amateur night #1

I've worked Friday and Saturday night for the past four weekends, which is a mixed blessing. It's not that I'm pissed about having to work when everybody else gets a night off, because whatever, I go out on Monday and Tuesday and I don't have to worry about waiting in line. The problem is, you know how some seasoned alcoholics call New Year's, St. Patrick's Day, Purim, and maybe election night "Amateur Night?" That's what I call Friday. Jesus Christ, you guys, it's like every high-fiving goober from the darkest bowels of Accounts Receivable descends on my depressingly trendy neighborhood, and they all seem to wander into The Bar. Often, these people are very nice, if a little difficult to stomach, cologne-wise. But some of them honestly just don't know how to act in a bar.

Okay, case in point: Last night, a group of about a dozen people came in for a birthday party. They were very nice, tipped decently, and didn't bitch about anything. They did, however, make a couple of really annoying mistakes that meant that I didn't give them very good service.

* No one called ahead to let us know they'd be coming in. Instead, they pushed two six-tops together when they got there, and six people commandeered twelve seats for half an hour before everyone showed up. The Bar gets pretty busy on Friday nights -- we couldn't afford to have that many seats sitting empty because they were reserved for people who, incidentally, did not drink very much.

* At one point, I had seven tabs open for that table, which meant that I had to coordinate seven separate tables on the computer system. That's insane. They all came in at different times, and they all wanted to start their own tabs, and then periodically one person would close their tab, and another person would open one -- madness. I am amazed that I didn't fuck any of their tabs up.

*They all ordered at different times. It got to the point where I'd periodically walk up to the table, holler "Okay, who wants another drink!" and then, if no response was forthcoming, I'd go take care of my other tables. Then I'd walk by thirty seconds later, and someone would want to order drinks or food. And then they'd take, like a minute and a half to order a damn plate of chicken nachos and an IPA, and then the guy sitting at the opposite end of the table would want something, and then I'd come back with everything and somebody would want something else, and I ended up not being able to take care of my other tables because these amateurs just would not let me coordinate them all into a manageable group.

Plus, they brought an enormous cake box full of coconut cupcakes -- ew. The coconut shavings, predictably, got everywhere, and when the group left, the table looked like a tiny snowstorm had hit it. Bunch of jerks.