Being a bus boy ain't easy.

Being a Bus Boy Ain’t Easy

Food and Drink Work

I work at a restaurant as a bus boy. These are just some of my experiences.

At most restaurants, the bus boy is usually responsible for clearing finished tables. At my restaurant, part of my job also involves getting people their menus and drinks. Think of me as more of a “server’s assistant”.

My restaurant is one of the few in the area that allows customers to seat themselves. This idea is about as brilliant as our presi-dunce, George W. Bullshit. 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 customers 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 tells me that they’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. Before the people could even slide themselves out of the booth, the two customers who were waiting bee-lined towards them like German tanks rolling towards Paris in 1940. It was hilarious. The people getting up gave them a strong look of contempt as they shuffled past.

After 45 minutes of waiting for a booth, our customers were finally seated. Never mind that there were five open tables when they walked in. We must have the booth! Just as well I guess, I didn’t want their fat asses breaking a perfectly good chair.

As I made my approach to clear the table, I saw one of the most disgusting and grody things I had ever seen in my entire two years in the food industry.

One of the customers started picking at left-over fries from the last person’s plate.

I almost erupted in anger at the sheer disgusting stupidity. My boss was also furious, 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.

You thought it couldn’t get any worse, right?

You thought wrong, dude.

One of the fat asses was now drinking left-over Diet Pepsi from the customer’s cup.

You’ve gotta be shitting me.

After verifying that neither were truthfully mentally ill (I’m pretty sure those people carry cards or wear medical bracelets or something), 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.

POW! SHAZAM! I AM THE GREAT ARCHIBALD!

I used to think that only the fat customers were whiny bitches.

That was until I came face to face with our most infamous customer of all time: The aptly-named Gruntilda.

No, it’s not the witch from Banjo-Kazooie.

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 every new waitress and bus boy 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.”

Now it was my turn. Would I swim with the sharks, or would I sink to the bottom and perish?

I approached her booth (Yes, even Gruntilda is too cool to sit at a regular table) and handed her her menu. Figuring everything 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 filled up a cup with hot tea and brought it back 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.

Before I could be cast into the bubbling Lake of Fire by the Dark Queen Gruntilda to suffer for all eternity, 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 raised the crucifix triumphantly.

“Back beast! Feel the wrath of the Lord!”

Gruntilda screamed in agony.

“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 bus boy 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.

That didn’t actually happen, but if it did I would have probably had sex with her because I’m a pimp like that.

I’ve bored you enough now, get lost.

Angry_Jerk

Hailing from the fine village of Northeast Philadelphia, AJ has been creating content on the internet for over 15 years. None of it has really been funny or entertaining, but he keeps trying anyway. Maybe he's bored, maybe he's drunk, maybe he's both.

https://angryjerk.net