From today:
I don't care. Really.
Lady: I want the junior appetizer meal.
Me: Okay, but I just want to let you know that because you're over 12 and ordering off the children's menu that I have to charge you a dollar extra.
Lady: I'm a diabetic!
Me: Um, okay?
Lady: I'm a diabetic! Do you want to see my diabetic card! *starts to reach for her purse*
Me: No, I don't need to see your diabetic card. It's a coorporate wide thing, the extra dollar for adults who order off the juniors menu.
Lady: *pouts* I'm a diabetic!
Me: No, it's a coorporate wide rule. If you aren't under the age of 12, we have to charge you a dollar extra. It still makes your meal under $6.
Lady: Well, that's dumb.
Me: I'm sorry, it's policy.
Lady: Well...*pouts*
We have the time for all that s***?!
Lady: I have a couple of questions.
Me: Okay, no problem. What can I help you with?
Lady: What kind of turkey is in the hot turkey sandwich? Do you roast your own turkey and then hand carve it?
Me: No, we don't have the time or room in our kitchens to do anything like that. Our turkey is simply sliced and packaged at a deli.
Lady: *looks disappointed* Ooooohhh. How about your salmon? Is it fresh?
Me: It's fresh-frozen. Not quite the same as real fresh salmon, but it's still good.
Lady: *pouts* I guess I'll have the salmon then.
Accompanying dumb woman: You know, there's a portion on the honored menu.
Me: Yes, it's one piece of salmon instead of two. Would you like that?
Lady: Yes, I only want one piece of salmon. And a baked potato. Do you use real butter? I want lots of butter.
Me: (at this point, I don't care that I'm lying to her. If I tell her yes, she will shut up. If I tell her no, she will ask me if we churn our own butter here or butcher our own cows in the back for her culinary satisfaction) Absolutely, our butter is real butter.
Lady: And I wasnt that with a ceasar salad. Do you use fresh romaine lettuce?
Me: Yes, it's chopped fresh daily. (Complete BS)
Lady: Excellent. Can I have a lemon and four crutons with my ceasar? I also want the dressing on the side, otherwise it gets all soggy.
Me:...Right.
Accompanying dumb woman: Quiche.
Me:
What?
Accompanying dumb woman: I want quiche.
Me: The breakfast or the dinner plate?
ADW: Quiche.
Me: *tries not to roll my eyes* What kind of quiche would you like?
ADW: Quiche.
Me: We have ham and cheese; bacon, mushroom and pepperjack; and ham and cheese.
ADW: The bacon, mushroom, pepperjack.
Me: With fruit or a salad?
ADW: I want soup.
Me: Okay then, sure.
I walk away from the table, muttering "psychos" and other irritated sounds - I spent over five minutes explaining to the lady that her stupid salmon wasn't caught just outside our backdoor at a mystical creek that happens to flow in the grassy area between the street and the Pit.
And then I bring salmon lady her pre-dinner salad and bread, as per procedure:
Salmon lady: Can I have butter?
Me: You mean more butter?
Salmon lady: Yes, I want more butter. Lots of butter. Please.
Me:...okay.
So I retrieve her butter, and then (of course):
Additional dumb woman: Where's my soup, girl?
Me:...um, it comes out with your quiche.
ADW: Well, I would prefer my soup now, waitress.
Me:....
ADW: I want my soup now!
Me: Okay, anything anyone else needs right now?
ADW: My soup!
Me: Right, besides that.
Everyone else at table: *SILENCE*
Me: Okay then. *departs table*
I return with the soup, and ADW starts sucking it down. I mean, she was a soup eating monster. She must have been very hungry. (I guess consuming the souls of all food service professionals at the previous places she had eaten could not satiate her hunger).
And then:
Salmon lady: Can I have more butter?
Me: *looks at her plate, seeing only salad and no more bread. Nothing on her plate requires butter....at least, in my opinion. Butter on salad?* Um, sure...
I return with SL's (bowl of) butter, and finally the evil soup monster is satiated. Thank goodness. I think they stiffed me in the end....wait. Unless you count the tiny little smudge of our horrible, fake, and heart-clogging margarine at the bottom of her bowl. Did she tip me in her favorite food?
