Unfiltered Story #211643

, | Unfiltered | October 15, 2020

I used to be a waitress for weddings and other parties at a local restauran= t, because it was literally the only place to work at in the village I&#039= ;m from if you were not born as the kid of a farmer. The owner of said rest= aurant is, while very nice, a total alcoholic, and thus sucks at organizing= things and sometimes has a very bad temper. However, I had fun working the= re, even though it was quite hard and stressful for me due to a chronical i= llness, but I needed the money.
One day we were holding the reception of a wedding, and I had volunteered t= o be on the last shift together with one other waitress, since I had never = closed up before. Normally, people on the last shift come in a few hours la= ter, after the dinner and just for the drinking, but not me – I had to work= dinner, too, while no less than four other waiters who were going to leave= early came in later than me, because I was actually the only one there at = the start of the reception, so I had to run around with champagne glasses a= ll on my own untill the others showed up.
As it turned out, one of the fridges was also defective. This is where my p= ersonal favourite customer ever enters the stage: A very obese woman with q= uestionable make-up and an outfit that seemed to be made for a funeral rath= er than a wedding, who screamed at me for no less than 15 minutes (Believe = me, I checked) because her soda wasn’t cold enough. I told her I could= put ice in it. She didn’t want ice. She wanted cold soda. I told her = the fridge was broken and we had already distributed as much as possible be= tween the working fridges, and that we’d have cold soda in about an ho= ur. That didn’t change the fact her soda wasn’t cold enough. I to= ld her I could put ice in it. She still didn’t want that. She wanted m= e to travel back in time, fix the fridge and give her a cold soda. I explai= ned to her in detail that all the bottles of the kind she wanted were stack= ed up in the fridge that was broken, and that there was not a single cold b= ottle of that soda on the whole premises, and, again, that I could only off= er to put ice in it. She still didn’t want that. Since I was a waitres= s, I was obviously in charge for repairing the fridge that I had destroyed = just to spite her.
Lo and behold, who was the lucky one who got her table? Me. It was the tabl= e in the far back corner, with no tables being close enough so they could s= trike up a conversation without standing up, and I knew exactly why the tab= le was moved so far back and why those people were seated there. They were = the fussiest, meanest people I have ever witnessed, so I turned on my brigh= test smile and was extra quick with their orders, remembered everything imm= ediately and was as kind as a human being could possibly be. I even complim= ented my favourite customers baby, and believe me, I do not only hate child= ren, that one looked like she did a cannonball on it’s face. I know pe= ople like to believe that ugly babies don’t exist, but I swear it look= ed like it’s first words were going to be “My Precious”. I was such a good waitress that all my other tables were praising me to the= highest heavens and back. I even won over some of the corner table guests.= But not that woman, obviously, because the next thing that happened was th= at my drunk boss had not ordered a wine that was on the wine menu for this = wedding. I had to explain to everyone that the only ros=C3=A9 on the menu w= as in fact not available, and again, all hell broke loose. On top of that, = a guy that I estimate to be at least ten years older than me started hittin= g on me, following me around and even getting behind the bar, despite the f= act that I told him to leave me alone several times. My coworkers didn&#039= ;t help at all, because they thought it was funny. Now I was working the ba= r for the people dancing, collecting empty glasses, constantly rejecting th= e dude that followed me and still serving the corner table, because obvious= ly they didn’t like to dance, and my coworkers all liked to take their= smoke breaks at the same time. Since I was the only non-smoker, I obviousl= y didn’t need a break.
People only left at eight in the morning, while the dude was still hitting = on me as if I was the last woman on earth, untill I finally got his drunk a= ss outside by telling him I’d come home with him and locking the door = right in his face (that made him get the hint, it seems). I clean up everyt= hing with the help of the remaining waitress, who was a sweetheart during t= hat time, moved the tables into the storage, cleaned all the glasses, and f= inally, when we come to the far corner table, there is a used diaper ON THE= TABLECLOTH.
After dealing with my favourite customers sh*t all evening long (she kept h= er crying, tired and fussy infant at the loud wedding untill it was 7:30am)= I just didn’t have it in me to deal with her Gollum’s literal sh= *t. I told my coworker that I was DONE for the evening, and she wholehearte= dly agreed. I had worked 16 hours straight at that point, my break being a = few glasses of water or soda while filling drinks up behind the bar as well= a sandwich that I ate in about half a minute.
And that, my dear friends, is the day I decided to quit that job because wa= itressing in a restaurant under incompetent leadership, with customers who = are allowed and encouraged by that same drunk “leader” to smoke i= nside, despite laws stating otherwise, and being screamed at for things tha= t I have absolutely no control over surprisingly isn’t a job for me. M= y boss was actually surprised as I told him I wouldn’t come back, even= though I had approached him several times that day (about the fridge, the = wine, the guy harrassing me) because I was not only the only person willing= to deal with his drunk ass, but because I was the only one that cared. Als= o, I found out he paid everyone more than me, even though I was his best wa= itress. Still, what a surprise.
Go figure.

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