Recently, in a nearby town, there was a “Biker Week”. Think what would happen if you sold bar-b-que and Harley products outside of a Wal-Mart and you’ve got the kinds of people who showed up to this thing.

And as a result of the “Bike Week” we had some interesting men and women show up to the restaurant last week.

After serving a couple who looked like they hadn’t paid more than $4.95 for a meal in their life, I handed them the bill. I left, came back a few minutes later to retrieve the check, and to my surprise found only a ten dollar bill inside for a bill well over $40.

Husband: “We’re not payin’ how much it says on the bill.”
Me: “Um…I don’t know if you can…do that?”
Wife: “It was way too much. We’ll give ya ten bucks for it.”
Me: “I think I’ll need at least thirty more dollars. Sorry.”
Husband: “Forty is way too much fer some fish and rice. I could’ve made that at home for five dollars.”
Me: “I still think you need to pay the whole bill. That’s why we have menus with prices next to the items.”
Husband: “Can we trade you fer it?”
Me: “Uh…no.”
Wife: “Go get yore manager.”

Suffice to say, the manager got the rest of the thirty out of them, but not without a triumphant “That’s the last you’ll see of us!” as they exited the building and a big, yellow glob of spit in our ash tray.

I spoke at length last week about The Manager and how much it sucks to work for The Manager. I thought I’d let you in on how MY manager operates. Here is a note she left on the hostess stand on a busy night as a welcome to any customers who might feel as though they deserve special treatment:

Transcription: Things I rather dislike…#1 self-seaters, #2 customers whom try to bribe the Host to sit their party earlier for $10 or $20. My starting rate is $50!

Yesterday I talked about a little thing called the Nationally Franchised Restaurant, or NFR for short. Today I’d like to talk about the single greatest problem facing servers working in the NFR:

The Manager.

I am a lucky man. As I’ve said before, the restaurant I work at is small enough to not have to deal with problems facing bigger, corporate, franchised places. My manager can buy me birthday shots while I’m on the clock, I can treat teenage customers as they treat me and even leave a bottle of Windex unattended on a bathroom counter. So I really feel for you guys who have to deal with NFR problems like The Manager.

Are there people who can handle the responsibilities of The Manager without letting it get to their pea brain head? Of course. But from the horror stories I’ve encountered from friends and family alike, these men and women are harder to find then a 16-year-old girl who doesn’t think My Chemical Romance is a good band. “The Black Parade”? Are you guys kidding me? Go cut yourself sideways, pop in Stevie Wonder’s “Songs In The Key Of Life” and then get back to me about good music.

From what I’ve been told, The Manager is a man or woman who got to where they are on the corporate ladder (which isn’t very high, mind you) by doing one of two things very well:

1. They can side step responsibility and put off blame like nobody else. I’m sure anyone who’s ever worked at a T.G.I.Friday’s or Applebee’s has had some kind of crap dumped on them by The Manager. And I bet you’ve also had your share of stuff blamed on you that you didn’t even know about or still might not even be aware of.

2. The Manager has the unique ability to lie down and take customers’ crap with ease. If there was a Transformer that could turn in a doormat, it’d be called The Manager. Step aside, Optimus “I’m-a-bitch” Prime.

But let’s say you’re the new server at a restaurant. How do you know if you’ve got a case of The Managers? If there’s a douche walking around that looks like this:

…you can bet your firstborn that you’ll be hating this guy in no time flat.

And aside from giving us, the servers, the shaft of added responsibility and misplaced blame, The Manager contributes to the single most degrading mindset of the service industry: “The customer is always right.”

No other motto has eroded the service industry quite like this. I hate to break it to you, customers, but you’re not always right. In fact, you’re probably not even right half the time. Want proof? Here. This woman’s ruined it for all of you.

Guess what: You’re not right.

When The Manager comps your meal and hurries your angry ass out the door, you’re not right. We just don’t want to hear your frickin’ complaining any more.

When you straight up lie to The Manager about a server who wasn’t rude, as you allege, but just too busy to refill your sweet tea for the umpteenth time and they listen with “concern”, you’re not right. They just know a shit-eating grin and a few well-placed nods will get you out of their hair exponentially faster than a “discussion”.

When you eat half a meal and say you want it off the bill and The Manager complies, you’re not right. They just know they have a stockroom full of C-grade meat and one wasted steak is worth not dealing a frickin’ pain of a customer.

