No thank you, I’m just browsing.

My friends, I did a horrible thing today. At least I think I did. Being someone who works directly with people every day, I respect anyone who deals with customers on a daily basis. I also respect those who work on commission and “have” to “throw” themselves at customers day in and day out. However, sometimes from a customer’s perspective this can be a little….intimidating? Suffocating? Scary? Dare I say annoying?

It was snowing in New Jersey today. (Woohoo Spring!) And not just any snow – that heavy, wet, slushy snow that splashes up on your Betsey Johnson boots and gets ’em all dirty. I got my nails did, and before going home I decided to wander around. This town – right next to mine – is what Joe likes to call “Snootville”. He grew up one town over, and this particular area is historical and rich and the houses are so big they make me sick. So the downtown area has a Starbucks and bakeries and boutiques. We’re attending a wedding this Friday so I found myself inside one of these boutiques, expecting everything to be out of my price range but curious anyway.

Of course, on a snowy Monday afternoon, I was the only customer in the store. I was greeted by a friendly older woman in jeans and a black turtleneck who asked me what she could help me with. I smiled and mumbled something about the wedding and she immediately started pulling dresses from a rack. I was excited by her enthusiasm and invited her eagerness, commenting one each dress as she ripped them from the stand.

Before I knew it I was in a dressing room, curtain drawn, the same woman standing just outside offering to zip me up when I was ready. I barely had the first dress pulled up before she was peeking in the curtain, asking if I was ready. I didn’t feel uncomfortable in the sense that she was trying to peek in on me for any strange reason, but hey lady, I’m not ready yet, and you just don’t bust into someone’s dressing room. Maybe I need to “grow a pair” or speak up, because while I was happy to try things on, I wasn’t planning on necessarily buying anything, and I felt pressured. That’s when I did that horrible something.

After trying on three dresses she (of course) told me I looked wonderful in (she attempted to accessorize me as well), she hung each one up in a row and asked which one I was planning to purchase. Gah, I wanted more time to consider, more time to look in other stories, just more time.

“Would it help if I told you prices?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“Well this one is $118, the purple is $78 and the pink is just $68!”

“Great,” I said.

“So which one are you going with?”

“The black, I think. I’m just going to run a few errands and I’ll be back to buy it!”

Then I ran outta there like a bat out of the depths of a fiery hell. I feel horrible.

I enjoy going to the Starbucks just down the street. What if she sees me? What if she tells all the other shops to keep an eye out for the bitty who said she’d come back for the dress and never did? Snootville is gonna have a vendetta against me. ::gulp::

Have you ever dealt with over-eager customer service and felt pressured, or motivated to get the hell out of there?

r-e-s-p-e-c-t

I found this fitting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As most of you know by now, I work in an airport. More specifically, I tend bar in an airport. My theory is that once the majority of passengers make it through security, they leave a few brain cells back there on the conveyor belt. We see a variety of people pass through our restaurant; some are pleasant (I’ve met some awesome people doing what I do), some are morons, some are rude, and some see that invisible line and hop, skip and jump right over it. I’m talking zero regard or respect for others. They think they can do or say whatever they please. I don’t take kindly to that. 

More specifically – and the inspiration for today’s post – I do not take kindly to grown men who act like scumbags, and/or talk disrespectfully to women. The first thing that comes to mind when I see or experience this: How would you feel if someone talked to your daughter like that? Secondly: How about your wife? Thirdly: Do you even have a wife? I sure hope not. And here, for your personal anger and entertainment, is a prime example.

Saturday night. We’re about an hour into our 8-9 hour shift, the other 2 lady bartenders and I. Things are going smoothly – thank goodness – and a man approaches my bar. I greet him with a menu and he asks for 2 more, as he has 2 friends who will be joining him. Sure thing. I drop another 2 menus on the bar. I knew his friends had arrived when I heard someone yell a greeting across the restaurant, as if they were outdoors or in their own living room. The table I’d been dropping food off to looked up, startled. I gave them an awkward smile and turned to watch the three men greet each other. I approached the bar and took their drink order. Easy enough. I grabbed 3 beers and placed them on the bar. Then things got busy.

