Being a Bus Boy Ain’t Easy

I work at a restaurant as a busboy. Part of my job is also to get people their menus and drinks.

It also happens that we are one of the few restaurants that allows customers to seat themselves. This idea is about as brilliant as our presi-dunce, George W. Bullshit (Thanks for the name.) 95% of the time, the customer wants to sit at a booth. I guess they must think they’re too cool for a regular table. Here is a diagram that shows our store’s layout:

As you can see, we have five booths, four regular tables, and a small table. The booths and tables can both seat four regular fat asses a piece. The smaller table can seat two, but it serves no purpose in this article.

This one time, all five booths were full, and these two (fat, of course) people wanted to eat. I came up and gave them the classic “Sit wherever you’re comfortable” line that I’m required to say. The lady says “We’re waiting for a booth.” I say “Suit yourselves.” and go back to flirting with the hot waitress. 45 minutes later, a booth gets ready to get up, and the fatsoes swarm them. It was hilarious. These people had just finished, and were getting ready to get up, and Fatty McFat and friend swarm them. The people getting up gave them a strong look of contempt. The fatty twins sat down at the dirty booth, after waiting 45 minutes for one. Nevermind that there were 5 open tables when they walked in. Noooooooooo… We must have the booth! And, if things weren’t stupid enough, one of the dumb asses started picking at leftover french fries from the last person’s plate. I almost erupted in anger at the stupidity. My boss went nuts, because he was losing money on that. He came up to me and said “Take care of that for me, will you?” “May I exercise my own discretion?” I asked. “Certainly,” my boss replied. “Just make sure they don’t ever try to freeload here again.” He went back to his office to blast Black Sabbath while whacking off to lesbian porn. I approached the customers, and it all came loose: One of the fat asses was drinking left over Diet Pepsi from the customer’s cup. After verifying that neither were truthfully mentally ill, I gave them one of my most brutal verbal beatings ever. Most of the beating consisted of words such as “Fat retarded fucks” and “Get your fat asses the fuck out of my restaurant.” The customers looked shocked. An old man sitting in the corner pointed and laughed. The embarrassed customers got up, and left to the tune of thunderous applause from other customers who believed justice had been served.


I used to think that only the fat customers were whiney bitches. That was until I came face to face with our most infamous customer of all time: The aptly named Gruntilda. Okay, so that’s not her real name, but everyone calls her that, and if I don’t follow the crowd, I’ll be uncooler than I already am, so I call her that too. This lady has to be without doubt the biggest slitch I have ever had the misfortune to meet. As long as my restaurant has been around (Over 50 years) Gruntilda has come in 5 days a week, and each time, she has given our waitresses the rudest of attitudes. For new waitresses and busboys, facing Gruntilda is a rite of passage. Only the strong survive. If you can survive Gruntilda, you can survive any customer, and possibly even a nuclear war. Here is a sketch of Gruntilda:

No, I didn’t make that drawing. Apparently, someone else had an encounter with Gruntilda, and made a sketch of her, which can be found by doing a Google Image Search for “evil demon.”

So anyway, I finally met Gruntilda. I approached her booth (Yes, even Gruntilda is too cool to sit at a regular table) and handed her her menu. Figuring that all the talk I had heard about her was hype, I said in my most polite tone of voice: “Hello, how are you today?” She replied with a deafening roar. Remembering my training, I showed courage, and did not back down. “What would you like to drink?” I asked, still being polite. “GIVE ME HOT TEA!” she roared. I went, filled up a cup with hot tea, and brought it to her. “WHAT IS THIS?!” Gruntilda bellowed. “WHERE IS MY SWEET AND LOW?!” By the look on the face of the waitress, I had just sealed my doom. I was about to be cast into the bubbling Lake of Fire by the Dark Queen Gruntilda to suffer for all eternity, when my boss appeared with several packets of Sweet and Low and a crucifix. I was saved from eternal suffering and torture in the abyss! I took the crucifix, and pointed it at her. “Back beast! Feel the wrath of the Lord!” “GAAH!” “The power of Christ compels you, bitch!” She fell back, and I threw her the Sweet and Low.

After that ordeal, there wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Table of 12? No problem. Hot waitress’s psychotic ex-boyfriend stalking her? Bitch plz. Evil alien empire bent on taking over Earth? Don’t make me laugh.

But seriously, being a busboy can make even the most level-headed people go apeshit. We had this chick come in who used to be a psychologist. She was in between jobs, and wanted to bring in a little bit of extra money. She had to deal with this particularly stupid couple, and she quit five minutes later, saying “I can’t tolerate these fucking morons!

So I’ve bored you long enough. Get lost.