First you need to know how tipshare works at BC.  Using some cockamamie math, Schmarden determines how much tip out you are required to give the busser and bartender each shift.  Something about your total sales factoring in the time those employees were clocked in and stuff like that.  In any case, we all had to sign a form stating that mandatory tipout is, well, mandatory, and required by all tipped employees.  I don’t recall if it specified the jobs to which we would be tipping out, but the computer only has calculations for busser and bartender.

At some point tonight one of the older, more bossy servers flipped my ponytail – which I fucking hate by the way – and said something about how I needed to tip out June since she’s been running my food all night.  Now, I know she meant “my” food as in “everybody’s” food, but it pissed me off because June had not run one damn tray of my food all night because I had run every goddamn tray of my food that night.  I decided that, no, I would not be tipping June out because she hadn’t actually done anything for me.  Why the hell should I give her money when I was doing the shit I needed to do?  That’s like tipping out the busser who bussed everyone’s tables but mine.

About an hour later, I had been thinking about it and decided that I would give June a couple of bucks even though I had run all of my food.  Here’s why: even though she didn’t run my food, she did run other people’s food.  This meant things were coming out of the kitchen faster and that my food probably made it to the window faster than they would have if the window had been full of dying food.  Her running food also meant that other people weren’t asking me for favors, leaving me free to tend to my tables.  Not the best reasons, but hey.  I knew she was going to guilt me into it anyway (or bitch to a manager) so I might as well decide to give it to her before I was manhandled into it, right?

So she’s getting ready to leave after the rush dies down, and I’m at the computer paying out a check.  She bounces up to me and stands there.  I glance at the paper she has and see that it has names written down.

“So,” she barks, “you going to give me a buck or two for running your food?”  She stood there with her eyebrows raised and pen poised on the paper.  I still don’t know if it was a list of people who had paid or people who hadn’t.

Here’s where I should have just kept my mouth shut.  But I didn’t.  I pulled out a couple of dollar bills and handed them to her as I said with a smile, “Well, I don’t think you actually ran any of my food, but I appreciate that you helped everyone out by being a food runner all night.  I know it probably helped me indirectly.  Thanks.”

She stared at me, the dollar bills wilting in her hand.  ”Excuse me?” she snarled, thrusting her head forward.  ”What do you mean, I didn’t run your food?”

“I ran all of my own food.  Except for 37, but I saw [other server] bring that out.  Like I said, I’m sure it helped me indirectly so I don’t mind tipping you out anyway.”  Actually, I did mind, but I saw my refusal to tip her going a lot like this conversation was.  Seems like I was fucked anyway.

“Uh, well, even if I didn’t run your food tonight, I’m sure I’ve run it some other day.”

Here’s where I should have kept my mouth shut and actually did so. “Uh, okay.”

What I was thinking was, I’m not tipping you out for other days.  Are you kidding me?  When you run my food on other days – which is quite rare, since we rarely work together anyway – you’re a server, not a food runner.  We all run each other’s food as favors, not for tips.  When you’re a food runner, it’s different since that’s all you’re doing and it’s your job, not a favor.  There is a big difference.  Again, I’m tipping you based on your service to me TONIGHT, not a week ago and not next month.  That would be like your ex-girlfriend becoming a prostitute and charging you for the sex you had before you broke up.  No, you do not get tipped based on you maybe running one tray for me last month when you were serving.

Am I being a bitch about this?  I think it’s obvious that I should have just not said anything in the first place.  I had decided to tip her out anyway so I didn’t really need to explain the technicalities of why I had chosen to tip her out.  I think I said something because it struck a nerve that she said she ran my food, and she sure as hell didn’t.  Had she said, “Hey, would you be willing to tip me out a buck or two since I was a food runner all night?” this conversation would never have happened.  The way she actually asked indicated that she believed I owed her because she personally ran MY food.  I know it’s nit-picky and I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place, especially knowing her temper, but I couldn’t help myself.

What I want to know, though, is:

1)…am I a bitch for thinking I didn’t really owe her anything?  After all, we have never had a designated food runner on any shift I’ve ever worked since I was hired almost a year ago.  We don’t normally tip anyone out but bussers and bartenders.  If she had actually ran my food, I would have tipped her out without a second thought.  But it wasn’t mandatory and she hadn’t actually run any of my food.

2)…am I a bitch for thinking that she’s out of place for saying I owed her because she had almost certainly run my food at some time in the past, or might in the future?  After all, we never have designated food runners and it is understood that whoever has free hands when food comes up is the person who gets to run it.  We do it as favors and to ensure the guests don’t get dead food, not because we expect compensation.

