BLTFO!
In college, I was working the “late late” shift as a waitress at a diner. The bars in our area close around 2 AM on the weekends, so between 2:30 and 4:00, we would normally get a big crowd of drunk people.
One night, the owners of a bar came in with a few of their bar tenders and a few of their friends, about ten people in all. One of the friends of the owner orders:
Customer: “A double BLT.”
Since this was not on the menu, I asked clarifying questions like:
Me: “What do you mean? Like, just double the amount between two pieces of bread? Or two BLTs stacked on top of each other?”
Customer: “Take two BLTs, put them together.”
I said okay and put the order in.
Meanwhile, four of the most intimidating, tall, muscular club bouncers from a different club walk in and sit four tables away.
I take the food to the table, and Mr. BLT picks up his plate and stands up in front of me. He’s standing two feet away from me and yells:
Customer: “HEY! BLONDIE!”
I turn around, still holding a cup of coffee in the other hand.
Me: “Yes?”
Customer: “WHAT THE F*** IS THIS?!”
He screamed, gesturing down to his sandwich. I stammer a little bit, looking for what to say. But before I can, he full force PUSHES his plate into my chest bone. I drop the coffee, stumble backwards, and he yells:
Customer: “YOU GO TELL THOSE F****** [racial slur for Mexicans] IN THE KITCHEN TO DO IT RIGHT THIS TIME!”
The whole diner (just moments ago, full of drunk noise) is silent.
The table of the intimidating bouncers starts to stand up, but before they have a chance to intervene, my five-foot-tall, sixty-five-year-old Greek boss (who is a grandmother) runs out from behind the register, shouting at him in Greek/English.
Boss: “You no good [Greek word for something very unwholesome]! You not touch anyone! You get out! You not welcome here! You never been welcome here, you [something even more unwholesome]. You go now, or every Greek man in town will know your face!”
She literally chased him out the front door.
I was stunned by what had just happened. I was eighteen, very short and thin, so it was a pretty jarring experience. One of the cooks gave me a pat on the back, and after a few minutes, the food for the bouncer’s table was ready.
When I took my food to them, I still looked visibly shaken, and they were like, “Miss! Are you okay! That was horrible, we were gonna go take him out, but that lady did it for us!”
They ended up talking to me for a while and gave me tips for defending myself while working late at night. They tipped me like $50 and were really nice guys.
