“Happy” Mother’s Day

As you may well know by now, I work in the service industry, managing a restaurant. As you may well know, or at least assume, Mother’s Day is a big day for brunch (and sometimes dinner). I didn’t work the big day this year, but did do the schedule. Since it fell on a Sunday (duh) , one of our lamer nights, I added a server (bringing the grand total to three), with no hostess, one bartender, one manager. There were three reservations in the book, a far cry from the 200 plus people scheduled to pig out on toast and eggs that morning. Needless to say, I thought we were in the clear for a slow night.

I get a text at about 7 pm from the manager on duty, alerting me to the possibility that I may fall victim to new asshole syndrome the next day. Apparently the night did not go so smoothly.

The entire collection of asshole husbands and children too negligent (lazy, forgetful, loveless) to make a brunch reservation, like the rest of the free world, decided 5 pm would be the best time to bring mom in for makeshift family dinner. Then I heard about the moms and I understood why their families opted against special treatment – they were cuntalicious bitchbags.

I heard from all the staff of the crap sandwich of a night that more than one mother told them they “ruined Mother’s Day,” that it was the “worst Mother’s Day ever.” On and on about how long they had to wait for their drinks (newer, not enough staff and printer malfunction) and food (newer, not enough staff and overwhelmed kitchen) and to be checked on and have their waters filled, blah blah blah. The MOD (manager on duty, try to keep up) ended up comping a bunch of shit, the servers got stiffed and everyone felt like shit.

I wish I had been there. Not only may it have run slightly better (I’m sorry, but I’m good at what I do), but I would also have loved to tell all those bitches to shove their shitty attitude right up their tight asses. We ruined your Mother’s Day? Really, bitch? Let me fall all over myself in apprehension and apologies to appease your pathetic, empty existence on this earth.

Holy hell, that is mean. And I well intend to explain my feelings in my next post. I neglected to hit the publish button when I started writing this weeks ago. Apparently my disdain for weak-minded, selfish assholes is a hindrance to getting anything else done.