Last night I was sat a family of four. The first thing the mother told me is, “Hey, we have a movie in a little more than an hour. We can order right away.”

“Okay,” I think. “I need to get these people their food as soon as possible so that they can eat it at their leisure and so they make the decision of when they leave.”

Sounds like something a decent and thoughtful person, much less a waiter would do, right? Not according to that bitch of a woman.

As I got their drinks from the back, I thought it best if I brought out their soups at the same time so as to save time for them.

Her: “You don’t have to rush us, you know.”
Me: “You said you had a movie to catch in an hour. I thought…”
The Husband: “At least give us a chance to take a sip of our drinks before you throw these soups in front of us.”
Me: “Where am I?”

So now I’m in this dilemma: Do I hurry their food out to them helping them catch their movie, or do I just space out the salads and dinner so that they have ample time to eat but risk them not catching their movie? The next comment by the wife helped me make my decision:

Her: “Can you take our order please? I told you we were in a hurry.”

They can fuck themselves. That’s my decision.

So for the rest of the dinner, they are always last. Last to get to-go boxes, last to get their order into the kitchen, last to get to-go cups for their children (who were surprisingly well-behaved), last to get their bill and last to get their credit cards rang up.

Time elapsed in our restaurant: One hour, eight minutes.

This is Part IV in a four-part series designed to inform the public on how to be better customers. You can read Part I here, Part II here or Part III here.

I warned you last week that this is the part of the series that gets a little dicey. Some might even go so far as to say that I’m being offensive or racist, but I genuinely don’t care. All I care about is bringing you the truth and I’m not going to veil it in false compassion or tolerance. If you are offended by what I say next then I suggest you look within yourself to ask why you’re offended. Is it because you’re an upstanding citizen that shudders at the thought of judgment, or is it because you truly do exhibit the stereotypes I’m about to describe.

The only thing I ask is that you read this in its entirety before jumping to any judgments or conclusions of your own. Here goes.

White People:
This is the general demographic I wait on the most and boy are you guys uppity. White people, on the whole, have generally been in restaurants more than blacks, hispanics, asians, etc… and as a result have much more knowledge about possible drinks, appetizers, meals you can order.

That’s both good and bad.

Good because for some that means you know what you want and you’re quick to order. No fuss, no nothing. You want this meal with this drink and this appetizer and it’s relatively quick and painless.

Bad because since you’ve had more restaurant experience than any other demographic, you’re more likely to argue with me because our restaurant doesn’t make it a certain way. “I’ve had it done this way at a hundred restaurants,” you’ll exclaim. “Why can’t you do it here?”

Your experience in more restaurants than anyone else gives you an air of expectation that is unmatched by any other race. You believe you deserve better because you believe you are better.

That just doesn’t fly with me.

We, as a restaurant, try to serve the same food to everyone regardless of experience in other restaurants. And by you trying to coerce us into bending the rules tells me, as a server, that you think you’re above 99% of the other customers in this place that compromise their tastes to the restaurant setting they’re given.

And from what I can ascertain, white people are also the thirstiest. I get an average of four refills on sweet teas, sodas and alcoholic-drinks per customer. Sweet Jesus, it’s like our front doors are the gates to the Sahara or something.

Sparknotes version: White people are know-it-alls that believe they deserve preferential treatment and infinite refills because they’ve been to oh-so-many restaurants.

Black People:
This is the second-largest demographic I come in contact with as a server. Bring on the hate for what I’m about to say:

Black people, on the whole, don’t tip worth anything.

Take that above statement any way you’d like. Take it as black people trying to get back at “The Man”. Take it as black people not knowing societal tipping rules. Take it as black people not having the resources to shell out a 20% tip every time. Take it as ignorance, arrogance or downright revenge, but please, for the love of God, take it.

I cannot begin to tell you how many black couples I’ve had come in to my restaurant, get fairly good service and leave 4 dollars on a $100 bill. One man even asked me to break a hundred for “the sake of the tip”.

He then proceeded to leave me 2 dollars and change.

Black people are also the most likely to come into the restaurant with outside food from McDonalds and Chick-Fil-A and order minimally from our menu for whatever reason.

On a more positive note, black people will rarely, if ever, ask for a refill. They have their drink and they ration that bad boy out to the end of the meal.

Sparknotes version: Black people don’t tip but they’re not as thirsty as white people. They don’t require the amount of service most other demographics do and tip proportionate to the amount of service they ask for.

P.S. I will delete any and all comments pertaining to SPECIFIC examples of black people tipping wonderfully. One detailed anecdote’s not going to change my, or the people who read my site’s, mind. Give me a more general view of how black people tip in your area.

Women:
You are the thirstiest of every single demographic and you let us in on it from the get-go by ordering three drinks at once.

