Server Rants from Restaurant Hell

If You’re Going To Steal, Please Don’t Be So Fucking Annoying About It


Dear Table 55,

What the fuck was your fucking problem? Sure, you had that trailer park glow, but everything seemed fine until I dropped off your food and offered you freshly ground pepper. You looked at the pepper mill like it was a fucking unicorn. “Wow!” You said. “Where do you get one-a those?”

Uh, I don’t know, pretty much any place that sells stuff.

Then you took my pepper mill. And made a joke about stealing the pepper mill. Every time I walked by, the goddamn pepper mill was in a different place. Then you hid the pepper mill. 

“Hey, guys, where’s my pepper mill?” I asked you.

And you laughed. Boy, did you laugh! It was so funny! You hid my pepper mill! After you were talking about stealing it! Hahahaha!

“So, how much do these things cost ya anyway?” 

Really, we’re still talking about this?

“Um, I’m not sure, but it’s not for sale.” I say to you.

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks!”


“Ah, c’mon! That’s a little much!” 

“Sir, it’s not for sale.”

“Ok, ok! We’re just teasing you! Hahaha! We’re just kidding! You can bring us the check now!”

Ok. I drop the check, still no pepper mill in sight, but you’re both grinning like idiots, so I figure you’re still “teasing” me. What fun.

You walk up to pay your bill, and as the transaction is going through, you thank me and tell me you don’t need a reciept, and walk away.

My eyes instinctively look at the tip and I mentally prepare myself for the letdown. But wait. A 40% tip? No way, something is just not right. 

You stole my fucking pepper mill, bitches!

I raced to the front, caught you and accused you as you were exiting the restaurant.

You looked at me like I had accused you of molesting my dog.

“We didn’t take ANYTHING, we left it under the table!!!”

Under the table? Do you think I’m slow? 

Fine. I let you go, but I knew damn well you stole the damn pepper mill.

So, Table 55 you can go fuck yourselves with your shiny new pepper mill, and know that when you’re white trash and tip 40%, I know you stole something.



Dear Table 41,

I can see that you’re having a great time, no doubt you’ll probably break out the marshmallows and graham crackers and start making s’mores, but if you wouldn’t mind getting the hell out before you pitch a tent in my section. Ok, I understand that you all came out together and want to have a good time, stay a while, and chat. The thing is, though, is that you have occupied half of my section for the while night. Be my guest and stay all night if you arrive together and order (appetizers, drinks, dessert, coffee etc.) throughout your stay. When you’re finished ordering and enjoying your food, drinks, and coffee. It’s time to go. If you still want to socialize, go to a coffee bar, since God knows you people don’t drink, a real bar is out of the question (I already know my alcohol sales are fucked tonight). The problem with your table was that two people arrived at 5, a half an hour passed, two more people arrived, another half an hour passed. You’ve ordered nothing but water so far. Ok another two people arrive and 45 minutes pass, and finally you order. Now don’t get me wrong, you were an ok table in the sense that you were polite and not too demanding. My problem is that you set up camp in half of my section from five o’clock ‘til nine thirty, and hadn’t ordered a thing for over two hours! And you ended up being my last table of the night! That’s two hours I could have been home, I could’ve had dinner since I haven’t eaten since lunch, I could’ve been drunk by now! But I had to stay because I have to close my section. Two hours. Waiting. For you.


Your Server

Water With Lemon


"Can I start you folks off with a cocktail, or a glass of one of our feature wines?" I ask.

"Hmmm, what do you suggest?" says Guest 1.

"Well, we have a fantastic ginger mojito with fresh mint, lime, and a splash of ginger beer, and we have a new Pinot Noir that pairs really well with a variety of our dishes…"

"I will, just have a water" Guest 2 interrupts.

"We have San Pellegrino, Perrier, Fiji and Voss as well as…"

"No, just…tap..water, you might as well just bring water all around."

Are you fucking kidding me? I was so close to that sale!!! Fuck!

"Certainly, will that be all? We have a great selection of draft beer as well…"

Please…. Maybe they’re beer drinkers?

"No, that’s it. Oh, could you maybe add a slice of lemon on the side?" Guest 2 asks.

"Oh, that sounds great! I’ll try that too!" Guest 1 chimes in.

You’ll try that? Really? You’ll give water with a slice of lemon a try? That’s like saying you’ll give white bread a try. It’s water with lemon, it is what it is! Adding lemon doesn’t make it a cocktail! It doesn’t make you look sophisticated! It doesn’t make you look less cheap!

It’s fucking water with fucking lemon!


Ok, I know people are going to order water. Obviously. Just please don’t order water for the table! Let them order a real drink, ok? You’re killing my sales! And it’s just plain rude to your guests. They may have wanted the ginger mojito, then you decided to be a buzz kill and order water, then had the audacity to order one for your guests as well. Your friends then might feel like they have to stick with just water (oh, don’t forget the lemon!). It kills the feel-good mood your guests were in when they got here really quick, and I can feel it. 

Order a bottle of wine for the table, that’s great, a pitcher? A round of margaritas? Absolutely. Water? No. It’s rude, and it implies that you think you are in control.

Not cool…

So, if you must order tap water, do so, but try a little more discretion next time!



I worked in an Italian-American chain restaurant for a few years. It’s not like we didn’t see our share of illiterate folk, but one dude, he takes the cake.

"And what can I get for you tonight sir?"

"Well, I dunno, I think I’ll take the sketti."

"Spaghetti bolognese?"

"Just put the sketti with the sketti sauce."

"Tomato sauce?"

"The baloney one that you said? It has meat?"

"Yes, sir, bolognese is a meat sauce."

"Yeah, I’ll take the sketti with baloney sauce…oh, and make sure they ain’t got no un-guns in nothin’ for me…"

"Ok, sir."

It’s ok, we were 86 un-guns hours ago…