I was counting the minutes until we closed last night. My last table left about 45 minutes before close and I was almost finished with my side work by 10 til 8. As soon as I said, “Less than a minute to go, Cora,” I heard the front door squeak and one of THOSE people walked in to ask if they were too late to eat.
If you have to ask, when the hours are plainly posted on the door, and you know damned well what time we close, then yes, you are too fucking late. For a split second I thought Darren was going to make Cora seat them, but I think he saw the imminent freak out in my eyes and decided not to.
I would have freaked the fuck out, too. For one thing, I hadn’t had a table in almost an hour, my section was cleaned and I was ready to go home. For another, I have a long history of hating THOSE people. They are: a creepy, blowhard dad, a meek mother, a geeky teenaged boy and a future creepy pre-adolescent son. The dad always orders the chicken, white meat only, and then bitches because it’s dry. White meat IS dry. Obviously, our white meat is too dry, so order something else & quit bitching!
In addition to the bitching, THOSE fuckers don’t know when to leave. They have no qualms about coming in just as we are closing, so needless to say, they don’t have any about staying an hour to an hour and a half after close. They eat slow, talk endlessly and just as you think they are getting up to leave, they decide to order dessert…and they tip a little less than 10%.
I hate THOSE people.