Listen up, you stuck-up, douchey windbags under the age of 18 who enter MY restaurant and frickin’ DEMAND that I treat you with the respect and admiration I would treat the frickin’ Queen of England:

If you want to get treated like adults, ACT. LIKE. ADULTS.

The other night, I had a party of eight teenagers come in. They all wanted sushi, but since we didn’t have any dining tables big enough for eight people (they usually sit three, maximum four), we sat them at a larger table intended for grill use. Because they said they wanted sushi (and not chef-cooked grill food) we obliged. As soon as they frickin’ sat down, some of them decided they wanted a chef (who is only there to cook grilled food) to cook some of their meals.

Me: “Sorry, guys. We can’t do that. We only have three chefs on tonight. You guys said you wanted sushi. If you’d like some grill food, it’ll be an hour and a half or so before a chef can come out here.”
Birthday Girl: “Well, it’s my birthday and I feel entitled to a chef coming out and cooking my food.”

I actually cringe as I remember it to write it down.

Me: “Well, like I said, there’s nothing I can do.”
Birthday Girl: “Well, can we at least get some drinks? Alcoholic drinks?”
Me: “Well, can I at least get some ID’s?” Over 21 ID’s?”
Birthday Girl: “We don’t have them with us.”
Me: “Would you like Coke or Sprite then?”
Birthday Girl: “This is the worst 18th-birthday ever!”
Me: “How many 18th-birthdays have you had?”

This went on for a few more minutes until they got the picture that I wasn’t going to just roll over like those pansies at Applebee’s down the street. When they got the message I wasn’t some doormat waiter, the girl went to go complain to my manager, April, about my “bad” service.

April: “Those girls said you rolled your eyes at them.”
Me: “They asked for drinks and didn’t have an ID on them. They also felt they were ‘entitled’ to a chef because it was their 18th birthday or something.”
April: “Yea, when the girl came up and started complaining, I think I rolled my eyes too. That’s probably what set her off.”

I don’t understand where kids…frickin’ kids…got the idea in their head that they were entitled to anything. What do you contribute to society? A healthy dose of “Laguna Beach” viewership? Sorry, I think we could all do without that.

Before I begin, did I just put “black people” and “whipping boy” in the same sentence?

Anyway, I’m just wondering why when someone says “bad tippers” their thoughts immediately turn to “black person”? Is it because there’s simply more blacks than in any other restaurant-going minority, thereby more examples to reinforce this stereotype? Is it because whites make up the largest ethnic group in America that it’s easier to compare blacks and whites? Is it something deeper? I really don’t know.

I know that in most of my articles (especially the one where I called out every demographic’s frickin’ downfall) I’ve tried to paint a fair picture. I call out old people who can’t tip. I call out rednecks who can’t tip. I call out finicky asians who can’t tip. I call out teenagers who can’t tip.

But I say the same thing about blacks and the debate gets heated.

I’ve read around and whenever I post an article that involves a black family not tipping well, it’s lauded and supported with emails and comments as “truth”. But when I rail a family of rednecks, bros who listen to way too much Dave Matthews, or teenagers who wouldn’t know good music if it came up and sang “Golden Slumbers” right in front of their face, it gets quiet. No comments. No discussions. No debate. No nothing.

What is it with us? Do we so crave the black vs. white thing so much that we will ignore idiot-bashing until it’s about black people?

I’ve written almost five times as many articles poking fun at white yuppie soccer moms who wouldn’t know how to fill their Hummer with gas if their life depended on it and yet I have TEN TIMES as many comments on the articles bashing idiots who are black.

I even called a 14-year-old girl hot. Two comments. Accidental pedophilia, people!

The title of the website is I Serve Idiots. Not “I Serve Black Idiots”. Not “Black People Tip Terribly”. This is a place where we can come together as a community of people who hate idiots and…well…hate idiots. Regardless of class, gender, race, economic level, etc…

Please, guys. Tell me what’s up. Help me gain some perspective. I’m begging y’all.

Boy: “Hey, do you work here?”
Me: “No. I just came from a Halloween party nine months too late. How’s my costume?”

The other night, I got a group of boys and girls that made it their mission to piss me off as much as possible.

Thinking they were better than everyone else in the restaurant (as teenagers are wont to do) one young man wanted a beer. When I asked him for his ID, he responded with, “Dude, don’t you know me?”

All of his girl friends giggled as if he was some important dude. To me, he was just another metrosexual-looking douche with Fallout Boy-hair, a lip-ring and jeans that looked like my little sister couldn’t even fit into.

Me: “Uh…know you? Do you go to (name of my school)?”
Him: “Naw, man. I’m in Bury The Hatchet. We play around here all the time.”
Me: “A band?”
Him: “Yea. I play drums.”
Me: “Unless you can show me an over-21 ID or you’re John Bonham’s grandson, you’re not getting a beer.”
Him: “John Bonham? Who’s John Bonham?”
Me: “Are you kidding me?”
Girl 1: “Isn’t he the drummer for New Found Glory?”
Girl 2: “No, he’s the drummer for Blink-182.”

Go. Fuck. Yourself.

Me: “How about this…three minutes each. Drum-off. You beat me, I’ll buy you a beer every time you come into (name of restaurant). Here’s my address. Oh, and you got your cell phone on you? My number is (my number).”
Him: “How long you been playing?”
Me: “Should it matter? You’re in Bury The Hatchet, right? You’ve gotta be good!”
Him: “I don’t drum for just anyone.”
Me: “You should make it far in the music industry.”