First Lady Served, Last Lady Respected

(I am a banquet server at a large “public ivy” college that is particularly known for its high economics rating, because they’re usually cheap and/or selfish, and cater to their donors instead of their employees. On this day, I am catering to the president of the university, his wife, and the donors and retirees of the university, and they have pulled out all the stops. Having encountered them before, I know it is mandatory not to serve my guests until the president and his wife has been served, or else the president’s wife will pitch a fit; she’s not known for being a pleasant person. We take our trays of food out, and I wait patiently as my coworker goes to serve the president of the university, then his wife.)

Wife: “Excuse me, miss?”

Coworker: “Yes, Mrs. [Wife]? Is there something wrong?”

Wife: “Yes, you should know something.”

(I watch in horror as she then THROWS her plate of food to the floor — the plate alone was worth more than $50 — and it shatters into a million pieces as food goes everywhere. Her husband, the president, doesn’t react.)

Wife: “You always serve the lady first! LADIES ALWAYS COME FIRST!”

Coworker: *stunned silence* “I… I’m sorry, Mrs. [Wife]. Would you like me to bring you out another plate?”

Wife: “NO! You’ve ruined this entire dinner! I’ll be talking to the head of your department! You will never work here again! I hope you kill yourself, you uncultured pig!”

(The wife then crosses her arms and pouts. As my coworker walks away to get a broom, one of the donors at my table nudges me.)

Man: “Is she always like that?”

Me: “Yes, I’ve encountered her before. She told me that my dreams of being a writer are stupid and I should expect nothing more of myself than working at [Fast Food Place], because I’m too incompetent for anything else.”

Man: “Well, if that’s the case…”

(He proceeds to hand me two $50 bills, which is almost half of what I make per paycheck.)

Man: “Split that between yourself and the young woman who served [Wife]. You both are lovely young ladies, and I promise to you both that [University] won’t get a penny more from me until that wretched woman is gone!”

Me: “Thank you, sir.”

(The president’s wife proceeded to sit and pout for the rest of the evening and refused everything we brought to her. Less than a week later, Mr. [President] announced that he was stepping down at the beginning of the spring semester. Needless to say, all of catering had a party on that day, happy to finally be getting rid of that horrible woman.)