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:

Everyone at work smokes. So, naturally, I pretend I do to have an excuse to go out back every hour or so for a few minutes to get away from the people demanding sprinkles and coffee (which we don’t have, lady).

Anyways, I go outside and our new head sushi chef, Mr. Han, is out there smoking a cigarette. He used to work only one or two days a week, but our head sushi guy (i’m not kidding) got sick of America and decided to go back to South Korea. Way to weigh your options, pal.

As I walk outside, Mr. Han taps me on the shoulder, points to a jet in the sky and says “Plane.”

“Yea. It sure is,” I reply.

He then pantomimes jumping out of an airplane, points to himself and says, “Me. Uh…South Korean special forces.”

Me: “You jumped out of planes? How many times?”
Mr. Han: “Uh…three…four hundred times?”
Me: “Damn.”
Mr. Han: “In South Korea…20, 21, 22…you in army.”
Me: “How long were you in the army?”
Mr. Han: “Three years…four years…five years.”
Me: “Did you ever kill anyone?”
Mr. Han: “Uh…14…15?”

Holy frickin’ crank. With just this exchange, Mr. Han has already reached a level of badass I will never attain. But there’s more:

Mr. Han: “I not know for sure…”
Me: “Why not?”

He then thinks it over and then (no lie) makes a “throwing a grenade” motion and then shrugs his shoulders to suggest he doesn’t know how many North Koreans he killed because he just wildly threw grenades around on the battlefield.

Mr. Han, thank you for being such an amazing man.

Over the weekend, I’ve gotten several emails (yes, I do read them) and comments (yup, those too) telling me among other things that I’m a:

1. “bitter old man” (I’m 21, you douches)
2. “sad sad littlew man that shouldn’t be working at a restarant if i dont like it!” (they forgot “literate”)
3. “pissed off douche bag only writing these stories because im not a good enough waiter to get decent tips” (I’ll forgive the forgotten apostrophe)

As far as Number 1 and 2 are concerned, my girlfriend can vouch for the fact that I will sometimes 1) act like an old man and 2) am bitter.

As far as Number 3 is concerned, I thought I’d shove this little story down your throats so that you can all eat your own shit.

Last night, I was sat a table of 10. Eight adults, two children. “Sweet,” I think to myself. “I’m going to be able to automatically put an 18% gratuity on their check as per our policy.”

Side note: I’m not really that articulate in my thoughts. I just wanted to explain it a little better than “Sweet, I can grat that table for 18.”

Anyway, I get to the table and some of the party is nice, considerate and downright decent people, saying things like “please”, “thank you” and my name. The other half was not so nice, looking down on me for asking them questions such as “What can I get you to drink?” and “Would you like sweet or unsweet tea?” Go fuck yourselves, that half of the table.

When I come back with all the drinks, they hand me the sushi order. For the eight adults, they ordered 26 rolls, 16 plates of appetizers, 40 individual pieces of sushi and drinks galore. To compare, I’m kind of a bigger guy and two sushi rolls do it for me.

I look at their order and go over it all with them, making sure they know that each “roll” comes with eight pieces and that they do indeed want that much food.

“Of course!” they cry. “Why else would we mark it down?!”

Alrighty then. 350 dollars later, all of their order is in the computer. I come back to the table with plate after plate of food. By round three of appetizers (no sushi yet, mind you) they’re looking around and saying things like “Is there more?!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Much more.”
Lady: “I didn’t know we ordered this much. Why didn’t you tell us how much we were ordering?”
Me: “Well, I tried t…”
Husband: “It’s okay. I think we’ll finish it.”

And slap my ass and call me Charlie, those eight finished all but a couple of rolls. Rounds of drinks, 16 plates of appetizers and nearly 18 rolls and 4 dozen individual pieces. I had to hand it to them.

When I was boxing up everything, the woman whispered that she wanted the entire bill. So I hand it to her. With a 60-something automatic tip. She pays with a credit card and I include the tip. I walk away and my friend John bets me a drink at the end of the night that she won’t tip extra on top of the automatic 18%. I refuse the bet. Not because she looks cheap or anything, but over 400 bucks is a lot for anyone to handle.

I go back to the table. The lady hands me the check and says, “This is for taking care of me and my family.”

She proceeds to put a hundred dollar bill on top of everything. 160+ bucks for one table. A big screw you goes out to everyone who says I’m a bad waiter or bitter.

Should have taken John’s bet. Would’ve gotten five drinks.

Me: “Hi there. My name’s Ryan. Can I get you someth…”
Wife: (cell phone rings) “Sorry, I have to take this.”
Husband: “Sorry about that. I”ll have a…”
Wife: (on phone, interrupting) “Oh my GOD. I cannot believe he dumped you over the PHONE!”
Husband: “…a coke.”
Me: “I’ll just come back in a second for her order.”
Husband: “Thanks.”

(30 seconds later)

Wife: “Yes, I’m ready to order now. I’ll have a…”
Me: (reaching into my pocket) “Oh, wait, sorry. I have to take this.”
Husband: “Hahahahahaha!”

For the year or so I’ve been at my current restaurant, I have been many things:

Serving a family of four from Boston? Oh yea, I have family in Boston. Near…uh…Quincy Market, I believe.

Party of five from Oregon? Yea…my grandparents are living in Portland. Love it there, when I have time to visit of course. Clean city.

Getting a high school football coach some sushi? I played two years of varsity football. Played center. Broke my foot in the next to last game my sophomore year.

Getting a high school baseball coach some sushi? I played on my college’s baseball team my freshman year. Fractured my foot on a stray fastball though.

Three guys getting drinks at the sushi bar? I hate it when my girlfriend makes me watch Sex and the City too.

Four girls at a dining table? Charlotte is definitely the cutest. Miranda’s my girlfriend’s favorite.

Older couple? I was a Methodist youth pastor in Western Florida for five months. Loved it there. Could really see God working through me in this tiny little town.

Younger couple? I got supremely drunk last night and showed up to class hungover. Aced my test though. Smart girl in front of me thankfully.

Every night, I go through a wardrobe of characters. Sadly, most are false. Even more sad than that, I can’t remember the last time I was completely myself with a table. I’m constantly changing to fit the customer(s) I’m serving.

And do you want to know why? Because people (including myself) are so fickle, so shallow, that if they sense you are in the slightest opposition to who you are or what you believe, they won’t tip you anything.

You don’t even have to say anything. I could wear a ring with a cross on it and some feminist women could get the idea that in my spare time I like blowing up abortion clinics. Don’t believe me? Then you’ve never been a waiter.

Or I could accidentally spill hot soup on myself, say the “f…” in “fuck”, catch myself, and be stiffed by an older, more conservative couple that would have tipped me hand over fist if I had worn my ring with a cross on it. Still don’t believe me? Refer to the waiter-run websites on the side of my site.

Customers like it when they’re around people similar to them. And if my grandparents need to live in Quincy Market for the hour or so I’m serving you, then so be it. It enhances your experience and gets me and the chef a better tip.

I’m sure my Nana won’t mind.