“I’d like an iced venti decaf white mocha, no whip,”
“Will that be all?”
“No, I’d also like an iced venti white mocha frappuccino and–”
“Will that be all?”
“Two grande decaf caramel frappuccinos and a pup cup.”
“Okay, I’ve got two iced venti white mochas, one decaf, one regular and two grande caramel frappuccinos, no whip. Will there be anything else?”
My husbands lips disappear, his jaw clenches, and the vein on his forehead reaches out in attempt to choke the woman through the speaker.
I holler, “Whatever you do, do not mark the cups!”
Moo says, “Oh great. Now we’re not getting coffee.”
“Drive around, I’ll go in.”
Once inside, I inform the barista that I will be ordering four drinks, and that I would also like a pup cup. He nods, puts a tiny cup on the counter, and looks at me in anticipation.
I say I’d like an iced venti decaf white mocha. He grabs a plastic cup, makes an X, then writes WM on the bottom. He asks if I want the whip.
“I do not, thank you for asking.”
He indicates this on the cup and I continue with my order.
All the cups are marked properly, all the drinks are made properly, Sadie gets her pup cup. We drive away. Life is good.
“I’d like the salmon with rice and asparagus, please.”
“I’ll have the black and blue burger, with fries.”
“Chicken tenders with honey mustard and broccoli.”
“Ribs, mashed potatoes, and carrots for me.”
“Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Our server doesn’t write down a single thing. This only goes one of two ways; either we have an expert or an idiot and you just never can tell — until your food arrives.
Of course, it’s not our server who brings our food, because this is one of those places where all servers run all plates.
Hey, Restaurants? Your servers and your patrons hate this policy. Servers would rather be responsible for their own tables and patrons prefer accuracy over speed.
“Can I have honey mustard?”
“Sure thing!”
“Wait, I’m supposed to have rice, not a potato.”
“Oh!”
Half of our table eats.
The not-our-server server brings honey mustard.
Everyone else eats. I drink and tell everyone how tasty their food looks.
Our server finally arrives with a new plate, with rice instead of potato, and says to me, “Sorry about that, but almost everyone orders a potato with the salmon.”
I smile faintly.
Oh, I see, I am to blame. I should have ordered a potato. I guess almost everyone is happy when their salmon comes. Those who are not happy are less happy when they hafta wait for new salmon with the correct side. The kitchen staff is furious that Salmon with Potato is not a fixed order.
Or could it be because our server didn’t write it down?
The thing I dislike most about children is that one must repeat everything. I’ve often thought mothers and teachers could do with mind-reading tape recorders.
“Turn to page 22.”
“Page 22.”
“22.”
“Wash your hands.”
“Wash your hands.”
“Wash your hands.”
“Wash your hands.”
“Wash your hands.”
“Hang up your towel.”
“Hang up your towel.”
“Hang up your towel.”
“Stop hitting your sister.”
“Stop hitting your sister.”
“Stop hitting your sister.”
“Stop hitting your sister.”
“Fuck it, hit her back.”
When I give chores to the school-aged children, I give them in a series. Do one chore, come back and I’ll tell you the next. They like to ask, “Is that all?” every time I tell them to do something. After a while, I like to widen my eyes and say, “No, that’s not all. It will never be all. You will never be done, ever.”
Cause they do me like this:
“Go into the big bathroom. Take the rug up by folding it in half. Take it outside and shake it. Empty the trash can. Sweep the bathroom floor, under, around, alongside, behind the door. Put the rug and the trash can back.”
…
“Okay, next?”
“Did you shake the rug?”
“Yes.”
“Did you put the rug back?”
“Yes.”
“Did you put the trash can back?”
“No. You didn’t tell me to empty it.”
“I did. Because when adults sweep floors, we pick up all the stuff off the floor and since we picked up the trash can, we might as well empty it, because why would you leave trash in a can while you’re cleaning? I mean, why even shake the rug?”
Now, I wish I could say that this was the first time that my child ever swept the bathroom floor, but all of my kids started this chore around the age of six, so really, you would think this would be simple by now, but it’s very, very hard. It’s harder than algebra, harder than remembering to put on deodorant, and like, way, way harder than making flatbread from scratch.
That will be all.
Does anyone listen to you? I bet that’s nice.
Oh my gosh – that so made me laugh out loud in all that truthfulness. Story of my life. Great start to my morning. Thank you!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Uh huh. I thought so.
I just had the most entertaining conversation with The Mister this morning, about why the girls can’t keep the bathroom neat. I was offering him anecdotes about when the grown kids were small and how they were the same way. We just have to keep at it, we’ve already done it twice.
Of course, as we had this conversation next to the coffee pot, there sat a bottle of nail polish. You know, cause nail polish belongs on the kitchen counter…
😉
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yep. Nail polish totally belongs on the kitchen counter, along with the Legos and safety pins currently making themselves at home on my counter. Good luck!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
And to you. Stay strong, Mama One! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Okay, I know the point about the listening, and I agree, it is frustrating. When I was a barista, I would hate when my co-workers would do the “Is that all? without a real pause or drop in tone to indicate the order was finished. It happens to me almost whenever I go through a drive-through. But my comment isn’t for that. My comment is to say that, “Stop hitting your sister.”
“Stop hitting your sister.”
“Stop hitting your sister.”
“Stop hitting your sister.”