3)…am I a bitch for taking glee in the fact that my cheap grandparents (not the ones I’ve posted about before) ate in her section the week prior to this, and that I know they didn’t tip her well because they never tip well, ever?  At first I felt bad when she told me she had waited on them, but after this exchange all I can think was that it was preemptive karma.  Okay, I actually don’t want you to tell me if this is bitchy.  I know it is.  I still giggle when I think of the probably 10% tip they left, but only in light of June’s bitchiness over the tip out stuff.

I seriously want to know about 1 and 2 though, because if you guys think I was a bitch then I may apologize to her.  Thing is, I really honestly think I’m right here.  I think she’s the one being a bitch about this.  She didn’t refuse my money, and I didn’t talk to her rudely during our conversation, but I’m pretty sure she fucking hates my guts now.  I’m totally fine with that as long as I was justified in my actions.

If this stuff keeps happening I may have to make a “Batshit Crazies” category just for June.

Edit: The comment about money was written in a haze of anger and was meant as an indicator of how much money I’m going to be out once everything is said and done, not counting any additional student loans.  I do not actually want you guys to send me money.  Unless you really are a millionaire, in which case send as much as you want.  Thanks much.

I constantly felt like I was on the verge of being in the weeds, but I managed to keep my ass out of the weeds all the same.  I didn’t stop walking from the minute I walked in until the minute I walked out, and damn can my feet complain about it.  Still, all of my tables were super nice to me and several chatted with me about school and my goals after graduation.  Damn, it was a good day.  Our regional director — at least I think he is…maybe he’s just the area director…fuck, I have no idea — also visited and stayed for lunch.  Guess who was selected to wait on him?  That’s right, me.  This is my second time; the first time I was totally green and shook so badly that my general manager noticed and told me to chill out.  This time, I was still a little shaky due to nerves but overall very smooth in my presentation.  Just like last time, he told me I did an excellent job.  Booyah, bitches!  The regional (area?) director is a totally cool guy so I really shouldn’t have been nervous either time, but he’s so damn nice that I can’t help but be nervous.  You expect him to be some hardass and then he smiles at you and asks something like, “Are you having a good 2012?”  Can’t ask for a better management team, I tell ya.

Can I give you the icing on the cake?  I bought myself a gift tonight.  It’s a jacket/vest sort of thing that I’ve had my eye on for over a year, and it will come in very handy when we go overseas again.  It will function as a daily wardrobe item, too, but I’m mostly excited about the oversea functionality.  Woohoo!  I’ve gotta go to bed so I can have another awesome day tomorrow.  I wish I could feel this badass all the time.

In other news, I believe that I am suffering from mild whiplash after firing my husband’s 30-06 rifle.  I had declined all offers to fire it for years, then finally decided, “Why not?” this weekend.  I got the first shot off and it didn’t kick too bad.  I’d even say it was fun.  It’s a Remington 1903, made during WWII, so it’s quite heavy but the bolt action is the best I’ve ever seen.  Before I got off my second shot, I realized I was barely able to hold it up anymore and consequently did not seat it properly against my shoulder.  The second shot jarred me and is very likely responsible for the whiplash I’m experiencing.  My fault, oh well.

Just thought I’d give a little update.  Hope to have new posts soon!

Newsflash, bitch: Obviously I am not a shitty server, otherwise I would have been fired years ago.  Obviously I am not a shitty server because at least once a shift, a table asks to see a manager just to tell them how *perfect* my service was. Obviously you are an idiot, because you can’t seem to understand that what someone writes on her blog does not mean that’s how she acts while at work.  Obviously you are too stupid to understand that saying or doing any of the things I write here would get me fired, and seeing as I still have a job I’m obviously not treating my guests the way I would sometimes like to.

I’m terribly sorry that you possess barely more than a brainstem, so I’ll spell this out for you nice and slow: In less than a month, I will be more qualified for a job than you will ever be.  I perform better at my job than you could ever hope to do yourself, and I probably make more money than you while doing so.  I have a fantastic husband, an adorable puppy, and couldn’t be happier with my personal life.  Sounds like you’re jealous.  You can keep submitting your whiny-ass comments, but I am not going to release them from the spam filter.  You are, quite simply, a bad customer.  No one likes you.  I don’t like you.  My readers don’t like you.  Go somewhere else to troll.  And no, I don’t mean my personal blog; you’re marked as spam there, too.

