Phew!

God am I knackered! 4 double shifts in a row and I need a drink!

I’m moaning but I love it really, Saturday double shift is without a doubt my favourite shift. It’s always busy so the time flies in. And I make lots of tips....which are of course the best part. It is also, I am assuming, the reason Myrtle was back at work today after her three day absence because she had something in her eye! Myrtle does not work weekends, they make her physically sick, she got given set shifts, shifts that she wanted. It bemuses me that the managers allowed her to pick up a Saturday shift because it sits her.

I work a double shift every Saturday, I’ve asked for this and I actually moan when I don’t have a double shift on a Saturday. Saturdays are busy from when we open until we stop serving food. What I would hate is starting a shift at 4 or 5pm and going straight in to the mayhem. A double shift on a Saturday means I know exactly what’s going on. What the bookings are, what food is running low and how the day has been in general.

Saturday gives us a whole mix of customers it’s actually amazing to see such a variety in just one day. Without fail there are the two old ladies that come in for lunch, have a starter each and tea and sit for three hours.......and don’t tip. We have the ladies what lunch that have a salad and a bottle of wine each and sit for three hours.......and don’t tip. We have the family of parents and children who have long since left home and are doing the weekly lunch, the dad orders the most expensive wine on the menu and moans about the food.........and doesn’t tip. There is the family who think they are trendy and bring their young children, who run riot, and babies, who cry and throw food everywhere ...........and don’t tip. The evening brings a whole different crowd. The first date. The young couple out for a nice meal. The done up girls who are heading out on town after their meal. The married couple. The coupe treating their elderly parents. The upper class couple who have just been to the theatre. It is amazing to see such a variety of people all eating in the same place.

Saturday however brings out the complainers. I don’t think I have ever worked a Saturday shift without a single complaint and today was no different.

The morning went by without much grief, for some reason my lunch guests were all fairly happy. This evening was a different story altogether. 

Saturday evening is the busiest shift by far. We are full from about 6pm. When the restaurant is full we have a bar area where people can wait for their table. Our lovely host team tell guests as they arrive how long they should expect to wait on a table.  At the busiest point on a Saturday the wait could be up to 2 hours long. All guests know this and make a conscious decision to wait in the bar whilst enjoying a drink. When the bar is full and for fire safety reasons we can no longer let any more people in the lovely host team tell guests this as they arrive. Some guests chose to wait outside until they can be shown to the bar.....so a queue forms outside the building. Again the lovely host team tell people how long they should expect to wait before being admitted to the bar and then how long should they expect to wait in the bar before a table is free. Clearly some people have nothing better to do on their Saturday night than wait outside a restaurant for a table that won’t be ready for up to 2 hours but hey, that is their choice.

Usually the way a Saturday goes is that the first sitting of tables are all pleasant, they are enjoying a nice meal, they haven’t had to wait for a table and they are going off to enjoy the rest of their evening. As the night goes on then the fun begins. Tonight I think I had all the moaners.

My first complainers were an elderly couple. Not happy bunnies at all. I do the usual, “hi how are you, can I get you something to drink?” The grumpy old man says “I should bloody well think so, half an hour we’ve been waiting for a table.” Hmm, well you would have been told as you came in how long you would have to wait wouldn’t you! But I say in a sickly sweet voice “did you not enjoy a drink whilst you waited” grumpy old man says “at your prices no chance” o...k....if you wanted cheap Tesco are doing a deal on multi pack cans of lager! So I ask him again, in my, oh so charming “customer” voice, would you like me to get you something now that you have sat down? So he orders his wine and barks at me “are you going to take our order too?” Impatient much?  He orders the sea bass for his wife and the steak for himself, well done of course. I tell them I will be right back with their wine and take a step back from the table. Grumpy old man hollers me back. When I say holler I mean you would have thought I was at the other side of the restaurant and he was shouting over a live band. “Where is the toilet” he shouts, why is it that old people feel the need to have no decorum what so ever. Firstly, why does he find it appropriate behaviour to shout as he has just done to the waitress who is serving him and secondly why does he think no one can hear him ask where the toilet is? I tell him it’s down stairs knowing full well that he is going to complain about this, what’s the point? I mean it’s not like I can bring the toilet upstairs for him! So he shuffles along and huffs and puffs, probably all the way to the bathroom and back. Whilst he is away I hurry and get his wine so I don’t have to put up with his moaning while I’m standing at the table opening it. The Wifey looks really uncomfortable when I ask her if she wants to taste it and tells me I had better just leave it on the table for Hubby to taste and pour when he gets back. When Hubby gets back he is quite clearly unimpressed about something. I am taking an order from a couple 2 tables away and can see Hubby out the corner of my eye furiously waving at me, half out his seat. The couple I am talking to have so many questions about the menu, most of them would be answered if they actually read the menu but hey, maybe they forgot their glasses? Hubby MUST be able to see that I am mid conversation but apparently thinks that this is not good enough because obviously my sole purpose of the evening is so be available for his persistent demands. Hubby starts shouting “waitress, waitress....WAITRESS” I can hear him; the whole restaurant can probably hear him. My manager catches my eye and I shrug, what does he want me to do, stop mid order and tell the customer I am speaking to that there is someone more important and I have to go see what he wants? So I continue as though I’m the only person in a 2 mile circumference that can’t hear Hubby. When I’m finished I turn round and head towards the still shouting Hubby. “About bloody time” he says to me. I hate him I really do!  I smile. I really don’t want to open my mouth in case I can’t stop myself. He points at the open bottle of wine on the table, “What’s this he demands?” I’m  thinking.......he did order wine didn’t he.....yes he did......this is the wine he ordered isn’t it......yes, it definitely is. “It’s the wine you ordered” I say to him. “Well god damn it, pour it lass, I don’t pay your prices to pour my own bloody wine” I hate him even more! I pour his wine, absolutely fizzing inside but I don’t show it, I pour it calmly and slowly and think to myself if this old git expects me to refill his glass all night I’m going to smack him with the bottle!

