And Now It's Time for Another Installment of "People Suck"! Since when do customers get reprimanded for treating staff poorly? Hm. I guess I should back up a bit. Two weeks ago, Robbie and I went to "our" pub that we go to to listen to Irish music and enjoy the food and hang out like we've been doing every other week or so lately. We're getting to be regulars there. The band knows us, at least. Now, Robbie and I are generally really relaxed and easy going with our waiters or waitresses, and since we're there for four hours or more, we really don't run our server ragged with orders, and we leave tips that we feel is appropriate for the services rendered. Okay so, the night in question, a *large* party of drunken idiots came and sat in the area we were in right by the stage. They pushed tables to the side, up against *our* table so that we were mostly blocked in, with just a small area to get out if we needed to get up for something, so that they could have a dance floor, despite that the pub doesn't have a dance license and could get in big trouble for them dancing. After that, the waitress hardly came to us at all. Granted, it wasn't easy to get to us, but it *was* possible for her to come around one side and bring us drinks and such. But for the majority of the time that group was there, she would go around and ask everyone how they were but us. And if we wanted something we had to flag her down. At one point, after we hadn't had service for like thirty minutes, Robbie even picked up his cell phone and called the front and asked if they would mind sending our waitress back when she had some time. He even said something like, look, I know it's really busy and she has a lot to do, so just whenever she has time is fine. He wasn't rude about it or anything. And when we saw the waitress we had said, yeah we know you're really busy, so just take your time. Also, twice, our orders were wrong, but we didn't complain about that either, we just laughed and told her it wasn't what we ordered, and she replaced them. Anyway, at the end of the night we had spent about 90 dollars combined, and we only left her a ten dollar tip, because we felt that she didn't do that great a job. A good waitress wouldn't go around and ask everyone how they are but us, and et cetera. Anyway, yesterday Robbie called to get our reservation at our accustomed table by the stage and the owner answered. He placed his reservation and the lady said to him, "So are you going to treat my staff better tonight?" "Excuse me?" was the surprised response. Apparently the waitress complained of our treatment of her and our ten percent tip. Nevermind that we were totally polite and easy going, and that we didn't complain at all, even though there was plenty to complain about that night if we so desired. Of course the waitress is going to have her version of things and probably told the owner we were fuckers or something. But we weren't the ones pushing around tables, acting like drunken idiots and spilling beer all over the floors. Robbie was told that the waitress was a "professional waitress" and that she barely "breaks even" on ten percent tips. Well excuse me, but if she's a professional waitress then 1) she wouldn't have ignored us most of the night 2) would realize that you don't always get a 15 percent tip, especially when your job was done poorly and 3) made more that night that I did all week. And if the lady is sooo concerned about her waitress not breaking even, perhaps she should pay her more. And if they're going to reprimand the *customer* over the tip size, perhaps they should make the tips mandantory 15 percent and add it to the tab. It wasn't like we didn't leave her a tip at all. We left her an adequate tip for an adequate job, in our opinions. Robbie was then told that if the waitress was there we should "kiss and make up." What a load of shit. He was pretty pissed, and didn't want to get into an argument over the phone, so he figured we would talk to the owner that night, and he called me to tell me about it so I could be pissed off with him. After several hours though, we were relaxed and easy going again, and when we got there we decided if we got into an argument or even a polite confrontation with the manager, it wouldn't make any difference. It would be us against them, and she's going to side with her staff, obviously, if she's so readily jumping to their defense and saying what was, in my opinion, rather rude things to regular, loyal customers. They wouldn't miss us if we left, except for perhaps the band, who would miss having people that actually *listen* to them. Their pockbooks wouldn't be any lighter for our not coming every other week. But we would loose our favorite pub, our favorite place to hang out, our favorite band, and the best potato soup *ever*. So we resolved not to say unthing unless they came to us. And we had a good night. The waitress we had was one we'd not had before. She did an excellent job, and once, when she was too long in bringing our drinks, told us they would be free. It was a total about-face from what we were expecting, and our service two weeks ago. Even the manager, who is surly at best, and had also complained to the owner about us, since it was her that had answered the phone when Robbie called in to get our waitress to come to our table, actually *smiled* and was very polite, and even went so far as to shake our hands when we left. Knock me over with a feather. Who is this strange person that looks like the surly manager that I'm accustomed to? Our waitress received a *large* tip. Robbie felt kind of bad for her, since she had to deal with a party of ten to fifteen heavily drunk soldiers that, by the end of the night, were edging towards violence. And she really did do an excellent job. She got a thirty dollar tip... from a 75 dollar bill. I suppose next time Robbie calls, they're going to ask him if we're going to treat the staff *less* well, because we spoiled her, and now she always wants an almost fifty percent tip.

Get Fuzzy This is so me.

KITTIES!




Kitties are cute. War is not. Kitties win! Yay!

Image and Slogan copyright: My husband!

Birthday As my birthday approaches, I'm forced to think that people go about celebrating birthdays all wrong. Everyone gives presents to the person whose birthday it is, and wishes them happy birthday... but why? Do I really need to be congratulated on living another year? Or another day? I really didn't have any plans to do otherwise. I didn't do anything on this day however many years ago it was that I was born... in my case, on the 28th, 23 years ago. I'll get presents, and cards, and my mother is having a dinner and cake and such. And I didn't do a thing except manage to not keel over yet. Looking at the celebration of birthdays, it seems to me that it's the *mother* that should be getting the accolades. Thanks for giving birth to me. Thanks for raising me to be who I am. Twenty-three years ago you went through hours and hours of labor so that I might join the world. Yet on my birthday, I'm the one getting congratulated, for doing nothing, while the one that did all the work is the one buying me shit and cooking me an elaborate dinner. Of course, that's what Mother's Day is for, and I'm not going to turn down presents, or my mother's wonderful cooking. But really, once you hit 21 here, birthday's don't really mean anything except that you haven't died yet. So, hooray to me for still being alive after 23 years.

People Suck Last night Robbie and I went to an Irish pub downtown to listen to the band that plays Irish music there on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. We stayed for the whole show, which ends when the bar closes at 1 in the morning. We walked back to our parking garage and were standing at the elevator waiting to go up to the level my car was on. We were talking about something, I don't remember what, and Robbie quoted a line from a Brittish sitcom, "Let Them Eat Cake," that was something along the lines of, "Well he's a homosexual isn't he?" About that time a group of several guys, and one woman were walking up. When Robbie said that one of them stopped and said rather loudly, "He just said he was a homosexual. I don't want to get in there with him if he's a homosexual." Robbie didn't hear it, but he's very unobservant, especially went he's tipsy. I very much wanted to say something like, What, are you afraid you won't be able to resist him if he tries to charm you? Or even a basic, So what if he is? He won't bite unless you ask him to. I even could've pointed out that no, he didn't just say he was a homosexual, since he wasn't talking in the first person or something like that... but I didn't, since Robbie didn't notice and I didn't want to get into an argument with a rude, drunken, close-minded bigot at 1 in the morning and it wouldn't make a difference anyway. Anyway, my point is... people suck.

Neener Neener *chants* I'm going to Amsterdam, I'm going to Amsterdam, I'm going to Amsterdam...