“Fuck it, hit her back.”, is the funniest thing I have read in weeks!
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thank you 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Drives me crazy when food servers don’t write down the order. They think this impresses us, but it doesn’t. It only makes us anxious, because inevitably something gets missed. And like you and your rice, it’s usually my order that’s not done right, and I have to watch my family eat while I wait. Grr.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It so makes me anxious, and yes, it’s almost always MY order. Aren’t we lucky? lol
LikeLiked by 1 person
almost nobody listens well. Long married couples are best at not listening. If I had a dime for everytime i’ve heard, “I told you yesterday, but I guess you weren’t listening.” We’re all so full of ourselves…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Why is something that is so annoying when it’s happening to me so funny when it happens to you? OK, it’s because you write well – thanks for that.
When I was in graduate school, I used to eat at a grimy-grill called The Original Hot Dog Shop. The place would be mobbed at lunch. As soon as I would walk in, the guy would ask me what I wanted. I’d yell “Sausage, peppers and onions, spicy mustard and fries. 15 minutes later when I finally made it to the counter, he’d hand me that order. Never failed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah, see The Original Hot Dog Shop guy was an expert!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I like listening to what others have to say because it is always interesting to learn something new but as I’m listening it usually ends the same way – they keep talking about themselves and never ask what’s new with me. LOL Kind of like a selfie conversation in this day of social media lifestyle.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I am familiar with that scenario. Indeed. Unfortunate. Give and take is so much more entertaining.
LikeLike
No one listens to me, it’s the story of my life. Ugh. I can tell you that I worked in food service and bar tending all through 7.5 years of college and beyond… It really is not that difficult to just listen to what people want, and get it to them. Seriously, how everyone manages to fuck this up I have no idea. On the towel thing, my sister has a sign in her bathroom above the towel hooks that reads “hang up your towel. One towel per hook. Or I’ll cut you. And I’m talking to both of you.” Apparently my niece and brother in law don’t listen to her either.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m a decent waitress at lunch. At dinner, or with a large party, I am the shittiest waitress ever. Oh I get it right, I just do it like I’m mad about it, lol! I can’t hack it!
Barista on the other hand, easy peasy. It’s much briefer.
I like your sister. A lot.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Her sign scared the shit out of a little girl who used the restroom at my nieces recent birthday party! I cracked up. Poor little dear probably has a father and siblings who listen and don’t have to be threatened with knives.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I bet not.
My money’s on her being a wooden spoon kid. People who carry wooden spoons hate swearing. AND VIOLENCE. Hahahahaha!
LikeLiked by 1 person
The fact that no one listens to me is the Great Calamity of my existence. I feel your pain.
LikeLiked by 1 person
❤
LikeLike
That “most people listen to reply” is so damn true. You can always tell too, just by their body language.
And “fuck it hit your sister” 😂😂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I would be a disaster as a waitress whether or not I wrote things down. The wandering mind coupled with thoughts of “you’d eat that salad dressing on that salad?” would be my downfall. I’ve found it necessary to be equally specific with my BH who is a good man and tries to help but…..needs direction in the house. Please put these daffodils in these little vases. Later I notice they are drooping. No water. My fault. Didn’t specifically tell him to add water.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ahaha @ BH and no water in the daffodils!
And I know, people eat ranch dressing with everything, am I right?
LikeLike
I got nothin’ to add but I chuckled a-plenty and nodded the whole time I WAS LISTENING .
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. You’re a good reader 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey Angel, Everyone knows that rice goes best with salmon.
Stay strong 🙂
LikeLike
Oh I did laugh at this! Nobody ever listens to me! It is so frustrating!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can’t understand who would order salmon and a potato? Yuck. Salmon and rice are like peanut butter and jam. What sort of lawless, anarchistic, state do you live in? Do cats marry dogs where you are from?
LikeLiked by 1 person
I live in a rather conservative state, where many are poor and rural.
A place where people love Jesus, guns, Ranch dressing…salmon with potato…and they often pronounce the L in salmon as well. Our cats do not marry dogs tho, because people here like “traditional marriage.” I dunno John, life is hard.
LikeLiked by 1 person
When you put it that way it doesn’t sound too bad at all.
LikeLike
Well it’s better than many other states 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes. It is I’m sure. I don’t really eat fish much so I’m not sure why I’m displaying such passion.
LikeLike
LOL Okay
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love ranch dressing.
LikeLike
Mm, well, not on everything, right?
LikeLiked by 1 person
No not everything. But it’s not quite the Thunderdome either.
LikeLike
I’m listening, and I hear you! My husband’s family never listens, not one of them, because they are all too busy planning what they want to say next. It is beyond infuriating!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hell I don’t really listen to myself half the time so I probably shouldn’t expect folks to do much better. You did do a masterful job of bringing up a really troublesome topic,and you did it adroitly and with humor. Some people don’t really pay attention to what is being said to them. When we speak to them do we sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher? I guess a botched restaurant order isn’t that bad. Compared to botched instructions in surgery, but Damn It; it is indeed infuriating. In your case not only is the customer PO’d but the kitchen has to redo an order. When a ticket is sold it is history, done, forgotten. But now it has to be remade, which pushes back other orders. It is a ripple effect. And what about the lost product? If I had a buck for every time some cool fool refused to write an order down…well I would have a bunch of bucks. So nice post. Fight the good fight.
LikeLike