Regular readers: if you would like to see my response to Springs1′s list on “how to be a good server,” please visit this page and enjoy.

Edit: Springs1 tried to comment on the page mentioned above, in what I can only imagine was supposed to be a rebuttal.  Obviously it was pages long and full of caps and asterisks, so I didn’t bother to read it.  Just wanted to let you guys know that, despite knowing I’m going to immediately delete her comments, she still tried.  Awwww, it’s cute when people don’t listen.

Edit #2: Her comment count is now up to three.  I’m betting Springs1 spent ages crafting the perfect responses; too bad they’re sent off to a cyber death without being read.  Did I just troll the troll?  Methinks I did.  How many more will be submitted?  I’m going to keep a tally.  Do you think she even notices these edits?

Edit #3: Five comments.  Shorter than the last ones, but I still can’t help but feel she doesn’t understand that no one will get to read her oh-so-scathing responses.  Teehee.

Edit #4: Six. Ho hum.

I don’t base my serving behavior off of body type — though clothes can tell me if I’m serving non-tipping Okies.  There is something to be said about appearances, and being fat is not an indicator of how I should serve my guests.  The way they treat me is the #1 customer behavior that tells me how I should behave.

When someone asks for biscuits before I even get their drink order, we’re mysteriously out of biscuits until the end of their meal.  When someone tells me they want a fuckton of biscuits, I will bring them two baskets…and then we’re mysteriously out of biscuits until they leave.  The biscuits aren’t an appetizer, people; they’re complimentary with the salads.  People who eat biscuits like they’ve never seen food before are the kinds of people who tip like shit.  Sorry, but I genuinely think this is true.  Some weekends I perform some half-ass scientific studies in which I make notes about my customers and then compare tip percentages.  So far, biscuit-hoarders tip less than the average customer.  Hispanics also tip less, but I think that is more due to my store’s location and is not completely a reflection of that group.  Okies always tip much less than average, and people who don’t make eye contact with me tip somewhere in the range of 5-10%.  I think they purposely won’t look at me so they can’t see the person that they’re treating like crap.

Pro tip: when your server asks how you’re doing today, you should return the favor.  We both know neither of us actually care, but the gesture of you asking will incline me to believe that you are a better tipper and I will therefore bring you endless biscuits.  True story.

You can check it out here.  I’m not including it in the post because 1) it would require me making a screenshot of it because I can’t directly link to the image, which makes me think they want me to link to the page and 2) I’m lazy.

Merry Christmas.

I shared a large party with a coworker and we were both grinning because, after a night of yet more 5% and 10% tips, we could autograt this table and at least get the money we deserved for our work.  I drew a little holiday picture on the ticket with “Merry Christmas” written below like I do for all my tables, then dropped the check off with the guy who was nice enough to pay for everyone.  They were a very nice group, but I sure didn’t trust them to treat us right…tip-wise, you know.  Just because a table is nice doesn’t mean they know how to tip.

I came back to take the booklet and one of the little girls at the table waved me over.  She had something in her hand and she insisted I take it.  I looked at what she had given me; it was a dime and a nickel, fifteen cents.

“Wow, for me?  Thank you,” I said with a smile.  ”Is this all your money?”

“Yes,” she replied, beaming.  I saw a little pile of coins on the table next to her tiny purse.  It amounted to maybe a dollar at most.  I know that when you’re a kid, a dollar is a lot of money, so I was particularly touched to see that she was so generous.

“Wow, that’s a lot.  So why did you give me some?  It’s your money, you know.”

“It’s your tip!  You were very nice.”

“Oh,” I said, realizing that she had shown more care for me than anyone else has this month.  ”Well, thank you VERY much, then!  I’m glad you had a good dinner.  You have a Merry Christmas.”

And I genuinely meant it.  I’ve been saying it all month to every table but it’s really just been going through the motions of the holiday season.  It’s hard to get in the spirit when people treat you so poorly.  This time though, I genuinely wished that she have a fantastic Christmas.  When you’re a child, money is kind of abstract.  Any money at all is quite a bit, and having even a few bucks makes a kid feel rich.  The fact that she was so willing to part with a few of her coins in order to give me a tip – a tip she didn’t need to give – jolted me out of my “hating the holiday” haze for a little while tonight.  And I hope that while I work my double shift tomorrow on Christmas Eve I’ll remember tonight, so whatever tomorrow is like I can at least find a little joy in the generosity of a little girl.

