So part of the reason why my posts have been sporadic and seem like very last minute pieces that I’ve thrown together on train. It’s because A) I have and did. B) I started a new job! Yay for money towards my dream and it’s doing something I actually don’t hate. I’ve worked at a Spanish wine/ tapas bar for about three months now and I honestly do like being in customer service (for now) and I’m good at it so that’s a thing.
However, there are times in which I wonder how people dressed themselves this morning, let alone, had enough brainpower to walk up the block, walk in the door and sit down for plates of food and carafes of sangria.
This segment of YEARHERETHERE will be called “Finessin’ Fridays” or stories about how I finesse the white folk out of their money at my job.
Today in particular is not a story of my magical powers, but of someone else trying to finesse. And flopping miserably.
So keep in mind throughout this story that we are a wine and tapas bar. A SPANISH WINE AND TAPAS BAR. Therefore, we serve traditional dishes from Spain.
Nicholas Lachey, of 90’s boy band fame is a frequent visitor of our bar. He usually comes with his mother or a friend. This day in particular he comes with a friend and they immediately order carafes of sangria. For the first hour they’re there everything is cool. Very down to earth. Very chill. Several people pass by and ask Mr Lachey for pictures. Then it happens. A flock of birds pass by. I don’t mean like pigeon birds. I mean groupie birds; the kind that make you wanna move to the other side of the bar because they’re so loud. Now they were B-list groupies with potential to be A-list with hard work and dedication. They were very beautiful and looked cool enough to hang out casually on the sidewalk drinking sangria on a Tuesday evening with a former boy band legend. Actually they weren’t all birds. Two of them just chatted happily and sipped their sangria. But the shortest and loudest one (which is usually the case) was… the worst, lets leave it at that.
LETS JUST CALL HER COONELLA DEVILLE.
Coonella has a seat and demands a menu from me. “I need a menu! Where’s the menu!?” I give her one. I go to tend to some other customers for a few minutes to allow her some to peruse the menu; at best for the information to properly absorb into her tighty weaved head. I finally go back. She hands me the menu and says in a very matter of fact voice “I’ll have the lobster ravioli’
What I wanted to say was “Where on that menu do you see mention of lobster ravioli?” “Do you think because you’re with industry people you can just request things at your leisure and really expect to get it with no question?” THIS IS A SPANISH TAPAS RESTAURANT. Small plates from Spain, my friend! Red Lobster has the lobster ravioli that you’re looking for, so why don’t you just Ashanti scoot your way around the corner and find you some. You can tell she was the kind of girl that pretends to be used to the finer things in life but really she thinks BBQs is a treat (fight me if you disagree, their chicken is unmitigated trash).
Anyway, instead of saying the things I wanted to say , I respond with a simple “ We don’t serve lobster ravioli here.”
The Lord clearly was trolling me this day because she then says, “ Well what ravioli do you have then?” As if EYE was ridiculous for not having any.
“We do not have ANY ravioli on our menu.”
After this she is clearly annoyed at our lack of pasta; so she switches to salad. Again it’s clear that she asked for the menu for no reason because she asks where our salads are. Now not everyone speaks Spanish, I get that. But then again the Spanish word for salad is ‘ensalada’. It has salad right there in the middle of the word. But fine. I point them out. She looks semi interested in the beet salad, composed primarily of beets. Because my God thinks he’s funny , knowing full well that I have to pray for patience; she requests that we take the beets out and put what’s left in a to go box.
My natural thought was that meant that she’ll be leaving shortly and i would be finally be free from Coonella.
Instead she stayed in her seat. She then motions to me in only what I can describe as flicks of the wrist. My mother taught me to use my words so I just stared at her because I have but so much patience. Her mouth wasn’t full. I was within earshot. So I was confused as to why she expected me to know what the hell she was talking about.
“ I need a fork”
And I need you to learn how to behave restaurants but life isn’t fair now is it?
I wanted to walk away, but the Christian in me coupled with the fact that she could potentially ruin my tip allowed me to hand her one.
“I need a to go fork”
And with that I was done. I told her we don’t have those and finally broke ties with her annoying ass.
The thing that bothered me the most was how rude she was. Like I don’t care if you’re with a star, you flop, don’t treat people like they owe you something.
I love the shit out of my black queens. Im a black queen. Some(if not most) of my closest friends are black queens. I’m not shaming her being ignorant to how to act at a restaurant. I’m not even shaming her for not reading the menu I handed her after she asked for it. I’m shaming her for being a rude bitch who clearly thought she could talk down to me because I work in the service industry. Don’t get it twisted you ragamuffin.
But this brings up another important issue (to me). Some of ya’ll really don’t know shit about eating at restaurants. But do me a favor? Don’t try to stunt or finesse like you know what you’re doing, because we (servers) can tell. We also work very hard in order for you not to feel like you don’t know what you’re doing because we bridge the gap between the customers and the food. So be kind to us. Tip your server 20-30%. If you can’t fathom throwing in that extra percentage into the bill maybe you shouldn’t be eating out.
See you next Finessin’ Friday!