Request fulfilled

Okay, I was asked to write this story by a coworker of mine (apparently my blog is beginning it's run for popularity; yay!), so here it is. Well, it's less a story than a rant, I suppose; big surprise, right? But at work last night, we weren't really too busy, but we were steady which is nice. (As much as I bitch about it when I don't expect it, this is our dead-ass winter season and I'll take "steady" as often as I can get it...)

In any event, I had a slew of disgruntled tables last night, but here's the opening kicker: it was their attitudes that told me as much rather than anything they said. Folks, listen to me a sec. If you're out to eat, and you aren't satisfied with your meal, then just tell your server as much when they ask (and a good server should ask at some point). Don't mope your way through your meal, lying to preserve your servers feelings and being just miserable with what you ordered. Speak up, and get something else, or get it cooked properly, or whatever.

Now last night everyone was grumping and moping and, as far as I could tell, just generally displeased with their experience. (A few verbally said as much after they were done eating, as if I could do anything for them then. (I could; I could take money of the check, but my personal feelings is that they should've spoken up sooner and allowed me to rectify the problem. Otherwise, how do I know they're not just trying to score a free meal?)) But the overwhelming number of discontented people really annoyed me last night. My restaurant is not four-stars, by any stretch of the term, but it is nice. The food is good; I eat their virtually every time I work, and I occasionally splurge on our higher-end items. The food is very good, and I ordinarily get no complaints. So either their was something in the air that night, or else Tippy the Wonder Tard (the primary reason this rant was requested) was in the kitchen making the food all night. And since we fired Tippy (we're an 'at-will' employer), I'm convinced that everyone either met in the parking lot beforehand and agreed to complain, or else they just discussed as their paths crossed between entries and exits.

"This job would be great if it weren't for the fuckin' customers..."
-Randal, from "Clerks"