hope it's my turn to take a table. You never complain and you're always so polite. I think I could be the bitchiest person in the world to you and you'd still say, "thank you." I love people like you. Maybe you could teach a "Customer Etiquette" class sometime. We could sign all of the above customers up.
If you fit any of these categories and you feel like I was referring to you, feel free to say hey next time you come in. You can ask me if I "do much on Craigslist" so I'll know you know I know that you know. You know? Have a great day.
Our air conditioner has been on the fritz for the past few weeks, making working conditions almost in the section at the top of the "Unbearable Pyramid." Thank God for people like you- all of you. You make it all seemingly the worthwhile. No, not because of your tips. (But let's work on those, too. There's always room for improvement.) You, dear pizza-consuming people of Nashville, keep me entertained. This is for all of you. Enjoy.
First, to you with the family... You appear to be a fairly well educated middle-aged man. You have 3 beautiful children and an attractive-minus-the-hideous-perm wife. I noticed the boat attached to your truck. You've got money and/or time to kill on the lake on this beautiful July afternoon. Whether you realize it or not, this pizza place is a fairly small restaurant, allowing almost everything you say to be overheard. While your oldest daughter aged at maybe 11 read the menu out loud, she came across "VEE-al PAR-mess-ON," in her best Mario & Luigi voice. She asked you what it was. You pronounced it right for her, and I honestly expected you to provide her with a correct explanation of the menu item. Instead, you told her this, "It's deer meat. Remember when Uncle Charlie made that deer jerky last year? It's the same thing, only more tender. It's the same meat from before they dehydrate it. Your mom loves it, right?" And your poodle headed wife agreed. "I love deer meat, but I don't think it's good with cheese." Are you fucking kidding me?! Veal is IMMOBILIZED BABY COW. It's "tender" because in some cases, they feed the baby cow milk and only milk and break its legs so it never moves, never allowing the muscle to get firm from movement. I wanted to shout this from across the room! VENISON is deer meat, by the way. That's why people like you always order pepperoni pizzas. With a side of Ranch dressing.
Now to you, Mr. and Mrs. Older Kinky Couple. Lady, you resembled everyone's grandmother. You were giving me more compliments than I deserved, as if you were surely practicing your sweet-talk speech for someday when someone entertains the idea of sending you to a nursing home. Who would want to rid themselves of someone so sweet? Mister, your jokes were borderline sexual, but I assumed you couldn't have possibly meant it "like that." How wrong of me! I mean, asking me if I was a "sausage and meatball kind of girl" could've been referring to my preference of spaghetti sauce, but it also could've been referring to whether or not I liked male genitalia. I want to say you were in your late 60s, early 70s. I made a remark in the kitchen about how you were so friendly, that it almost seemed as if you were both flirting with me. I laughed it off as my mind being in the gutter until you left. My tip was a $5 bill, 3 quarters, and a napkin that had "You're cute. We're interested if you are. ;) ," written on it, followed by your phone number. I got your voicemail. Damn.
Now on to you girls who come in, clearly on a date. You're all the same. You dress like you came out of a Teen Magazine. Half of you either order a salad or let him order for you. You sit there and play with your hair and talk about your exes and all their faults. When he orders a Bud Light, you order one, too. We all know you don't drink beer. You are clearly a Smirnoff Ice kind of girl. When he orders a second and a third, you've still only taken 3 sips out of your first. When I ask if you'd like something else to drink, you act as if you didn't hear me or you say, "I'm still drinking this beer." Same thing when I ask if you'd like a refill on the soda you inevitably order after your 4th sip. You're rude as shit to me because the guy you're on a date with is laughing at my jokes. You wish you could open beer bottles with your elbow. Oh, and you have a trail of toilet paper on your shoe. So freakin' cuuute. Also, I hear you argue about the tip because you think, "$8 is too much! Our pizza was only $13! That's like a 50% tip! $2 is enough!" He slipped me a $10 when he held the door open for you so you could strut your pretty ass out to the car.
I always like when you come in. You're sexy, you're funny, and you're clearly a lesbian. I think you're mixed. The first time I met you, you were trying to decide what would be cheaper- buying 4 slices individually, or buying a whole small pizza. My manager tried to sell you the slices because they were already made. But you and I both knew what he was up to... It IS a business. Anyway, I'm totally interested in hanging out with you. I know you could kill me at basketball. By the way, you were rocking those navy dress pants the other day.
To the obnoxious teenagers that come in. Learn to fucking tip. Yeah, the 14 of you ordered four extra large pizzas. You all got sodas, too. I know because I'm the one who refilled all of them at least three times. Not only did I fill them multiple times, but I gave you all to-go cups so you could take them with you. Don't look at me like I'm crazy because your bill is just over $60. It comes out to under $4.50 a piece. If all of you chip in $5, it's JUST like leaving me a $6 tip. FOR ALL OF YOU. Like each one of you left me fucking $0.43. Really?! And only 3 of you leave a $5 bill and DON'T ask for your change back... Really, REALLY?! Why don't you just have one of your mothers pop something in the microwave for you? Yeah, we're probably only 2 years apart in age, but you've CLEARLY never had a job as a waitress.
And let's not forget you, my favorite customer. You come in every week, sometimes two or three times. You've confided in me that you can't cook- that you could burn cereal. Believe it or not, but you're a breath of fresh air when you come in. I always hope it's my turn to take a table. You never complain and you're always so polite. I think I could be the bitchiest person in the world to you and you'd still say, "thank you." I love people like you. Maybe you could teach a "Customer Etiquette" class sometime. We could sign all of the above customers up.
If you fit any of these categories and you feel like I was referring to you, feel free to say hey next time you come in. You can ask me if I "do much on Craigslist" so I'll know you know I know that you know. You know? Have a great day.
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