As I’ve mentioned before, I waitress at a restaurant a night or two each week. I worked last night- also known as Chicago’s day to
get completely shit-faced celebrate St. Patrick. I worked this same Saturday night last year, so I was mentally prepared for the wide-range of belligerent jackasses that were going to enter the restaurant throughout the course of the night. They generally came in 3 categories:
(a) Large groups of friends that started drinking at 8:00am, haven’t eaten anything all day, and suddenly realize they are ravenous at 6:00pm. They MUST EAT LARGE PLATES OF PASTA and LOTS OF BREAD to remedy this. They are polite enough to me. As soon as I walk away from the table they behave as if they are still at the sweet party from which they just came by chugging wine, showing each other their nipples, and using their water glasses, packets of Equal, and red pepper flakes to play bartender.
(b) Couples that have been drinking since 8:00am and have now become aggressive toward one another. These folks are still nice to me, but if Kendra thinks she can get away with flirting with Tommy at the bar, she’s in for a real surprise. They spend about 40 minutes arguing, crying, splitting a pasta, and then groping each other. They average spilling one glass of ice water all over the table per person.
(c) Dudes that are so bombed, they are quite possibly minutes away from vomiting. They order heavy, creamy pastas, eat every morsel, and don’t take one sip of water throughout the meal. Their eyes are closed for the duration of their visit, and they emit thick clouds of flatulence for all to enjoy.
All of this is to say that my new thing for yesterday was that:
I refused alcohol service to a restaurant patron.
We are a quaint little pasta joint, so this authority doesn’t come into play very often. It was fun to say no to a group that was trying to “send their buddy a bottle of wine.” Perhaps if your buddy hadn’t just walked face-first into the bathroom door I would reconsider.
Fun factor: 7