My manager comes to find me “what did he want” he asks. “He is an old c**t and he wanted me to pour his wine” I tell him. He gave me his tone and asks why on earth I didn’t pour it when I opened it. BECAUSE HE WAS AT THE BATHROOM AND HIS WIFE TOLD ME TO LEAVE IT ON THE TABLE I hiss at him...IM SURPRISED HE DIDNT WANT ME TO GO TO THE BATHROOM WITH HIM AND WIPE HIS ARSE! I can tell my manager is trying not to laugh “did he do a jobby?” he asked. Aaargh I have to storm away!

I have been bursting for a pee for about two hours I’d guess but I haven’t had a minute to go. I don’t want to risk going until Hubby has his food and I’ve had the chance to check everything is ok....it’s just not worth the risk. Just as well I didn’t go because Hubby is waving at me. What could he possibly want, he has wine and water and it’s only been just over five minutes since I took his order. I go over all smiles, still not trusting myself to open my mouth. “Should we expect to eat tonight, or will I phone a take away and wait here till tomorrow for my food.” I check my timing and wonder what I can say without being cheeky. So I take the safe option and tell him I will go and check with the chef. I have no intention of asking Chef about his order, at this time on a Saturday evening Chef would be liable to kill me. He ordered the sea bass which I know takes at least twelve minutes to cook and that’s if it got put in the oven as soon as I ordered it, which I doubt considering the restaurant is full to bursting and there are 200 other people waiting on food too. So I go into the kitchen, because I know Hubby is watching me and I eat some chips.

Reluctantly I go back to Hubby, I have to, it’s my job! I tell him that the kitchen got his order 7 minutes ago, it’s getting prepared and explain to him that the sea bass is cooked from fresh and takes fifteen minutes to cook (just to be safe) Hubby grunts and lifts his hand and actually waves me away....I hate him even more.

Hubby’s food is ready, I take it over, ask if they would like anything else and exit unscathed, a few more minutes I can do a check back and pee. No such luck, Hubby has called me over again. “Take this away” he barks at me, waving his hand in the general direction of Wifey’s sea bass, food spraying out his mouth. “Is there something wrong with it?” I ask Wifey. I think Wifey must be mute because hubby answers for her. “It’s full of bones” he splutters, food still getting spat all over the table. It’s a fish, it’s a WHOLE fish, of course it has bones in it, you don’t see limp fish swimming about the ocean do you? But there is no point, as I lift the plate I ask Wifey if she would like the menu to choose something else. “No she doesn’t want the bloody menu, we’ve had just about enough of this place, get me your manager.” Shouts Hubby, still spitting out food.

First point of call is the kitchen, I still have the uneaten sea bass in my hand and I know I’m going to have to deal with Chef. I walk into the kitchen......”what’s wrong with that?” shouts Chef. “It’s got bones in it” I say. “ITS A F***ING FISH OF COURSE ITS GOT F***ING BONES IN IT.....HES STILL PAYING FOR THAT.....MAKE SURE HE IS STILL PAYING FOR THAT!”......I’ll tell you what Chef why don’t you go to the table and tell him he’s paying for it!

So now I find my manager and explain the “Hubby” story from the start. Ah he says is this the one that had a jobby? So off he goes to try and pacify Hubby.....good luck. A good 15 minutes of ear bashing later my manager comes to find me. “He’s an old c**t” he declares. “Really? You thought that? Because I’ve been having a barrel of laughs!” He tells me to take the sea bass of the bill and offer desert and coffee on us. WHAT! I scream, he has given me hell and you want to give him free desert and coffee? Can I not just give him the bill and get rid of him?  Well no apparently not because Hubby and Wifey (who as it turns out is not mute) are celebrating their wedding anniversary and we have ruined the whole night for them. First of all we MADE them wait half an hour for a table with no free refreshments available, then we put him out by making an elderly man walk downstairs to the bathroom, he was appalled at the fact he had to pour his own wine. He waited 45 minutes (yeah I know) for his food and when it came the fish had not only bones in it but also a head and a tail. So they eat their free but “sub standard” desert, they have coffee and a liqueur, which he tells me he had better not see on the bill. He pays, and moans about the price, and of course doesn’t tip. My manager goes over again to speak to Hubby before he leaves and gives him £60 worth of vouchers to come back again............REALLY? REALLY?

There is no way in hell that I am serving him!