“Yes, I’d like an unsweet tea, a margarita and a water with two limes, not lemons.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you paid more attention to the drink menu than the food menu.

Women are also the loudest. Louder than teenagers, louder than rednecks, louder than elephants. If they’ve had half a beer, you can bet the scream you heard across the restaurant is a middle-aged woman agreeing in the merits of the show “America’s Next Top Model”.

On the plus side, women usually know what they want from a menu and are the quickest to be in and out of their seats as they take a lot of their food home with them in to-go boxes. Quick turn around equals more customers, so more power to you, ladies.

Sparknotes version: Women are damn thirsty and their volume raises in relation to 1) how much alcohol they’ve consumed and 2) how many friends are with them.

Rednecks:
I’m going to start this by saying that I don’t believe all Southern people to be “rednecks”. “Rednecks” implies some sort of sub-standard intelligence. Most Southerners I’ve encountered are smart and quick-witted and well-versed in the art of cooking, music, agriculture and conversation.

Rednecks also don’t tip anything. I swear, Richard Petty could be serving you and you’d STILL only give him two quarters on a forty-dollar tab.

Rednecks are also most likely to be the ones with inappropriate Southern-slogans on the back of their shirt or a portrait of Dale Earnhardt with his hair blowing in the wind with the words “I Wanna Be With Dale Someday” under it on the back of their stained, white t-shirt.

But rednecks are generally nice, hospitable people that, while loud, will call you (no matter your age) “ma’am” and “sir”. That’s a nice change of pace.

But I’d trade that southern “hospitality” for a few more dollars any day of the week. Treat me like garbage and give me five more bucks. I’m begging you. I’ll even pretend to like NASCAR!

Me: “I like Jeff Gordon. He’s handsome.”
You: “Here’s five more dollars, my boy!”

And what is with the sweet tea? The more syrupy, the better. I will never understand you all’s fascination with that brown sugar water you guys call “sweet tuh”.

Sparknotes version: Rednecks are genuinely polite and tip as well as they brush their teeth.

Teenagers (regardless of race or economic class):
Your sense of entitlement goes through the roof. You frickin’ asshats believe that just because you scored on prom night that means anything to me. You scored the winning touchdown last night? Great. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting your drink any faster.

And what is up with thinking you can trick me into an alcoholic drink? When you walk through that door, the only thing a server sees is a low potential for a good tip and a high potential for getting mad at us for not giving you a drink from the bar.

What I’m about to say is morally and ethically inappropriate, but I don’t frickin’ care:

We’ll give you a drink if you show us an ID. No ID, no drink. ANY ID AT ALL, YES DRINK. I’m not going to study the thing like a textbook, and I’m going to spare myself the potential embarrassment of saying “That’s not you” only for it to actually be you.

So as long as you cover our ass, we’ll cover yours.

And another stereotype we servers hold over teenagers: dirt poor. We know you don’t have money. I sure as hell didn’t. But don’t blame us if we hold it against yourselves for ordering 4 bucks worth of food in a semi-classy joint at 7:00 on Friday night.

One last thing. It is NOT okay to order an appetizer for dinner. Go sit at the bar if all you want is our soft-shell crab and a water.

Sparknotes version: They’re poor, but whatever money they have will be spent on appetizers and alcohol.

Senior Citizens: The older they get, the slower they read their Reader’s Digest at my table and the less they tip.

As opposed to women, you will sit at a table, all by yourself as if it’s a requirement to the AARP or something. Why do you think it’s okay for you to bring a newspaper to a table in my section and sit there, munching on your appetizer-for-dinner and drinking your hot tea as if it’s your last meal.

Do you get served raw fish at a library? No. Do you read books for hours at a sushi restaurant? Yes. See the problem?

And you guys tip like there’s a second Great Depression right around the corner. It’s not 1929, people! Get it out of your heads that two dimes and a penny will buy you anything other than a swift kick in the pants.

Sparknotes version: I pay into Social Security. They spend their checks as if it’ll be their last. (And, hey, it might. But that doesn’t mean you have to act like it!)

I hope you all are not too disgusted with me after this.

This is Part IV in a four-part series designed to inform the public on how to be better customers. You can read Part I here, Part II here or Part III here.

This is Part III in a four-part series designed to inform the public on how to be better customers. You can read Part I here, Part II here or Part IV here.

Yesterday, I gave some advice concerning teenagers and toddlers. While it was useful, I doubt little Johnny comes home from kindergarten every day brimming with excitement as he browses the archives. And teenagers just generally suck.

Today, I’d like to speak to the two demographics that probably read my website more than any other demographic: “21 to 55 year olds” and “55 to dead year olds”.

For the young adults and adults alike (21-55 years old): You guys will find any excuse to make me run around like a chicken with its head cut off.

You are in the prime of your life. You’ve been contributing to society for some time now and you may even have kids of your own. If so, refer to Part II of this guide.

