A Beginner’s guide to not Acting like an Asshole at a Restaurant.

1.)  Entering a Restaurant:

a.)   ‘Sup, asshole? Say hello, at least. I am the human being that will be doing stuff for you today. Note: it is not customary to barge into a restaurant and seat yourself.

b.)    Never seat yourself at a dirty table when there are a million clean ones. Why?

2.)  In the event that you must wait to be seated:

a.)   If you agree to wait for a table for a realistic amount of time then you should wait said time and shut up. Especially if there are a lot of you [assholes]. I didn’t lie to you when I did my best to estimate the amount of time for your table to be seated. I regret to admit that I have worked in the restaurant industry for over ten years and possess the utterly thankless talent of guessing when a table will open.

b.)   It is not my fault if I cannot guess the EXACT time that you will be seated, as my prediction relied on a bunch of inconsiderate mutants that should have left 45 minutes ago. I want them to leave as much as you do. I promise.

c.)   When I told you that you could wait for your table at the bar I did not mean that you should wait for your table in the middle of the restaurant and get in my way.  I am covered in burns. Very few of them were self-inflicted. Have you ever felt your flesh sizzle as you begged a bunch of assholes that are drinking bloody marys to move while holding five hot plates? I know that you have not considered that I am as hungover as you are. But have you ever considered hurling a cast iron skillet filled with a thirteen-dollar frittata and quitting your job just because it hurt that bad to wait for you to move your ass? No? Get the fuck out of my way when I ask you to get the fuck out of my way [nicely].


a.)  I cannot stress this enough. No one seems to do this! Don’t ask for a goddamn Chardonnay when I gave you a complete wine list and we do not have Chardonnay. Don’t walk into a fucking French resturant and roll your eyes when we do not have Cannolis. Don’t order a fucking veggie burger when you are vegan and the description of said veggie burger clearly states that the sandwich comes with mayo. Don’t treat me like I am stupid when you cannot read.


a.)   If “flying solo” (Re: have no friends), DO NOT “talk” on your cell phone to “someone else” for a half an hour and then act REALLY annoyed with me when you arbitrarily decide you are ready to order.  If you give me “the look” and order while covering the receiver you have to realize that you are worse than someone who talks on the phone while taking a shit and flushes. You didn’t get away with it.

b.)   At least 50% of your table should order something. If your “party” doesn’t want to eat or drink, you should probably decide on an activity that isn’t going to a restaurant and making me refill your water a lot.


a.)   New parents have a really bizarre entitlement problem. Worse than rich people, almost.

b.)   All these people have babies and start wearing the weirdest hats ever and think they have the absolute right to occupy 2 1/2 tables+/ can whip their tits out whenever they want to and leave dirty diapers everywhere. No.

c.)   I fucking hate every baby. They ooze things I don’t want to deal with. Ever. Also, we don’t have a microwave so you can stop looking so horrified when I cannot heat up his bottle. First off, I don’t know where that milk has been. Second, not my problem. Third, Just seeing a baby bottle makes me think about my vaginal canal exploding. Maybe you should have considered the needs of that helpless thing that relies on you for every single thing before deciding to get some eggs benedict [assholes].

d.)   If you are a new, bitchy parent drinking booze before eleven o clock AM you should consider adoption.

e.)   You are going to get divorced. Poor bastard child.

6.)  Regulars

a.)   Just because I know your order and you always come in here and are generally the same amount of annoying does not make me your therapist. I have to deal with a lot of people’s shit at the same time and I get paid $4.50 an hour. I’m not sure how much therapists make an hour, but I am pretty sure they make minimum wage, at least.

b.)   So, if you want to talk about how you like Interpol and miss your ex-boyfriend while I try to resist the urge to bite my tongue off I should have asked you if you give a fucking shit about power electronics or the ex-boyfriend I was forced to break up with when he shit his pink American Apparel underpants and left them on the bathroom floor and wouldn’t own up to it. You don’t care? Is that weird? Really? I don’t want to know anything about your ex-boyfriend either.

c.)   Don’t touch me or my tattoos. You’ll never guess my nationality, die.

d.)   Part of me wishes I met you outside of this fucking restaurant so I could be a real bitch to you but I am also glad I didn’t meet you outside of this restaurant because it would depress me. You are the reason shift drinks exist.


a.) Do not enter a deserted restaurant ten minutes before they close and order a four-course meal. You will ruin eight people’s entire day. You’re going to do it anyway, so you are lucky we have a modern, trendy, open kitchen that so you can supervise the preparation of meal that would have otherwise been seasoned with pubic hair and spit.


a.)   10%: Waitress is on meth and forgets almost everything.

b.)   15% Alright!

c.)   20% Thanks! We both rule.

d.)   25% or more: we made each other laugh; you’re getting free dessert.