The fourth winner of the weekly contest comes to us all the way from Portland, Oregon. She asked me that I not say her name as she has co-workers that also read the site and she’d rather they not read this as they are (and I quote from her email) “stupid bitches that have tried to get [her] fired several times before. If they knew I wrote this, they’d show my boss and I might be let go.”

The kicker was when she mentioned that it’s not her fault that “their anger probably stems from the fact that I [objectionable sexual act omitted] better than they could ever dream.” Way to go, Ms. Oregon. Here’s her story:

So it’s 8:30 on a rainy Friday night. I should have been let go, but one of the girls had recently slept with the shift manager that for that night, so naturally, it was me who had to stay on.

Typical.

I was real testy that night. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the fact that I’d forgotten my cigarettes at home in my other purse, maybe it was the fact that the balding man at Table 9 kept looking at me as though he were undressing me with his eyes…hell, maybe it was a combination of all of those things. The only thing I know is that I was ready to explode at the slightest touch.

And then Mr. Fucked-In-Half-Drunk walked in. “Good,” I thought. “At least he wouldn’t remember the amount of bitch I was about to unleash on him.”

Him: “Yes, I’d like a bottle of your house Merlot and an appetizer menu. Pronto.”

I thought they only said “pronto” in sitcoms and cartoons. Suppose not.

So I get him his menu and his bottle of wine and get his dinner order. He also ordered appetizers. Now, our dinners come with some soups, some with salads, some with both. He ordered a dinner with both. To spread out all the stuff he was getting before the dinner, I had to give him his soup before his appetizer and then round everything out with the salad. In a perfect world, as he finished the salad I’d bring him his entree and he’d be as happy as a clam.

In a perfect world.

As I gave him his soup, his face turned beet-red and he exclaimed “Excuse me!”

Me: “Is there something wrong, sir?”
Him: “Tell me something, girl. When do the appetizers usually come out?”

Rule #1 when speaking to women. Don’t call them anything except for their first name and/or “ma’am” and always, always, ALWAYS make sure to speak politely or else be prepared to wake up without an appendage.”

Me: “They usually come before the meal, sir. Usually.”
Him: “Well, this looks like my meal.”
Me: “Unless you ordered a soup as your meal, sir, it is not. In fact, your meal, in case you forgot, is a…”
Him: “I know what I ordered. You may leave.”
Me: “I may leave?”
Him: “Yes.”

And here’s the kicker.

Me: “Oh, thank you, oh exalted one! I shall be back with your appetizers at once!”

His ladyfriend laughed and I’m guessing the twenty-spot that was left in the checkbook (after the tip line had a big zero on it) was from her. Thanks, ma’am. Sorry you’ve got an appetizer-Nazi as a companion.

Again, anyone with stories should submit them to iserveidiots@gmail.com and I’ll put each week’s winner up on the site every Monday.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 27th, 2007 at 9:33 and is filed under Contest Winners. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.