Waiter Rant: Thanks for the Tip--Confessions of a Cynical Waiter (P.S.)

Waiter Rant: Thanks for the Tip--Confessions of a Cynical Waiter (P.S.)

Steve Dublanica

Language: English

Pages: 336

ISBN: 0061256692

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

According to The Waiter, 80 percent of customers are nice people just looking for something to eat. The remaining 20 percent, however, are socially maladjusted psychopaths.

Eye-opening, outrageous, and unabashed—replete with tales of customer stupidity, arrogant misbehavior, and unseen tidbits of human grace in the most unlikely places—Waiter Rant presents the server's unique point of view, revealing surefire secrets to getting good service, proper tipping etiquette, and ways to ensure that your waiter won't spit on your food.

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drugs, you know?” Fluvio says, his voice pushing through the cellular static. “He don’t come to work for three days. I have no idea where he is.” “That sucks.” “So you got fired, eh?” Fluvio asks. “News travels fast.” The restaurant grapevine is faster than Reuters. “Sammy’s a piece of shit,” Fluvio says. “Listen, come up by my new place. We’ll talk.” “You need a waiter?” “I need a manager,” Fluvio says. “I don’t know you well, but from what I’ve seen I think I can trust you.” “Even though my

about it, she lives on tips just like me. I idly think about inquiring into her money-management practices but decide against it. She manages her money by tucking it inside a G-string. “Let’s go then,” I say, beyond caring at this point. The girl leads me by the hand into the back. I told you I spent my money on stupid shit. Chapter 6 The Box of Chocolates Saint S ince we’re already talking about spending money on stupid shit that won’t get you laid, let’s talk about Valentine’s Day. If you

palpitations and ended up in the ER. The doc told me I was fine—just lay off the caffeine. That doctor probably never waited tables. Celine, the blond hostess who always reminds me of a 1940s movie starlet, pokes her head into the kitchen. “Table twenty-six just got seated,” she says. “Can you get them out in an hour fifteen?” “My dear,” I reply, “I’m the king of turning and burning.” “I hope so,” Celine says, walking away. “We’re overbooked.” “Hey,” Armando, the chef, calls out. “Don’t forget to

pockets. Restaurant workers are basically disposable. Because waiters tend to be a self-involved lot, mentally ill coworkers often go unnoticed or ignored until they decompensate and can’t perform. Since there’s usually no health insurance in the restaurant industry, getting these people any kind of psychiatric help is expensive and well nigh impossible. When these workers flame out, they end up quitting or getting fired. If you start working at a restaurant and discover that 80 percent of the

Church. I spent so much time praying in chapel that my seminary mates whispered that I was a mystic. There was talk that I’d be sent to Rome for theological studies. My bishop said I was destined for great things. I was an ecclesiastical up-andcomer. I was also a self-righteous little shit. Girls were verboten, but that was okay because I was afraid of them anyway. Since I was planning to dedicate my life to God, I did my best to avoid the inconsiderately buxom sources of temptation buzzing

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