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[21 Aug 2008|03:51pm] |
OK, first, I need to explain the way our restaurant is set up. There is the main dining room, with 6 rooms, and this is closest to the kitchen. Then there is the lobby/bathrooms, and another dining room wiht 2 rooms. Nestled in the back of this is a side station for drinks and stuff that the servers on the far side of the restaurant use.
Now, let me preface this by saying, there is some ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) bad_service in this as well, and it's something that is legitimately being worked on.
Anyway... We've had some issues with this lady coming in and scamming us over the past 6 months. Older hosts know that when she and her friend and their two kids come in, to get a manager immediately, and the manager will wait on the table. Literally, nothing can be right for these women, and they will honest to god scream at the servers if anything is not the way they want it. They've called corporate on us, they've called the Health Department on us (we always have really high HD scores, btw), and they've threatened to call the newspapers and TV news programs on us. The bitches are honest to god psycho, and desperate for free meals.
The last two times they've come in, we've had managers wait on them, so nothing oculd go wrong, and we've refused to give them gift cards when they leave (their standard MO... complain, then bitch until they get gift cards). We thought that if we did this enough, they'd realize they can't milk us dry any longer, and they'd stop coming in.
So, they come in a few Sundays ago, and the hostess doesn't know who they are, so they get sat in a regular section. They bitch, about 5 minutes later, that they don't want to sit there, so instead, they want to sit at the 6-top table that is nestled right up by our side station. This is the worst table in the restaurant, because it's loud and you can always hear the servers talk in the side station (we have a policy not to discuss tables or tips while in it, we treat it just like it were the actual floor).
Now, this section is closed, but she won't sit any where else. We try to keep it down, but it's a Sunday night, we're bored as hell, and it's likely that conversations got out of control. (I was not on the floor this night, I was behind the bar, so it wasn't me!)
Well, at the end of the meal, the lady who is the ringleader comes into the lobby, screaming at the top of her lungs, screaming so loud that her toddler is now screaming with her, scared out of it's mind. Luckily, I was delivering a ToGo, so I had a front row seat for this.
Crazy Lady: I WANT TO SEE A MANAGER, RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
Hostess: >:O ::Scampers to get a manager::
Manager: May I help you?
CL: WHAT THE FUCK? DO YOU KNOW THE KIND OF SHIT YOUR TRASHY-ASS STAFF TALKS ABOUT?! DO YOU?!
Manager: We ask that all staff keep conversation of a personal nature to a minimum. Was there something specific they said?
CL: THEY'RE BACK THERE TALKING ABOUT SEX AND DRUGS AND THEIR GOD DAMNED UNDERWEAR!
Me: ::Cough, sputter, try to not laugh::
Customer I'm helping: ::Deer in headlights look::
CL: THEIR FUCKING UNDERWEAR! I DON'T NEED TO KNOW IF SOME WHORE IS WEARING A THONG!!!
Manager: Ma'am, I apologize sincerely, and I can assure you that this won't happen again, blah blah blah, as he tries to talk her down. It went on for prolly two minutes.
CIH: (Whispers) You just keep the change honey... (Like, $30 on a $22 order, sweet!)
Me: (Whispers) I am so sorry!
CL: (No longer yelling) You know, I've got a three-year old, and she doesn't need to be exposed to the kind of degenerates that you have in this restaurant. I bet they're all shooting up in the bathroom. I don't need some disease ridden whore giving me my food.
(Sidenote: My managers joke that they have the most educated wait-staff in the world, because %95+ are either in college, in MS/MD/PhD programs, millitary personnel, or working this as a second job. We're not a bunch of drug addicted, disease ridden whores, lol)
Manager then spends a good 5 minutes talking this bitch down some more. I am made to leave by a rather stern glare, but he ended up giving her a freaking $150 gift card. $150. Jesus titty-fucking Christ. $150.
And it turns out, the conversation? A coworker had split her pants in back when she bent down, and she was trying to camoflauge it with our linen towels that we wear on our apron, because she was wearing a thong.
I wish I were kidding about some of my stories. Mediocre Italian food just brings out the crazies in WV I guess. =(
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