eternal question: where do they keep the asswads when it’s not a holiday?

13 May

Something really special about the restaurant business is Mother’s Day. I’m sure it’s a really special day for the rest of you teachers and finance people and unemployed recent college grads, filled with Peonies and Scones and Ice Cream Sundaes and butterflies, but for us it’s more like fucking hell on earth.

First of all, we have to wake up earlier than usual. Some of you might get to see what 7:30am looks like on a day-to-day basis. Not restaurant people. “Waking up early” is considered 9am. Any earlier than that pretty much means that you’re going on vacation and your flight is super early, but at least the end result is that you’re going someplace sandy and sunny, or in Charlie’s case, Vegasy and slutty. Except on Mother’s Day. No, this is the day that it’s always inevitably beautiful and warm and sunshiney and instead of basking in it, you’ve gotta haul ass  at the crack of dawn to sit inside a dark-ish building all day long, missing your babygirl and listening to your tummy growling because there’s no way you’re going to have time to eat a frittata. Not on this day.

Speaking of frittatas, something additionally irritating about Mother’s Day is that we have to cook and serve food that we’re not used to cooking and serving. Which means that we never have the right condiments, and we get flustered, and we all fight with each other and hate each other and talk smack behind each other’s backs and sometimes throw fists, and let’s just say it gets really ugly. Last year I had a black eye by the time the dinner crowd mozied on in, and Harry needed 8 stitches over his eyebrow.

Another thing about Mother’s Day is that people who may never otherwise eat in a restaurant (or leave their house) are obligated to attend a meal. This means that they don’t tip properly, they sit for 3 years without regard for anyone else, their manners are nonexistent and they have no regard for the fact that a waiter has other tables to serve in addition to yours. And it’s not like we can vent to each other, because we all already hate each other, so we have to hold in all the moaning and groaning and occasionally snap at old ladies who are simply asking where the bathroom is.

Tonight was Mother’s Day Eve, and don’t think that we got away without any superfreaks. It was like a gentle reminder that tomorrow is going to SUCK.

Or in one case, not gentle at all….

This young guy was eating with his family, and told my adorable and sweet-as-hell petite Italian mom waitress that she gave him the wrong dish. She believed that she gave him what he asked for but offered to replaced it. He declined the offer, and ate the entire order of Sweet Potato Crusted Ocean Bass in front of him. When it was time for the check, he told her that he wouldn’t be paying for the meal. My manager went over to him and explained that he ate the meal, and offered him a free appetizer on his next visit to make up for the mixup. The man declined the offer. He told Ryan that he wouldn’t be paying for the meal, and if it wasn’t taken off, that he would take it out on the waitress’s tip. So Ryan took the entree off, because nothing is more effective than bullying your way to a free meal. On his way out the door, he swung by the host station where my waitress was still trying to calm down from the angry gentleman.

“You’re a cunt,” he told her, and promptly walked out the door with his (clearly extremely classy) family in tow.

My waitress ran to the back to bawl and Harry, being the stand-up guy he is, followed the man outside.

“Excuse me, but that’s not an appropriate way to speak to a woman.”

The guy’s father heard him. “Why? She’s a fucking cunt. Right?”

“Yeah, she’s a fucking cunt.”


The father and son proudly humiliated themselves while the kid’s mother sat with her head down and her hands over her face. Um, yeah lady. Be ashamed of your family. Correct reaction. Perhaps you can man-up and get them to be civil.

Instead the father and son yelled expletives at my husband (also throwing in that they’re good customers at our other restaurant, which is EXTRA special) until it came to a head with Harry threatening to call the police if they didn’t just leave. And they did.

So if this was Mother’s Day Preview Night, imagine what tomorrow’s gonna bring.

It’s ironic that my Mother’s Day posting is overflowing with the c-bomb, considering my mom cries every time I use it in my writing and I did make an attempt to never use it in my blog. So to make up for it, I figured I’d give her a cunt-free shout out.

Mommy, you’re the best friend and general person a girl could ever ask for. Your purse always has whatever I need in it (with the exception of gum the other night, but I’m giving you a free pass because you bought me a bag). Your closet also always has whatever I want, and I’m sorry that I always steal your clothes but take it as a compliment because I have excellent taste in fashion. Thank you for passing down your incredible sense of humor, totally pale skintone and indispensable mantra “Men are jerks.” Thank you for reading all the psychology books that you continue to implement to this day in order to deal with my antics.

Also, contrary to what I may have told you in the past, I do not actually hate the sound of your voice. You’re such a cool chick and even though you look young enough to be my sister, you’re totally and completely the world’s best mom and grandma, point blank.

Love and Kisses,



Ps. This coming week with all my stress free excess time, I’ll be writing Tuesday’s post completely in rhyme, and a really long post using all one syllable words. See you then.


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