It amazes me the liberties some people take when they are talking to their server. Resties are treated with a level of disdain and disrespect that no other people in any other line of work are treated with. Case in point: the line ‘If you can handle that.’
Some times not everything goes according to plan in a restaurant. A well done porterhouse might take longer than 12 minutes to cook, the fourth refill before the app might come slower than the customer expects it to, or an order with twenty modifiers on it might not come out with mod #18. Hell, sometimes we even make mistakes. It happens. We’re human.
But when a table scoffs and huffs and adds a ‘If you can handle that’ to the end of their order it really gets on my second to last AND last dick nerve. The famous quote ‘If a person is nice to you but isn’t nice to the waiter then they aren’t a nice person’ always comes to mind. In a perfect world we would pity people like that because they are so miserable and insecure that they have to treat those who they deem to be beneath them with hostility and contempt, taking out the frustrations they feel on someone who essentially can’t fight back. In reality the reason they don’t put the bev station in the walk-in is so that servers can’t go back there and stir those tables’ drinks balls-deep with their junk.
Okay that’s not really true. I have found the reports of food desecration to be little more than an urban legend. From what I’ve seen it just doesn’t really happen as much as people seem to fear that it does. But since the general public doesn’t fear much in the way of reprisals I’m not going to do a lot to dispel the myth that there actual is something we can do that could affect them.
One time I had this business guy come in for lunch. He was with colleagues from work and I guess he just wanted show who the alpha male was. He ordered his food in a pissy, haughty manner and capped it off with a ‘If you can handle that.’ Something about this incident made me want to perform an ad hoc sociological experiment.
You see, I’m a big dude-six feet two inches and 220+ pounds of rippling muscle. Okay maybe ‘muscle’ is the wrong word. And ‘rippling’. But I am a big guy. This guy wasn’t. This five foot one pinky-dicked cocksucker would never, EVER want to fuck with me in a dark alley street fight. And he knew it. So he verbally bitch slapped somebody who couldn’t touch him.
And I didn’t. But I did stare at him for a good three seconds. Don’t think three seconds is a long time? Take an 8-top’s order at rapid fire speed and then take three seconds to stare down the guy who smarted off to you with the patented What-the-FUCK-did-you-just-say icy stare of death and see how long it is. Let’s put it this way: it was long enough for everyone at that table to realize something was terribly, terribly wrong. It was long enough that that guy never ever smarted off at me again. In fact he was always a perfect gentleman after that, as well as all his tablemates.
Maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe he just need a reminder that his bad day could have gotten a LOT worse. Maybe the next time some pisshead gives me a ‘If you can handle that’ I’ll say what I’m really thinking-
Handle deez nuts, bitch! Learn how to talk to people.
Dignity and Respect
Me, The JerBear