In the travel books I had, it suggested no tip.  Many places on the internet say otherwise, but I failed to check the internet before our last trip.  Now I feel like an ass.  All those travelers I’ve ever waited on who fucked me over…well, I still say, “Fuck you,” but now I know what it’s like to mean well but still fuck up on foreign tipping custom.

Rest assured, whenever we travel again I’ll be more on the up-and-up.  Awwww, poor servers we had last time…!

I hate being scheduled in the bar area on Sunday mornings because 1) no one wants to sit there, even if it’s smoke-free, because somehow sitting in the bar area implies that you’re a godless heathen, and 2) when we go on a wait and people choose to sit there instead of wait longer, those people are still pissed about sitting in the bar area.  I get screwed out of tables and even the ones I do get tip shit because they’re either pissed off or from Oklahoma.

This morning when I walked in, I looked at the floor chart and promptly cursed.  I had the fucking smoke-free bar section.  Faaaaaantastic.  If they’re going to put me in there, I’d rather not work at all.  I mean, really.  Fuck.

I only had 5 tables the whole morning (and that was with the tables forced upon me due to the wait) and they were all whiny bitches.  I was sat with a sixth table, and that table is the reason I’m posting today.  I saw them as they were being seated, but was paying out another table and figured 30 seconds wouldn’t hurt ‘em.  As I was walking towards my table to drop off the check, I heard our manager-in-training talking to our older manager.

“I already went and talked to table 6, but he’s really mad.  Can you please, please go talk to him?”

So I’m thinking…Shit, really?  That’s the table I was just sat with!  But there was no way they could be pissed about waiting for me.  No way.  They hadn’t even been sat there for a full minute!

Before I could approach the table, our sweet-as-pie older manager was already at table six.  The couple sitting there looked like Okies.  The guy was wearing overalls and a dirty t-shirt, and his wife was wearing torn jeans with a dirty t-shirt.  Greeeeaat.  I hung back, smiling at the table and hoping that I wasn’t in trouble.  Here’s what transpired:

Manager:  I hear there is a problem, how can I help?

A-hole:  Yeah, what’s this horse shit about no smoking in here?!?

Manager:  Oh, sir, there’s no smoking until 4 p.m. on Sundays.  If you would like, I –

A-hole:  THE HELL??!?

Manager:  Sir, if the other table seated here isn’t bothered by it, I’d be happy to –

A-hole:  You don’t allow smoking?  The hell kinda place is this??

Manager:  Sir, as I said, if the other table –

A-hole:  I don’t give a DAMN about the other table!

A-hole grabs his keys and stands up, getting in the manger’s face.

A-hole:  You know what?  I hope that other table stays there for 6 months! (I have no idea what that was supposed to mean. -FMT)  I’m calling corporate!  This is bullshit!  Hear me? BULLSHIT!

My manager follows them out the door, trying to explain that if the other table isn’t bothered, he would allow him to smoke anyway.  The other table was seated under the assumption that the area was smoke-free and he couldn’t infringe upon their comfort unless they okayed it.  I thought the guy was going to punch our manager, which would have pissed me the fuck off.  Thankfully for everyone, the guy and his wife left in a huff, probably to go make some other server miserable.  Man, am I glad I hadn’t gone to the table!  He probably would have bitched at me, and I probably would have bitched right back.  And then I’d have been fired.

Let me just throw this out there: If your cigarette addiction is so bad that the possibility of not being able to smoke for the next 15 minutes causes you to go apeshit, perhaps you need to look into weaning yourself off of them.  I can tell this couple probably was from Oklahoma, and not because of their clothes.  Oklahomans apparently can’t smoke in restaurants anymore.  This holds true for some places in Texas, but not my town.  Okies come down to drink and smoke at our place since they can’t do it back home.  This couple got pissed and, instead of waiting to hear their options, assumed we were going to ruin their lunch and made a big scene.

They could have gotten up and politely explained that they were leaving for a different place that allowed smoking.  It happens, I’m used to it.  No one would have been upset.  They could have asked if they could smoke early if the other table okayed it.  They could have waited the 15 minutes it took for the other table to finish up, and then they’d be allowed to smoke since they were the only ones there.  It could have turned out so much better but this guy decided to be an asshole.  He sounded like a 5-year-old making a big deal out of something that, really, wasn’t a big deal at all.

I don’t know what it is about December, but man are the assholes out in force.  Nothing like this has EVER happened because of this Sunday morning smoking policy, and it’s been in place for years.  Leave it to some asshole to puncture the calm of a Sunday morning over something stupid.