Waiter Waitress Funny Short Stories Online

Normally, I’m not racist, sexist, homophobic, ageist, or anything like

that. I’m completely for equality, and I’ve been told that shows

through my serving, as I treat everyone the same.

But, sometimes, people just prove the stereotype that makes people

biased, and even I can’t help but generalise sometimes. Of course,

there are some that disprove the stereotypes, and keep your faith in

individuality strong, but quite a few don’t.

One table I had was like that. They were Pakistani, I believe, all

nine of them men, and they seemed to believe that since I was a woman,

I should be at home, with a husband, barefooted and pregnant while

making dinner for when said husband comes home. Now, don’t get me

wrong, I’d love a family of my own some day, but that life isn’t for

me.

So, pretty much the second I walked up to them, I got an intense

feeling that they really didn’t like me. Regardless, I put on the

biggest smile I could and treat them the best I can, despite the

obvious glares. Unfortunately, they seem to think I was their slave

and ran me ragged, the second I got back to their table I got ‘asked’

for another drink refill, more garlic bread, etc, etc. And I use the

term ‘asked’ loosely since they usually just grunted ‘Bread’ or

‘Water’.

Since it was a slow night, and almost closing time, I was the only

server left and they were my last table, meaning that each time they

‘asked’ for something, I couldn’t make the excuse I was busy, and they

knew it.

Finally, after what feels like hours (In reality it was only 45

minutes), they finally ‘ask’ for the check. Their bill comes to a

whopping £200 (About 300 USD, which, as a 9 top table was still a

pretty large bill, but not all that surprising with how many drinks

and garlic bread refills they asked for.)

And then, there was the tip. I was hoping that, by some miracle, I’d

managed to give a good enough service that they’d at least somewhat

consider a large tip. No such luck. My tip? £1.50. Not even 1%. I was

furious. I’d been running around like a slave for them for 45 minutes,

and they didn’t even give me a 1% tip?

It’s tables like these that give me that little voice inside, which I

hate, that always says that a colored group will give me a bad tip.

It’s quite often proven wrong, but sometimes, it’s proven right.

If you don’t want to be stereotyped, don’t act like the stereotype,

please.

- Lizzie

Image via Wikipedia

{ 3 comments }

Image via Wikipedia

After a rigorous work shift in which a man labors physically and

doesn’t earn the wage at which he feels valued, he can find solace

in only one thing. Well, two if you want to be technical: a shot and a

beer. Also known as a beer and a bump (although where I come from a

beer and a bump is a much different remedy.) Many call this cure a

boilermaker.

It is believed that the term boilermaker is in reference to the men

who built steamships in the 1830’s. After a hard days work, sweaty

and weary, these men would find their way to their local tavern, and

the local doctor would prescribe what he knew best. A shot and a

beer.

A shot and a beer. Simple and perfect. For the deed, I prefer whiskey

these days, chased with a watery lager. If the night is promising to

be an upbeat one, I’ll substitute in a shot of tequila. In various

regions the shot changes. Grand Marnier in DC, Jameson in New York,

Jack here, Jager there. Best to go with whatever the locals drink.

Anything with a proof around 80 will do. As for the beer, I like a

light, almost flavorless pilsner. I’m just using it as water anyway.

Something to give me the illusion of refreshment and hydration. A

palate cleanser to help me appreciate the shot.

There is alchemy being performed here between our humble shot and our

unassuming beer. The shot runs inward and warms to the core. The beer

washes over and cools. The majestic ebb and flow of life is revealed.

A certain magic engulfs the drinker.

The first shot and beer might not get you drunk, though if the day is

right, they could leave you with a blissful buzz. What the shot and

beer are sure to accomplish, in only an instant, is to cleanse you of

the day. The stresses, the pains, the worries, all wash away as that

sweet nectar flows down your throat. It is the reset button. It is

shaking the etch a sketch. It is the ferry ride from the work world to

the next. Whatever the cost of the shot and the beer, it is just your

payment to the ferryman. You are thankful to pay it and you tip the

man well.

You are now free to laugh at the troubles of your shift without

bringing up the rage they filled you with. You can talk about your

true passion without being suppressed by the dreariness of your daily

grind. You can look at that girl across the bar without the shame of

how you spent your day. You were emptied of your mundane degradation

the moment the shot glass clicked down hollow on that bar top. So go

ahead, give her a smile with a little smirk to it.

You are fresh. You are newborn and enjoying just being alive. Another

shot and another beer and you just might remember how perfect you

already are. You might remember how celestial a moment can be, and

that you are only in this moment. You might remember that right now is

all you need. You might remember that you spent your day working hard;

you gave the day all you had, and there is honor in that. You did your

job well, and today, that is enough.

Tomorrow it will be enough too. But you might not remember, at least

not until you have had your shot and your beer.

- Matt

{ 1 comment }

I recently started working at a chain Italian restaurant about nine
months ago. It is my first serving job and i’m very grateful for it
being i’m the youngest there and had no experience. One night i got a
table that im sure every waiter has had before. The one were you know
its going to be a waste of your time and every other server takes it
upon themselves to point out your fucked. It was four black women, and
keep in mind i’m not racist in anyway however more then less the tip
will be less then generous. Maybe its the area the stores in or
whatever but its a well known fact throughout the store. The big
problem i had was i needed to make another 100 by the end of the night
to pay my car payment the next day. This was my last table and i was
expecting maybe a 10 dollar tip at the most. When it came time for the
check i had given up on the idea that i would make enough money and
began thinking of ways to push it off which was unrealistic. To my and
everyone else’s surprise they tipped me 12o dollars on a 100 check. I
don’t know if they made a mistake or if god gave me a miracle but i
like to think it was an act of kindness, something like i’ve never
seen. I never mentioned to these ladies that i needed to make 100, i
just served them like i did everyone else. All in all the point i’m
trying to make is you really shouldn’t judge or serve anyone
differently because regardless of skin color you never know a position
someone else is in and you gotta be grateful for everything you make.
Being a server with an underlying racist mind set is just immature and
wont get you far.

- Bill

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