Don Imus is an idiot. I've held back from commenting on this, but the guy just bugs me, and this was before his most recent idiotic remarks. When I imagine death, it looks like him. Put him in a long black cape and robe and you would have the grim reaper. The women of Rutger's University's Basket Ball team are all well educated, intelligent, and athletic women. They are in a class far above Don Imus, and honestly he's not worth their time. It is all to unfortunate that anyone ever put that buffoon on the radio. The fact that his track record of saying stupid things is long is not surprising, but what is worse is just how annoying his radio shtick is. I'd rather listen to Rush Limbaugh while having a hot iron removing the wrinkles from my body.
That being said, tonight I waited on some of the nastiest ho's I've ever seen. Two of the three women so fat that they almost didn't fit at a TABLE! And language so foul that would make retired drill sargents blush. F-bomb this and babydaddy that. Nigga this and bitchassho that. On and on it went. Thankfully there weren't any other tables in the immediate area.
Beginning to end the table sucked. From the 20 questions game about stuff they aren't even going to order (they didn't) to the endless requests for more bread.
I have found myself wondering about the statistics for heart attack and stroke among the African-American community from time to time. They have a much higher incidence of both, and this table is exactly why. Two of the women were pushing 400lbs. All of the 4 people at the table reeked of recently smoked blunts (as in they were getting baked on the way here), and they must've taken at least 4 smoke breaks while eating the meals. The women were out of breath by the time they made it from their handicap parking spot to the podium (and these women are late 20's/early 30's, I ID'ed them for their drinks). Walking to the table half way into the dining room was almost too much to ask, but the promise of biscuits kept them moving. And of course the only guy at the table was skinny. How's that work? The women all ordered EXTRA dressing, meaning that if they can see the salad they're sending me back for two more portions of Blue Cheese and French each. Make sure you add cheese to that salad. And extra croûtons. And cheese on my potato. Extra butter on that too, with extra on the side. And I need 2 drawn butters for my small order of crab legs that I'm adding onto my Admiral's Feast (all fried). And I'll wash it all down with 3 Top Shelf Long Islands. And don't forget the extra napkins. And two more large tartar sauces, and another bottle of Tabasco. And by the way, we're leaving you a shit tip, in spite of the fact you stood there for the 15 minutes it took us to figure out what we were going to order after we said we were ready. In spite of the fact you had other tables to care for. In spite of the fact that we asked for something every single time you brought something else to our table (I'm not kidding, a 1 to 1 ratio of lettuce to dressing). In spite of the fact that we were loud, foul and obnoxious, not to mention rude and crude. In spite of our nearly $150 tab, we still want to reward you with $6 for all your efforts. But don't forget, on the way out we're going to give you the verbal tip.
Some people might think I'm making the above up, but I am unfortunately not. And it happens every night in my restaurant. Primarily in the last hour we are open. Which means I get far more than my fair share of these tables. But tonight's was particularly bad. Anyone who's spent a week or two in a Red Lobster knows I'm speaking the truth. And that is the worst way to end a night.