I don't care. Really.
Lady: I want the junior appetizer meal.
Me: Okay, but I just want to let you know that because you're over 12 and ordering off the children's menu that I have to charge you a dollar extra.
Lady: I'm a diabetic!
Me: Um, okay?
Lady: I'm a diabetic! Do you want to see my diabetic card! *starts to reach for her purse*
Me: No, I don't need to see your diabetic card. It's a coorporate wide thing, the extra dollar for adults who order off the juniors menu.
Lady: *pouts* I'm a diabetic!
Me: No, it's a coorporate wide rule. If you aren't under the age of 12, we have to charge you a dollar extra. It still makes your meal under $6.
Lady: Well, that's dumb.
Me: I'm sorry, it's policy.
Lady: Well...*pouts*
We have the time for all that s***?!
Lady: I have a couple of questions.
Me: Okay, no problem. What can I help you with?
Lady: What kind of turkey is in the hot turkey sandwich? Do you roast your own turkey and then hand carve it?
Me: No, we don't have the time or room in our kitchens to do anything like that. Our turkey is simply sliced and packaged at a deli.
Lady: *looks disappointed* Ooooohhh. How about your salmon? Is it fresh?
Me: It's fresh-frozen. Not quite the same as real fresh salmon, but it's still good.
Lady: *pouts* I guess I'll have the salmon then.
Accompanying dumb woman: You know, there's a portion on the honored menu.
Me: Yes, it's one piece of salmon instead of two. Would you like that?
Lady: Yes, I only want one piece of salmon. And a baked potato. Do you use real butter? I want lots of butter.
Me: (at this point, I don't care that I'm lying to her. If I tell her yes, she will shut up. If I tell her no, she will ask me if we churn our own butter here or butcher our own cows in the back for her culinary satisfaction) Absolutely, our butter is real butter.
Lady: And I wasnt that with a ceasar salad. Do you use fresh romaine lettuce?
Me: Yes, it's chopped fresh daily. (Complete BS)
Lady: Excellent. Can I have a lemon and four crutons with my ceasar? I also want the dressing on the side, otherwise it gets all soggy.
Me:...Right.
Accompanying dumb woman: Quiche.
Me:

Accompanying dumb woman: I want quiche.
Me: The breakfast or the dinner plate?
ADW: Quiche.
Me: *tries not to roll my eyes* What kind of quiche would you like?
ADW: Quiche.
Me: We have ham and cheese; bacon, mushroom and pepperjack; and ham and cheese.
ADW: The bacon, mushroom, pepperjack.
Me: With fruit or a salad?
ADW: I want soup.
Me: Okay then, sure.
I walk away from the table, muttering "psychos" and other irritated sounds - I spent over five minutes explaining to the lady that her stupid salmon wasn't caught just outside our backdoor at a mystical creek that happens to flow in the grassy area between the street and the Pit.
And then I bring salmon lady her pre-dinner salad and bread, as per procedure:
Salmon lady: Can I have butter?
Me: You mean more butter?
Salmon lady: Yes, I want more butter. Lots of butter. Please.
Me:...okay.
So I retrieve her butter, and then (of course):
Additional dumb woman: Where's my soup, girl?
Me:...um, it comes out with your quiche.
ADW: Well, I would prefer my soup now, waitress.
Me:....
ADW: I want my soup now!
Me: Okay, anything anyone else needs right now?
ADW: My soup!
Me: Right, besides that.
Everyone else at table: *SILENCE*
Me: Okay then. *departs table*
I return with the soup, and ADW starts sucking it down. I mean, she was a soup eating monster. She must have been very hungry. (I guess consuming the souls of all food service professionals at the previous places she had eaten could not satiate her hunger).
And then:
Salmon lady: Can I have more butter?
Me: *looks at her plate, seeing only salad and no more bread. Nothing on her plate requires butter....at least, in my opinion. Butter on salad?* Um, sure...
I return with SL's (bowl of) butter, and finally the evil soup monster is satiated. Thank goodness. I think they stiffed me in the end....wait. Unless you count the tiny little smudge of our horrible, fake, and heart-clogging margarine at the bottom of her bowl. Did she tip me in her favorite food?
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