Where is My Second Drink?
I was working at a popular Italian “fine dining” chain. We opened at 11 AM, but I was scheduled for 10:30 AM to do opening duties. Two middle-aged women were at the doors at 10:45 AM.
I prepared myself for two crazy Karens—but they were so much worse than I feared. We let them in because it wasn’t a big deal. However, they both ordered drinks, and our bartender didn’t get there until 11 AM. I let them know, and they seemed ok with it.
I dropped off a couple of waters while they waited for their drinks. The one woman said, “That’s great, honey, but that’s NOT what I wanted! HAHA!” They smiled, and it was clear she was just trying to make a bad joke. I told them again that it was only 10:55 AM, and the bartender was not in yet.
They told me to make the drinks. I couldn’t because of corporate rules, so I asked my manager to make the drinks. While he did that, I took their food orders. By 11:05 AM, they had their appetizers and beverages and said, “UGH was that so HARD? FINALLY!”
Other guests, including young families, began to arrive and sit in my section. They ate half the calamari appetizer and decided it was undercooked.
I asked the kitchen to drop new calamari in and cook it a minute longer than typical. That ruined the calamari. They hated it and said, “I’m not eating this garbage!” and I asked the manager to take it off their check. They were taking up a lot of my time and asking for many little things.
I went to take care of some other tables. But I wasn’t the only one who hated them. The customers at the other tables asked if I was ok and requested that the women stop swearing so much in front of their children. When I reminded the women that they were in a family restaurant, they replied,
“Blah blah blah free country. Oh, I want another DRINK!” I put the order in. Their meals were up right at that moment, so I returned within a minute to drop their food off.
They yelled, “WHERE IS MY SECOND DRINK?!?! HELLO!?!” Now they were banging their half-empty glasses on the table. They continued to yell at me to the point where I started to cry while still trying to take care of my other tables, which posed no problems.
I asked my manager to take over the rude folks and to let them know they were cut off. He tore them a new one in the way only managers are allowed to. They got upset they couldn’t order more drinks and asked for the check and left.
They barely left enough cash to cover the bill, but one came back and asked if she left enough of a tip. I said, “No. You left me a 2% tip.” She gave me five more dollars and, luckily, I never saw them again.