The Biotch

I am the manager at a restaurant. We usually close at 9 pm, but since we had been so dead I made a managerial decision (and I wanted to go home) and decided to close ten minutes early. I turn off the sign and lock the front door. At 8:54 somebody begins pounding on the front door, obnoxiously. Figuring it was somebody who worked there I went and opened it. I am greeted by a fat old bitch who instantly says, “You are open till 9.” I hate her. “I am sorry miss, we have been so slow that we closed early, I can get you some food to go if you would like.” She then takes out her cell phone and shows me the time, as if I don’t already know. “You close at 9, it is only 8:54.” “Yes, we do close at 9, but as I explained it was so slow that we closed early. Do you want anything to go?” She stares at me and says to me in a cold voice, “Are you the owner?” I am a 24 year old man, who looks like he is about 19 when I shave, but somehow I must have started this restaurant back in the 70′s. “No, but I am the MANAGER.” She looks over at her fat husband who is practically sleeping in the front seat of the car and asks if he wants anything to go. He sluggishly shakes his head back and forth in what must have been a no. “I am going to call and complain about this.” Oh no, that means she will call my superiors, complain that we didn’t keep our restaurant fully staffed to serve two people when we were already closed, they will tell her to shut the fuck up, and she will still come back anyway. Who the hell comes in right when a restaurant is closing and expects to be seated? A dumb fat bitch.

- Mark

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