Have you ever had a table that was just pure evil?
There was this one customer that was so hateful, so awful to wait on, so demanding, so cheap that we called her Satan’s Ex. As in this bitch was so terrible of a person that if Satan was banging her he would have to break up with her just because she was so damn evil. And that’s evil, people. Plus she always had such a thick red fake tan that it looked like she had just clawed her way out of the bowels of hell to get to the restaurant after the Father of Lies had just thrown her shit out on the curb of their cozy two bedroom bungalow they were sharing on 666 Brimstone Lane.
Thanks to South Park everybody knows that Satan is gay. And he is. I know this for a fact. I also know why. It’s because after his relationship with that krusty kunt switching teams didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You would too I bet. She is just that evil.
This frizzy-headed Orange-American tannerific twat would order a $12 appetizer that nobody else at the table would eat or wanted to order and then yell at them when they didn’t want to share the cost. And money wasn’t something she really needed to worry about because she always saved some by never EVER tipping. Honestly though–no amount of money would be worth having to deal with her grab bag of psychoses and neuroses. As soon as you greeted the table she started the huffing and the bitching and acting like she’s doing us the biggest favor in the world by blessing us with her presence. Literally as soon as you said hello to her she would be instantly pissed off at you.
Everything she ordered was heavily modified, canceled, reordered, remodified, recanceled, changed back to the first order, and then remodified in new and exciting ways. Then the twenty minute conversation that resulted from the question ‘What are you having for lunch today?’ would be ended with a snide If You Can Handle That. The reason it took twenty minutes to get her order was that she would ask for more extra this and a side of that than anybody I’ve ever seen. Of course once you got back to the table with the large tray full of all the extra shit she would ask for she would grouse about the bowl of whatever or the extra side of whatsit that YOU forgot (read: something she never asked for but only brought it up so she’d have something to passive aggressively bitch about but that’s a subject for a whole other post). And then once you got back again with the extra whatever that ‘you’ forgot she would bitch about something else that she allegedly asked for. Ugh.
Nothing ever went right for Satan’s Ex. The food was never good, the service was always terrible. The prices were always too high and the portion sizes too small. The music was too loud when it wasn’t too soft. It was too hot when it wasn’t too cold. If it wasn’t too rainy it was too sunny. This woman wouldn’t be satisfied with a 14 inch dick. Nothing could make her happy. Nothing.
If she was slightly less of a bitch to deal with or if she tipped even a little or if she complained about a little less I could maybe see myself one day feeling sorry for her. That’s the proper reaction of a mature, self-aware individual to someone so miserable. But I’m just not there yet. If I saw a bus run over her orange-skinned, bleached-blonde, white trash Oompa Loompa looking ass I would SQUEAL with glee and cheer the bus driver on and beg him to do it again. Trust me when I say that she deserves it.
The only lesson that can be gleaned from taking care of this heinous cow is that sometimes you just can’t win no matter what you do, that some people carry in their own mental problems that you can’t fix. Sometimes there’s no right answer.
Or, as Forrest, Forrest Gump said:
‘Sometimes there’s just not enough rocks’
Dignity and Respect
Me, The JerBear