CSP
| Luna: | Just so you know we're out of cajun shrimp and chicken pasta. |
| Table 84: | What...no...are you serious? |
| Luna: | Yes, I'm sorry. |
| Table 84: | Can you ask the cooks to order more? |
| Luna: | Um... |
| Luna: | Just so you know we're out of cajun shrimp and chicken pasta. |
| Table 84: | What...no...are you serious? |
| Luna: | Yes, I'm sorry. |
| Table 84: | Can you ask the cooks to order more? |
| Luna: | Um... |
| Luna: | This bar is not set-up for success. |
| Kyle: | This bar is set-up for failure. |
| Luna: | I've never had to work in a restaurant where the bartender had to run to the back of the restaurant to fill ice in the middle of a dinner rush. |
| Kyle: | Look up. |
| Luna: | What? |
| Kyle: | Bugs are caught in the decorative spider webs. |
Luna
| Luna: | Sir can I get you something to drink? |
| Customer: | Grey Goose Martini. |
| Luna: | Straight up or on the rocks? |
| Customer: | You know - and he starts making hand gestures - the bartender will know what I mean. |
| Luna: | Sir, I'm the bartender. |
| Customer: | Oh, straight up. |
Me as I try to entice people to sing Happy Birthday to a girl who’s part of the cast of Billy Elliot. Dwayne finally obliges and dominates the whole song, which entices Gaynor to ask, “how did the singing go?”
While Tiffany and I are attempting to cash out the cast of Billy Elliot, some crazy lady with a Qdoba cup and brown bag starts asking us what type of dressings we have. I list them to her.
“Can I have honey mustard and ranch for my salad.”
As I am busy with a million other things and don’t see a salad, I say, “Give me a minute.”
“Well,” she replies, “My ride is outside so I’m in a hurry.”
I’m sorry. Did you order a salad from T.G.I. Fridays? Are you ordering anything from me besides dressing to go? I find Gaynor, who is more than willing to tell the lady to get out, to which the crazy retaliates, “Shut up, Bitch.”
I’m working service bar, making slushies and Dewayne is picking up his drinks, mumbling something about, “No, they don’t come with free refills.”
“What’s that Dwayne?” I ask.
He nods his head, giving me a fierce look through those square glasses, “Oh, I thought you were Heather.”
“Well Dwayne, we do both have blue eyes and blonde hair.”
“Hmmm,” he replies, “You need to be more cultured in this bar.”
A guy comes up to the bar and asks if we’ll have the US open final on any of the tvs. I say, “yes, it’s actually on that one, but the game’s on a rain delay.”
“Oh yea,” he says, “do you know what’s happening?”
“Sir, it’s on rain delay.”
“Oh, do you know who’s winning?” he continues.
“It’s on rain delay.”
“It’s on what?”
“Rain delay, sir.”
“Oooh, rain delay,” he says while walking away.
Kyle comes around the corner and asks, “Is it on rain delay?”
For a second I thought Kyle was serious.
P.S.
Go Nadal!!!
This first story comes from special correspondence outside Chicago. I think you all know where my sister works, so I’m not going to say it because I don’t want to jeopardize her. She works in hospitality and I always encourage her to share her stories.
During the fourth of July fireworks show, a guest approached my sister, screaming in agony demanding to speak to a manager. Apparently, a piece of ash had landed in her eye and her husband had video footage to prove it. My sister finds her manager and explains the situation. Meanwhile, the customers are attempting to contact the police.
The manager tries to calm the guests, who are now trying to reach their lawyer and already demanding free shit.
Now, as the fireworks start every night, there’s an announcement warning guests about rare bits of ash that might blow your way.
Ok…I’m just gonna say, how stupid do you have to be to not notice such an “inflicting” piece of ash flying straight towards you. Close your eyes, move your head, don’t just wait for something to hit you in the eye.
This is a perfect example of what’s wrong with our society; getting all worked up over something that was completely out of any one’s control and letting it spoil your vacation. Get the fuck over yourself.
On Sunday night, a middle-aged husband and wife sit down at 400 and immediately say to Heather, “it’s my wife’s birthday, make a big production.”
When I come around the corner, the guy repeats his command. I say, “Oh, happy birthday” and flip a bottle and ask heather to ring the bell. Apparently, this is not the big production the guy is looking for.
He asks us if we would sing to his wive, to which she adamantly shakes her head no.
Towards the end of their meal, he once again asks about the singing to which Heather points out the obvious, “she doesn’t want us to.” He then demands to speak to the owner to which I reply, “1-800-FRIDAYS.” On the way out he repeats he should’ve gone to Chilis.
Later I told Heather that they were from the Dells and we are disappointed that they represent Wisconsin so poorly. Just because someone is serving you alcohol, does not mean they are instantly your bitch and will do whatever you ask.