When things pick up one of the other bartenders will usually take that little sliver of bar where the three men were sitting. This particular bartender is extremely friendly, even when people are acting like douche-bags. As I was standing at the front of the restaurant, she approached me and gave me their food order, mentioning something about not wanting to deal with them anymore.

“What happened?” I asked.

“They were talking about wanting to buy a t-shirt, then said they wanted my shirt, like, off of my back.”

I could feel my blood starting to simmer. “What?? They said they wanted your shirt?”

They implied they wanted her to take off her shirt. She told them that was inappropriate, and the ringleader replied with “Sorry if I offended you.”

Now my blood was boiling.

As calmly as I could, I approached the three men. At this point I wasn’t sure of who said what, since apparently they were all involved, so I did it like this:

“Listen, whichever one of you made an inappropriate comment to the other bartender, don’t let it happen again. She was extremely offended and we can kick you out for things like that.” Of course they scrambled to defend themselves, mumbling about just wanting to buy a shirt, blah, blah, blah. A women and her husband next to them stepped in, claiming they did nothing wrong. I then said if that is the case then I am the one who is sorry, but please be careful how you word things. I was looking out for one of my own. “I totally understand,” the woman said. Case closed, right? Of course not.

I continued to take care of the men, a few more minutes went by, then the ringleader spoke again. “Excuse me, are you the bartender?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why did you come over here giving us shit?”

“You offended one of my bartenders, sir. Then I even made an apology to you saying if you didn’t mean anything by it, that’s fine, but to please watch how you word things.”

He then asked for my manager, complained, tried to get him to take care of the bill. No, no, and no. My manager said once he was close to the man it looked like he’d been drinking before he arrived at our bar. I hadn’t noticed anything more than his stupidity. More time passed,  blah, blah, blah, he rudely asked me if he could pay. “Sure!” I said. Good, get the hell out. Of course I wasn’t expecting a tip after his experience.

But what I really wasn’t expecting was the word “Bitch” to be sloppily scrawled where a tip would normally be. He left before I even had time to see it. Coward. His friends stayed though, and after the ringleader was gone they were all “please” and “thank you” and “yes ma’am”.

I believe in karma, scumbag. And it will come for you. I also believe in standing up for yourself, defending yourself or others you care for. And if that warrants me a bitch, then so be it.

Hey, just a quick reminder.

Well, three.

#1) If you want quick service, get off of your cellphone.

#2) If you need me for anything, get off of your cellphone.

#3) Then, when I don’t seem friendly enough for you and you feel the need, especially being a male, to call me a d*ck head (or rather, mumble half to yourself half to me, “Thanks for being a d*ck head for no reason”)….you should have gotten off of your cellphone.

 

Pathetic.

 

Rant-tastic Monday!

Le sigh. While Mondays are normally my day off, I’ll be picking up a shift this afternoon; and what better way to begin the day but with blowing off some steam from the weekend!

Joe always says, “I think when people enter an airport, they lose half their brain cells”.

I think I agree. Yes….yes, I do agree.

The airport brings with it a whole new kind of rude. I’ve worked in a corporate owned steakhouse, a ’50s themed diner, an Italian restaurant…how could serving cheese steaks and fries leave something even more for people to complain about? Well, they certainly find a way.

A quick recount of my fantastic, stress-free weekend:

Customer: “Can I have a Manhattan, on the rocks? Make it a double.”

Me: “Sure!” ::makes drink in front of man, tips measured pour spout twice::

Customer: ::five minutes later:: “Um..is this a double?” ::twists face as if smelling something foul::

Me: “Yes, it is, everything is measured.”

~ What else do I say to this? Yes, it’s a double. Want a third shot? You’re paying for it! He just went back to his drink. This wasn’t rude, just sorta dumb.

A customer a fellow bartender had last weekend:

Bartender: “Hello! How are yo-

Customer: “Yeah yeah yeah, cut the small talk, do you have…” blah blah blah

And another one of mine:

::I’m washing dishes::

Customer: “Ma’am? Hello?”