And because you’ve been a part of society for so long, you’ve been to restaurants quite a bit, haven’t you? And you know exactly what you want and what soda you’ll have and if you’d like water with your wine, right?

Wrong.

People, you’ve been sitting in booths and ordering off of menus for decades. The Sprite is still there. So is the Coke. Unless you want a Tab, we’ve probably got the soda you want.

So then why does it take you people five, ten, fifteen minutes to decide on what you’d like to drink. And why is it when I go into the back for one person’s water, that triggers another customer’s thirst for a glass of water. “Holy shit,” they’ll think, “what is that exotic drink you’re having? Water? I have to get some of that!”

What is it about someone across the table ordering a receiving a water that makes you suddenly desire some? Water is water. They have it at your house. They have it at your neighbors house. You’re not opposed to it and you understand exactly what drinking a water entails. I’ll even venture to say that water has been your drink of choice more often that any other drink.

So my first bit of advice is to figure out what you’d like to drink by the time I get to your table. The longer I take to put in your drink order and get it to you, the longer I’ll take to put in your dinner order. The same bitches that take forever to order a Diet Coke are the same bitches complaining when they don’t get their dinner in fifteen minutes.

“Sorry, ma’am. Table 9 knew what they wanted to drink and their server got their dinner order in first. What? You don’t want your dinner anymore nor do you want to pay for it? Sure, you flaming fucktard. Please have a nice rest of the night as I ask the manager if I can take a smoke break and then go key your car. Bitch.”

It’s logic, men and women. It can’t be this hard. Most of us have high school educations. Some of us even have college degrees. You’ve got to understand the relationship between drink orders, dinner orders and getting your dinner. You take five extra minutes deciding between Mello Yello and Sprite and that’s at least five extra minutes on your dinner. Sounds simple, right? Not to more people than you’d think.

You adults have also been out so much you know exactly all the choices for to-go sauces and you know which one you want and only get that one, right?

Nope.

You middle-aged hags have been to our restaurant a dozen times and you still want two of every to-go sauce we have. As if you forgot what the ginger sauce tasted like since last Tuesday when I frickin’ saw your fat ass sitting at Table 6 by the window.

Adults, my advice is simple: Act your age. And if you can’t do that, at least pretend for the sake of me and those around you. You know what you want to drink and you know what sauces you want. Don’t waste both of ours time sending me on these stupid little errands thereby taking valuable time away from my other customers (i.e. potential tips).

For the 55+ crowd: Or as I like to refer to them: The group that just won’t die.

The unlimited sense of entitlement has returned and seemed to multiply exponentially since teenager-dom. You expect us to be at your every beckon just because you haven’t died yet. Seriously. That’s all I know about my customers when I go up to them. What else am I supposed to know? I don’t know that you shot down three Nazi planes or that you took a bullet for a friend in Korea. The only accomplishment we both know about you is that you haven’t died yet. Hell, my brother’s done that and he’s dumb as hell.

Senior citizens, I know you are on a fixed income and that your social security checks give you very little spending money outside of medication, hospital bills, etc… But if I may ask a personal question:

Then why are you coming out to a semi-expensive place for dinner?

Doesn’t make much sense, does it? If you’re on such a “fixed” income, then why are you paying our restaurant 25 dollars a plate, 10 more for some drinks, 6 for an appetizer and then leaving me 2 bucks? Where’s the “fixed” income in that?

Where’s the “fixed” income on what you got out of coming to the restaurant?

I can relate to someone that’s strapped for cash. I’m in college, remember? But I don’t go throw down 80 bucks for me and my wife to go eat and drink and be merry once a week. I take my girlfriend to Chick-Fil-A. And Crispers. And cafes and hookah bars and places where I don’t have to spend a lot of money to spend some time with her.

I go to restaurants like mine and throw down that kind of dough a couple of times a month. And that’s if it’s been busy.

Older men and women, my advice is the same as the teenager’s: Don’t be surprised when we pigeonhole you as bad tippers. We know you’re strapped for cash and you know you’re strapped for cash (at least for cash for people other than yourselves).

P.S. Don’t ever put your dentures on the sushi bar or grill tables. That shit is gross.

Monday, in my final advice column, I will have a list of the common judgments that waiters and waitresses hold for the different races, classes and age groups. If you offend easily, don’t even read it. But if you want to know how to break the stereotype most those in the service industry hold for the demographic you’re a part of, I implore you to read it. Twice.

This is Part III in a four-part series designed to inform the public on how to be better customers. You can read Part I here, Part II here or Part IV here.

This is Part II in a four-part series designed to inform the public on how to be better customers. You can read Part I here, Part III here or Part IV here.

Yesterday, I talked about some rules focusing solely on tipping. Today, I’d like to speak a little more broadly and focus on some general rules. You’ll find the advice in this column broken up categorically by age.

