Tag Archives: mailbox

Mailboxes, Servers, and Salt

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I have come to the conclusion that much of my grouchy attitude is not only caused by dieting and carb loss, but also directly related to the small, yet accumulative shit that happens every day in my world.

I had an epiphany last night, as I was sitting at my local Applebees at dinnertime. On a Monday night. Not a busy night mind you, just an ordinary, slow Monday. I have been accused in the past of being a picky brat, but let me share with you a few instances where I do think I may have had a right to be a little miffed at my luck.

Back to Applebees.

I ordered a frozen margarita. Simple enough. And my server brought it to me, (after the bartender looked up the ingredients of said cocktail) in a small iced tea glass. If you have ever had a margarita, you would note here that it is primarily served in (wait for it) a margarita glass  with a stem, and the rim salted. And a lime.

The drink was served to me in a small iced tea glass, with no lime, no salt. (in all fairness, I was not asked if I did or did not want those added features, although after having tended bar myself for many years, and also having been a server for as long, I was under the (obviously) mistaken impression that those added features were the very definition of  a ‘margarita’.)

You wonder why I would whine about such a thing? Well, it wouldn’t bother me so much if

A. it was the only thing that wasn’t quite right, and

B. I hadn’t actually watched the bartender look up the recipe to make it.

On to the medium rare steak. It was cooked to a black crisp on the outside, and quite brown and tough on the inside.

Now, I didn’t complain, but my server was probably one of the best we have ever had at any restaurant. Clean, clearly attentive, and she could simply tell from nothing more than the look on my face that things weren’t right. And she did fix both to my absolute satisfaction.

But here’s my point. It happens to me, and only to me, no matter who I go out with, every time I go out. I always expect the best, but rarely get it.

We were celebrating a very big promotion and raise my husband had just received, but of course, because of this shit, we were distracted repeatedly from talking about it. (We did tip our server 40% though, because damn! She really was a good server, and she did make it right, and neither was her fault)

But it shouldn’t have been wrong to begin with.

Another example: Last month my husband, my sister and I went to Hooters. We have 2 Hooters nearby, and we stopped in to the one a little further away, which we rarely frequent, as we were on our way back from a shopping trip. The place had 4 tables of people when we arrived, and two loners at the bar. My husband and my sister both were served their food, as the server explained that my order had been sent to the wrong table, blah blah, its coming out in just a few more minutes. (please keep in mind that I ordered wings, medium, off the menu, nothing special, just frigging wings. Its what they do for chrissake.)

 

After my husband and my sister had completely finished their meals, and after I had sat with an empty glass for 20 minutes, she finally came over and put a plate of food in front of me. It was not wings, but something else entirely. I would think I’d have a pretty good reason to blow up here, but I simply told her it was wrong, and to cancel the order. Then she copped an attitude, and pretty much assured me that I was mistaken, this is what she had written down, so therefore, it had to be what I ordered. My husband and sister both protested with me, as they had actually been sitting at the same table as I was when I placed the order. But no, we were all wrong. She did eventually take the price of the fucked up order off our bill, but not before our, and another server neglected to notice that my husband was paying the bill as my sister and I walked out, and they chased us out the door as if we had done the ‘dine and dash’, but stopped short in the entryway as another server yelled for them to come back, noticing my husband paying.

With this much attention to detail from 3 servers, you would think someone could have gotten an order of wings correct. At a wing establishment.

And no, the bitch did not get a tip.

So here are some  bits of advice from a person who is being driven insane by bullshit ‘phone it in’ attitudes toward everything:

1.  If you are a server, please get your head out of your ass and pay attention to your job. Most servers are very hard working, and very attentive to detail. And they earn every penny they make, and then some.

2.  If you are a fucking Ditz, please get a job doing yardwork where you can wear your bikini to get a tan, and no one will care how bad you fuck it up as long as your boobs bounce around occasionally. Remember, you don’t have to know anything, because your boobs will put you through college. And bring a friend to pretend shes helping, that way you can take turns showing off your mad pole dancing skillz on the rake handle in someones front yard.

3. Companies whose job it is to design a damn coffee carafe that actually pours coffee into a cup, not into a cup as well as 3/4 of a cup onto the surface all around  it…Get your ass back to work! You are obviously failing miserably at your jobs!! ( I know this was completely unrelated, but someone had to say it)

4.  Guy who backed into my mailbox 2 nights ago as I watched you smash it to hell...just how fucking long do you think your extended cab pickup truck is? It ain’t a  SEMI!  Go out and measure that goddamn thing! And anyway, thanks, I was TOTALLY planning to go buy a damn mailbox.

5. Old lady in the grocery store taking up an entire aisle with your combination cart/ass…. the ingredients you are studying so intently are : SALT. Just put it in your cart and move along. It’s SALT.

6. Girl who keeps blogging about her kids potty training. Newsflash- Your kid shits. Everyone shits. All you have done is an early favor to yourself and the noses of people surrounding your kid who shits. And you have saved yourself  money on diapers, but I can assure you, the kid would have eventually taught himself to take a crap in a toilet when he got tired of smelling it and walking around with it in his pants. And I don’t want to see any more pictures of him on a toilet. It’s not cute. Do you see pictures of me on the toilet? Right, because it’s not cute.

Ok, now I feel a little better. I wonder whose job it is  to piss me off today…