NOTE: It has come to my attention that my site was recently linked in an online community entitled “Feminist Rage” and that several members of this community have viewed my site, commented on it and even started some constructive discussions.

My response: Keep it coming. You’re increasing 1) awareness of my website, 2) my site traffic and 3) the number of discussions about my writing. So please, invite all your friends, send out emails, post about my site in online feminist communities…whatever you want. Just don’t peg me as anti-woman. All I did was put the check in front of the dude because it was obvious he was gonna pay for it. That doesn’t make me sexist. It makes me a realist.

I could have posted about the times I’ve put checks in front of the women and they literally scoffed at me asking “Do you really think I’M going to pay?” or the bad tips I’ve received for that little misstep.

But I’m a better person. So, I won’t. Now, on to the story. And yes, this story will seem to be a very big coincidence, but I promise you it’s true:

Last night, a couple came in. The woman seemed to have had one too many drinks before they’d even set foot in the door. When I asked what they wanted for drinks, the woman replied with this:

Woman: “I’d like an unsweet tea.”
Man: “And I’d like a sake.”
Woman: “You want a water too.”
Man: “No, a sake will be…”
Woman: “He’ll want a water too.”
Man: “I guess I want a water too.”
(Uncomfortable silence)
Me: “And you didn’t even know you wanted it.”

I come back with the drinks and take up their sushi order.

Woman: “He’ll want a side of fried rice too.”
Man: “No I don’t.”
Woman: “He’ll have a side of FRIED. RICE.”

And then it happened.

Man: “Would you please stop being a bitch for once and just let me order what I want.”

Wow. Now I don’t advocate talking to women like this but that’s what happens when you mix alcohol and a dysfunctional relationship. You get a guy that has seemingly been walked all over and, with the help of alcohol, musters the courage to fight back. But he does it in the worst way possible: public humiliation and degradation.

P.S. They ordered three more sakes between them and were smiling as they walked out the door. The cure for an alcohol-induced argument? More alcohol.

So a couple’s sitting at one of my last tables and I’ve taken their plates to the back and asked “Do you guys need anything else?” They answer with a no and I bring them the check. Then the woman just tears into me:

Her: “Do you all not have any coffee or dessert here? We don’t get coffee or dessert?”
Me: “No, ma’am. We don’t have coffee and I thought you said you didn’t need anything else.”
Her: “What does that have to do with dessert?”
Me: “Ummm…uh….”
Her: “Do you ALWAYS bring the check without asking if they want dessert?”
Me: “Ma’am, I asked if you needed anything else.”
Her: “Whatever.”

From now on, whenever I say “anything else”, that implies ANYTHING ELSE. Dessert, more food, a lap dance. ANYTHING. Alright?

I’m walking to the back with about five plates in my hands when a kid, sitting backwards in his chair, looks at me and literally lunges in his chair at me while yelling “RAWRRRRRRRR!”

I, of course, jump a little because I don’t usually stare or pay attention to little boys as I’m walking to the kitchen. As a result, a plate comes off my stack and onto the little kid’s head.

The dad is cracking up. The mom is furious:

Mom: “How dare you spill plates on my son’s head. His skull is very fragile!”
Me: “Ma’am, your son surprised me by lunging at me in his seat.”
Mom: “So? Do you really think he’s going to hurt you?”

At this I snapped my finger in her face and she flinched.

Me: “Did you think I was going to hurt you?”
The Dad: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Want to know why I can do this? Because when there’s a couple or a family, the men pay the bill 90% of the time. At least.

P.S. He gave me a 20% tip.

At work, we have this system to where the first server that clocks in gets the first table, the second server gets the second, etc… It’s a rotation sort of thing.

So this server, Amanda, sees me walking up to the building, literally starts sprinting and butts her way to the computer so she can clock in a few seconds before me all the while yelling “Sorry, Ryan, I gotta pee!”

I clock in, start my opening side work and see her at the bar talking to my manager, April.

Me: “I thought you had to go pee, Amanda.”
Amanda: “I already did.”
Me: “No you didn’t. You just wanted the first table.”
Amanda: “I went PEE Ryan!”
Me: “I frickin’ hate you.”

Long story short: Amanda is a jerk and next time I see her walking up to the restaurant, I’m going to drop everything and launch into a sprint, punch her in the back of the head and clock in before she has a chance to figure out what hit her.