For the “12 and under” crowd: I think I can vouch for everyone here (server and servee alike) when I say that the volume of your child parallels exactly just how much we enjoy you and your child’s presence.

I’m a realist, moms. I understand that you and your husband need to get out of the house every once in a while and that sometimes babysitters fall through or you just can’t find one at the moment. I don’t expect everyone with a small child to not ever go out to restaurants.

What I do expect, however, is that your child not be running around the restaurant or be so disruptive that it continually disturbs the job I’m trying to do and the good time my customers are trying to have. A little noise is okay. It could even be cute and add to my tip and the customer’s enjoyment. But when your child is screaming and crying and banging their silverware on the table and you can’t or won’t stop it, that’s where the line needs to be drawn.

If you’ve ever caught your child doing any one of these things, you may need to find a babysitter or take a discipline class or two:

1. Rolling around the restaurant on those frickin’ roller-sneaker things.
2. Crying so hard that a blood vessel pops in your forehead and/or your child’s forehead.
3. Throwing plates, silverware and napkins on the floor like they were candy.
4. Flailing so wildly, they HIT A TOTAL FRICKIN’ STRANGER IN THE MOUTH.

Parents, pull up your pants, roll back your sleeves and do society a favor by making sure your child doesn’t act like a little shit in a restaurant.

For those between 13 and 20: Yes, we will check for your ID. Don’t get pissed. It’s our frickin’ job.

In my limited time as a waiter, I’ve noticed that the sense of entitlement is at its greatest on the ends of the age spectrum. If you’re under 21 or over 60, you think you deserve preferential treatment.

What the hell have you done, teenagers? Old people HAVEN’T DIED on their way to senior citizenship. That’s a hell of an accomplishment in a society so filled with ignorance and stupidity that a bunch of middle-agers pretending to be wide-eyed medical student graduates is a hit television show and a drama where the writers don’t even know what’s going on is raking in the millions. Fuck you, ABC. Bring back Howard Cosell.

You on the other hand are doing everything in your power to make it so you never see thirty. Oh, you only got one C on your report card? Scored a blowjob behind the bleachers? Well woopty-frickin-do! That all translates real frickin’ well in the real world. And that touchdown you caught last Friday night might help you get laid, but it won’t do shit to help you land a job. So don’t think you’re hot shit because of the petty things you do as an adolescent.

That being said, don’t think you’re above the same exact treatment I give everyone else. And do NOT ask me for an alcoholic drink if you don’t have an ID that says you’re 21. I’ll get fired.

The biggest gripe I have with teenagers in the service-industry is the fact that they think every restaurant is a frickin’ Starbucks. You get one sushi roll and a water with lemon and you expect us to be at your every beckon when that water gets the least bit empty? Sorry, kids. I got a family of five racking up a $200 bill over here.

And if you have the cajones to come in, take up some of my seats and not want anything but a glass of water, don’t think I’m going to go out of my way to fill that shit up as fast as you bitches drink it. Your bill is $0.00. Even if you give me a 50% tip, that’s zero cents, dipshit.

My only advice for teenagers is to put yourself in our shoes. Most teenagers never get a job in the service industry, so they don’t know that your pay is tied directly to patron’s tips and that you have the prioritize the limited service you can give all your customers. Kid, you’ve got a $4.95 bill. That family has $200. Who’s giving me the better tip? If it’s between a couple of refills for the family and your refill of water, you’d have to be a flaming douche to choose the former.

Also, teenagers, we know you don’t have much money. Hell, by the looks of your tips, even you know you don’t have much money. So then why do you get mad at us when we acknowledge that little nugget of wisdom before you do? By that I mean we don’t go jumping through hoops to get you eight different sauces for your six-piece roll of sushi and then you tip us 5%?

I was a teenager two years ago. I know what it’s like. I know that whenever I go out, I can’t just drop a fat 25% tip. Know what else? I knew that and I did a couple of things for my waiter or waitress:

1. I never bothered him or her unless it was an emergency or unless she hadn’t been to my table in a long while. (And I mean long-long, not ten minutes-long.)
2. If it was a choice between dessert or a couple of dollars for a tip, 90% of the time, I gave a couple more dollars toward the tip. Didn’t seem like much at the time, but as a waiter, I value every frickin’ penny I can squeeze from you people.
3. I made up my frickin’ mind on drinks, meal/appetizer choice and dessert as quickly as I could. If I wasn’t going to be able to tip my server that well, I was going to make damn sure I didn’t get in his or her way of serving the people that could.

In short, don’t be douches, teenagers and we’ll find the time to refill your water with three lemons. We also won’t spit in your food.

Tomorrow, the adults and the grandparents.

This is Part II in a four-part series designed to inform the public on how to be better customers. You can read Part I here, Part III here or Part IV here.