But The Manager has to save his or her own skin. The Manager is tired and stressed from all you yuppies who think you deserve better-than-everyone treatment and a free drink because you’ve got Pepsi instead of Coke.

They both have 50 grams of sugar a serving. Get over it already!

This is Part IV in a four-part series designed to inform servers on how they’re fucking up. You can read Part I here, Part II here, or Part III here.

Okay, you’ve tucked in your fucking shirt, you’re making up some bullshit story to an ex-baseball player about how you injured your tibiscus miniscus remula something or other. Good job! You’re doing what the 95% of us competent servers out there would see as the equivalent of rubbing your stomach and patting your head at the same fucking time.

Again: Good job! Your mom wasn’t lying when she said you were special.

Now the customer is winding down in their dinner. When do you give them their check? When is it appropriate to take up their plates? What about their glasses? All of the things you shouldn’t do were exemplified when I was at a restaurant a long, long while ago in a galaxy far, far away . I was in the middle of a discussion with a ladyfriend of mine and the server asked if I needed anything else. I politely said no when the pimply-faced fucktard took my immediate contentment with a wish to have my plate taken out from under me.

Never, ever take a plate with any food on it. Always ask if the customer is doing alright. And then if they haven’t touched their food in a little bit or if they have their fork on their plate, ask if they need a to-go box. You can even joke about it if they clearly have an empty plate in front of them.

They’ll laugh, you’ll put your shit-eating grin on and everyone’s happy, right? Right.

Well, the douche took my plate even after I called out that I wasn’t done. Strike one, bro.

Then the guy brings out the check, puts it on the table and walks away without even a “I hope you guys enjoyed your meal.” Plus, my ladyfriend still has food. Now she feels like a fucking whale because she still has half a plate of food and I’m all done.

Always hand the check off with a little tagline. And never fucking drop off the check when the lady’s still eating. Christ! Even my nine year old beagle, Toby, could come up with something for a tagline and he’s not dumb enough to take a plate of food that a bigger animal is still biting into. Shit!

P.S. It doesn’t hurt to smile when I’m laying down some good money for a meal. I hear it makes customers feel a little better about giving you money that they technically don’t have to. (But, really, what kind of douche or douchette wouldn’t tip?)

So now she’s taking a few bites, but she’s resigned to leaving the restaurant a little less full and content than she would like. I tell her it’s okay that she keep eating but the awkwardness is there and it has ruined her appetite. Strike two, asswipe.

I put my credit card in the little booklet thing, but I don’t have it sticking out of the top. There wasn’t a little pouch for that to happen. (I looked. I know how frustrating it is, as a server, to not know if the card’s in there or not.) To compensate, I stand the booklet up. Seems pretty damned obvious, eh?

Not with the missing link as my maitre d’.

He comes over ten minutes later with one of these:

“You haven’t put the card in the booklet yet?”

Always ask “Is this ready?” or “May I take care of this for you?” Never get slightly angry at your customer even if he is acting like a douche unless you’re willing to trade a shitty tip for your pride.

Now it’s just getting comical. My ladyfriend is laughing a little bit and I’m taking it all in stride. Ironically, this guy’s only helping but he’s still doing a terrible fucking job. Strike three, dipshit.

It doesn’t stop there, folks. The guy’s not done even after he strikes out. I give him the 20% tip I give all servers because I’ve been there (and I still am there). I’m walking out and after looking at his tip asks if everything was okay. I say it was only because I want to get the hell out of there. He then makes a reference to a comment I made about working at a restaurant a few miles down the road and that he thought “a fellow server would tip a lot more.”

I about lost my fucking shit. Strike four. Does this Frenchy even know how to play baseball?

Me: “20% is fine, dude. Especially since I, nor my date, ate our entire meal.”
Him: “It’s not my fault you weren’t that hungry.”
The Ladyfriend: “We still are hungry.”
Him: “Excuse me?”
The Ladyfriend: “You took our plates before we were done…”
Me: “…and you’re lucky you took away any tip at all.”

As we got into my car, the ladyfriend said something funny:

“You should put this on that stupid I Serve Idiots site of yours.”

This is Part IV in a four-part series designed to inform servers on how they’re fucking up. You can read Part I here, Part II here, or Part III here.