Last night this couple came in. The guy couldn’t have been younger than 25 and the woman looked about the same age.

So in the middle of the meal, I see the guy pull his phone out and start talking kind of loudly into it. The woman is looking around very awkwardly and gets up to use the restroom. As I walk by, I hear the guy say, “Yea, Mom…I’ll be home at 11. Gosh, you’re such a pain!”

The guy said “Gosh, you’re such a pain.” To his mother.

It was then that I saw the woman he was with come out of the bathroom, give him a hug (without a kiss) and walk away. Another date ruined by curfew, dude. My little brother knows exactly how you feel.

Last night my friend John had a table with a young (mid-twenties) black couple. I had had them before, so I warned John about their inexperience at our restaurant.

John: “Hey guys…what can I get for you?”
Black Guy: “Hey…uhhh…ya’ll got some fries in a bag?”
John: “Some what?”

Some fries in a bag? That’s a new one to me.

Black Guy: “Ya’ll got fried chicken?”
Black Girl: “Yea.”
John: “Well…we have Chicken Katsu…it’s breaded a little differently than…”
Black Guy: “I don’t want no bread. I just want it fried.”
John: “Uhhhh…”

We should have just dumped a breast of chicken in the deep-frier and let him eat it.

Black Guy: “Aight…I’ll have the Chicken dinner.”
Black Girl: “I’ll have the Vegetable dinner.”
John: “Okay. That comes with rice, vegetable…”
Black Guy: “Whoa whoa whoa…I’m not into that rice stuff. Just leave it off.”
Black Girl: “Yea…and I don’t want vegetables with my meal.”
John: “You ordered the Vegetable dinner.”
Black Girl: “Uhhh…”

At least they tipped him well.

At our restaurant, we sing “Happy Birthday” if a family tells us it’s someone at their table’s birthday. Last night, a mom came up to me and secretly told me so I could surprise her daughter. That’s cool, I kind of like singing the song.

So I get to the table and start singing when no one (and I mean not a single person) at the table were singing. I get to about the second “Happy birthday to you…” when I just stop and try and get the rest of the family into the song with: ”Alright, guys…I don’t think this is gonna work. How ’bout we all sing, okay?”

This doesn’t sit well at all with the mother who is furious. So I start again and again, no one is singing. I stop, again, and say, again, “C’mon guys…let’s all sing ‘Happy Birthday’!”

Now the parents arms are crossed and the teenage daughter is pleading that people sing “Happy Birthday” with me because of her embarassment. The mom just stares at me as I start it up one more time. Again, no one is singing.

So I stop mid-song, say “Sorry guys…I thought you wanted to sing ‘Happy Birthday’”, and proceed to walk away. I hope they told the manager, she’d get a kick out of it.

Last night I had a couple at the sushi bar that was, for the most part, very nice and very patient about the fact that there was only one sushi chef and he had a bunch of to-go orders and that they wouldn’t get their food for a little while.

I gave them their bill (I put it in the frickin’ middle of the couple) and ran the credit card. When I went to give them their bill back to sign for it, that’s when things turned not so nice. See, I put the bill in front of the guy:

Her: “Hey! How do you know it’s not MY credit card?”
Me: “Because his picture and name are on it.”
Her: “Well…uh…that’s no excuse.”

What? When you flunked out of 10th grade, didn’t the teacher give you the paper with YOUR name on it deducing that it was…well…YOURS? When you’re going 30 over the speed limit in your BMW that Mommy and Daddy bought you, doesn’t the policeman (sorry, police-person) see your driver’s license as valid because your 1) name and 2) picture are on it? Then shut up and let me give the man back his credit card.

Ryan A. Ward, you have a bitchy girlfriend/wife.