Are you being served?

Under usual circumstances I’d tell you about karaoke on Saturday night. Under usual circumstances I’d tell you about how my rendition of Baby Got Back got the party going and even brought out the ass shakers. Under usual circumstances it would be all aces around here.

Under usual circumstances.

One thing I didn’t count on is awful table service. I mean, it didn’t even seem that awful to everyone else; it’s just that it was awful to me. The moment we got there I made for the bar for drinks. I’d put in my order when one of the guys came up to me and told me that there’s a server at the table. I shrugged and said that I’d put my order in already. I came back to the table intending to utilize the server for the rest of the night.

Eventually I wanted another beer and asked our server for one. Much time passed, and eventually I had to go up and sing. “If my beer’s not here when I get back, I’m going to the fucking bar” I said. I sang and returned to the table and the beer wasn’t there, but the server was. I reminded her about the beer and she seemed to indicate that she’d just forgotten. She went on to take one other order from our group. I expected her to return quickly with our drinks. She did, but only with the 2nd drink, not with my beer.

Frustrated, I went to the bar and ordered two beers, not knowing whether I’d ever get one from our server. I returned and sat down at the table and began drinking one of my beers. Five minutes passed before our server returned, looked at me, and had the nerve to ask me whether I wanted “another beer” as if she’d ever brought me one to begin with. Incredulous, I didn’t even have the capacity to express my pissed-offness so I stared at her for 3 seconds before shaking her off.

At the end of the night, we asked for our tab. With a number of people already having paid and left, and with my beers having been paid for at the bar, it was not a hefty sum. She dropped the check and started to walk away but, fearing that she might not come back for an hour, I stopped her and gave her my credit card right then. At least ten minutes passed before she returned again and asked us if we needed anything. I said “Yes. My card.” She said she thought she’d given it to me. I disagreed and reached for my wallet preparing to show her the empty credit card slot if she argued further. Suddenly it dawned on her that she hadn’t returned my card and she ran off to get it, returning relatively promptly.

I may not have been able to form words in all my incredulity, but I made up for that when I signed the check. I tip very well for good service, and I’m not very nice when it’s really really bad. Retribution is mine.

Leave a Reply