::I turn around to find him knocking on the bar in my direction. This was his way of getting my attention.::

And now on to the theme of the weekend (and a scene from last week’s crowd).

~ On Saturday night I had two minutes of down time to get some glasses washed behind my bar, after checking that everyone was alright to be left alone for 30 seconds. When I had made it to the last two pilsners, my peripheral vision gave way to something waving around frantically to my left. I slowly looked over and saw the woman at the far end of my bar – who had asked for a drink by handing me a piece of paper with “Grand Marnier” scribbled on it – throwing her hands in the air as if trying to catch my attention stranded-on-a-desert-island style. When she saw me looking her way, she brought one hand down and curled one long finger on the other in a I’m-your-mother-get-your-ass-over-here-because-you’re-in-trouble style. I don’t take kindly to that. I made my way over.

Customer: “I was trying to get your attention.”

Me: “I know, but you do not have to do this ::makes get-over-here motion:: to do so.”

Customer: “I want to pay.” ::pays:: ::leaves::

Me: “Have a great day!”

::no tip::

::whatever::

About ten minutes later I had a couple do the same crazy waving arm thing. I ran over thinking someone may have needed an ambulance. They only needed two Bud Lights.

~ Last week a table of two polite older gentlemen and their wives sat with me, and everything went smoothly. When he was ready to pay the bill, I saw him doing the arm jiggle as I made my way to their table, check already in hand because I knew they’d be close to finishing up. “I see you!” I said, as he continued to do the dance after we’d made eye contact. He mumbled something like “we have a flight to catch” (never would have guessed) as I put the check in front of him and leaned over to give the table next to them their –

“NO! DON’T GO ANYWHERE!!!!!! I’M READY TO PAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY………”

“Sir, I was just leaning over to table 2 here to give them their check as well. I have not moved from this spot.”

Happy. Monday.

Restaurant Blues

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just another week in the life of a bartender.

A few days ago:

A woman was determined to steal the tall Blue Moon glass she was drinking out of.

First drink (22 oz.): “Do I get to keep this glass?”

Me: “I’m sorry, you don’t.”

Customer: “Is this 22 ounces?”

Me: “Yes….”

Customer: ::goes back to texting; ignores me::

About 15 minutes goes by….customer orders another drink (a 16 oz. this time).

Me: “Would you like another?”

Customer: “Yes! A small one. But I want to hold onto this glass.” ::claws wrapped around 22 oz. glass::

Me: “Okay….”

::Another 15 minutes or so; she orders another small beer::

::As I place the new beer in front of her, I take the 22 oz. glass that is now empty and off to the side::

Customer: “Are you sure I don’t get to keep that glass?!” ::wink::

Me: “I’m sorry, you really don’t get to take the glass…”

Le sigh.
And then, there’s today.

A young man comes in, orders a vodka and cranberry alongside a shot of vodka. He rejoices over the price, apparently significantly less than what he paid for the same order in another restaurant in the same terminal.

I check on him, he’s doing well, I go off to take care of other customers; when I return, his shot glass is empty, his glass is sucked down to the bare cubes, and he is gone. I peer out of the glass and see him standing in line, waiting to board his plane.

I casually walk out into the terminal, and up to said customer, check in hand.

Me: “Excuse me, were you coming back?”

Customer: “No…”

Me: “Were you going to pay this?” ::I hold up check::

Customer: “I gave you my card!”

Me: “I really don’t think you did. If you did, and I forgot, I apologize. Let me check.”

::Customer follows me back into the restaurant::

Customer: “I had two slips, and a pen, and everything. I signed something!”

::I check computer. No payment was ever received.::

Customer: “I signed something.” ::”Searches” pockets::

As he continued to protest, he handed me his credit card anyway.

If you’re so convinced you really did pay..why are you handing me your card “a second time”?

Slip signed. No tip.

I’m drained. Oy vey.

 

Happy Tuesday, friends! -_-