Sorry guys. The opportunity to show up on this lady’s website is too good to pass up. Here goes for my entry for your tagline, Mrs. V:

“I’m the bitch that laughed during ‘Schindler’s List’.”

Every now and again, I’m going to bring back an older post that many of you frequenting my site may not have had the opportunity to read. Here is one of them now:

I’m cleaning the lady’s bathroom two nights ago and as I’m Windex-ing the mirrors my manager, April, comes in and tells me the table I have is waiting for their check.

I leave the Windex on the sink and throw the paper towels I was using away. I give the table their check and am back in the bathroom in a matter of minutes. Who is waiting for me when I get back in there? An angry mother holding her child by the arm. Does it ever end with you people?

Angry Mom: “What do you think you’re doing?”
Me: “Sorry…I didn’t know anyone was in…”
Angry Mom: “No. I mean THIS!”

And then she points to the Windex bottle I had left on top of the sink.

Me: “Um. I don’t…uh…huh?”
Angry Mom: “What if my little girl had thought this was candy?”

Side note: The kid looked damn near six. Why are you taking her in to the bathroom with you?

Me: “Um…”
Angry Mom: “What if she had SPRAYED SOME IN HER MOUTH?”
Me: (silent at this point)
Angry Mom: “What if I had to rush her to the hospital to induce vomiting because YOU had CARELESSLY left that Windex on the sink?!”

What if? What if? What if your kid was smart enough not to spray strange liquids in their mouths in restaurant bathrooms? What if I sprayed Windex in your eyes as you cried and begged for mercy? Your daughter will be fine, lady. She’ll grow up, lead a normal life, have self-confidence issues, develop an eating disorder and become an alcoholic in college because it’s easier than developing a personality or getting over her “mommy-issues”.

P.S. The bitch had a dragon tattoo going up the side of her neck.

Me: “And, sir, can I get you something to (catch sight of breast swelling with milk being taken out for newborn infant) uh…drink?”
Random Guy: (Stares at breast)
Me: (Stares at breast)
Woman: “Here you go shmoopsie-poo.”
Guy: “I’ll have a…shmoopsi…Bud Light with a cold glass.”
Me: “Yea. Me too.”

Where I go to college, we only get a four-day weekend for Spring Break. Because that’s not nearly enough time to have a decent vacation (and because my girlfriend was out of town), I decided to work every single night.

I didn’t make more than 65 bucks any of those four days. Sweet, huh?

Thursday night, the first of my four-day odyssey, I was seated a black family of five. Why do I care to mention that they were black?

Mother: “You don’t hafta give us these lil’ cups just cause weez black.”
Me: “What?”
Mother: “Racist.”

It seems as though the only word the mother could articulate past a middle-school education was “racist”. Funny how that works out, huh?

A little backstory: Jay, our owner, accidentally made a mistake when he opened the restaurant and got two different-sized glasses. One holds 16 ounces, the other holds 12. As servers, we try to give the adults the larger glasses and the kids the smaller glasses. Sounds reasonable, right?

Well, when we’re slammed, we run out of the larger glasses. So we have to give the adults the 12 ounce glasses. No big deal. Just a couple more refills for us.

It’s a big deal for some people. Downright “racist” if you ask them.

So I explain to the woman that it’s not “racist” of me because we’re completely out of glasses. She mumbles something about discrimination and how she wants to take me to court or something, continues with her meal and leaves.

Not without leaving a four dollar tip on an eighty-dollar tab, however.