Time to find a new “career,” chicky.

As a former server, I feel that I have a right to critique other servers. That being said, most of them do at least meet my expectations. Few exceed them. A great many servers fall short of what I believe are basics of waiting tables: greeting your table within 60 seconds, bringing their drink orders within 2 or 3 minutes (maybe a little longer if there are a lot of people or they ordered bar drinks), etc. My most recent restaurant experience fell WAY below that bar of reasonable dining-out expectations.

11:40 a.m.
On my way to our lunch date, my friend calls and says she and the kids are running late. She assures me she’ll be there by noon, only 15 minutes late (but still a quarter of my lunch break).

11:47 a.m.
I have arrived at the restaurant (which will remain unnamed) and am seated at a four-top and call my friend to see if I should go ahead and order at least the kids’ meals, so they would be ready upon their arrival. While I am talking to her, a random server brings me a water.

11:50 to 11:59 a.m.
I have completed my call and am looking around for someone to bring me a drink. Many servers pass by me, but none stop by and ask if I’ve been helped yet or offer to bring me anything while I wait. While looking around, I see three other tables; the rest in my immediate surroundings are empty. I glare at the two servers standing and talking in the server alley.

12:00 p.m.
The same random server asks me if anyone has been over to see me. I gesture at the table in answer. Does it look any different to you? She asks if I would like to order a drink or something while I wait. I say that would be nice. But before she takes my drink order, she turns to another server and the two argue about whose table it was and who should take the table.

12:05 p.m.
My friend and her kids arrive. I am beginning to fume. When they sit down, I tell her that I just ordered my drink. Seriously? she says. Yes, I’m afraid so. And it’s not over yet.

12:10 p.m.
My drink arrives. The server, who has finally decided to take our table, asks if my lunch companion wants a drink. She says yes. As an afterthought, the server asks if the children want drinks, too. Yes, they do, and they would also like to eat. She puts their lunch order in as well.

12:15 p.m.
My friend’s drink arrives. No kids’ drinks. The server scurries off as if she were busy. I count her tables: two, including ours.

12:25 p.m.
The server returns, briefly complains about how busy she is, and asks if we’re ready to order. My friend says, “Well, first of all, I’ve been here 20 minutes, my drink is here, her drink is here, but my children have yet to get theirs. Secondly, she (pointing at me) has been here nearly 45 minutes, and she’s on an hour-long lunch break. This is unacceptable. I want to talk to the manager now.” The server mumbles something unintelligible, stuffs her book back in her apron, and hurries away.

12:30 p.m.
The manager arrives and gets an earful. She promises to resolve the issue, put a rush on our meals, and take care of the bill. To her credit, she was very professional, apologetic, and delivered on her promise. Had she not shown up, I have no doubt I would still be there now.

More bitching to come later, when I will divulge the mini-story within this story.


People who can’t park should not be allowed to drive.

Since this is my inaugural post, I’ll do my best to keep it short and bitchy…and let the picture speak the 1000 words it can.

When I park, I like to think I  pretty much stay centered between the lines, and park  in an acceptable manner.  Pretty much how I was taught when I took my driving classes.  I even take the time to back up and correct my parking job, ensuring adequate space on all four sides and hopefully reducing the stress of my parking neighbors.

It was on August 3rd, 2010 that I found people weren’t nearly as fastidious as I. Next to my undoubtedly pristine and dare I say admirable parking job was an abomination. The  person to my left had pretty much disregarded all parking rules, regulations, societal mores and values.  They pretty much whipped in their spot, most assuredly missing my car by ‘that’ much’ and left it as was.

Based on the car, the expressions of undying love plastered all over their windows (in what appears to be pink lipstick), I assume the driver was deep in thought, entertaining various philosophical, ideological, poetical and political thoughts and/or ideas. OR, they were busy yapping on their freakin’ cell phone, texting the BFF’s or sexting their BF’s/GF’s , and generally holding in complete disdain the aforementioned acceptable rules/regulations/mores/etc of parking.

The 1000 words:

Thank for your time, as you were, and please, leave the driving to those who can.


Jackasses du jour: Truck Drivers

I would like the world to know that truck drivers are jackasses. This one in particular was especially jackassy.

On our way home, as my mom and I followed behind my brother, we watched as a semi driver to our right attempted to merge into our lane, while my brother was right beside him. We tried to pass but he cut us off. I gave him a good honking.

When we were finally able to pass him, we saw he was about a foot away from my brother’s back bumper, flashing his lights. My brother, smartass that he is, slowed down, but was still going the speed limit.

At about the time my mom and I were almost in front of him, the truck driver finally gave up and backed off. Immediately my brother’s window rolled down and a stiff middle finger was thrust out. As we passed him, the jackass flipped him off, too. I yelled at him and gave him my own rude gestures as we passed by… Then wrote down his truck number and the company. Rest assured, I will be contacting this company and loudly bitching about the jackass they hired who almost ran my brother off the road. What a f’ing jerk!

bitch bitch bitch and bitch some more

Writers are always looking for inspiration. In my case, my inspiration for the Bitch Blog was inspired one hot and muggy July afternoon. One frustrating retail event that left me metaphorically steaming (I was already literally steaming, as the heat index was hovering somewhere around 105 degrees) provided the spark. On my drive home, I stewed over what had happened. Then I realized something: In the grand scheme of things, it was a relatively minor event. So why should I let it ruin my mood?

Of course, that’s often easier said than done. If you’re like me, you find it easier to forget about the things that put a crimp in your mood after you’ve had a chance to vent. So that’s what the Bitch Blog is all about. Catharsis, purging, venting, getting everything off your chest — so that you feel better when you’re done and can continue on with your day in a better mood… And everyone who stumbles upon this blog can commiserate with you. Misery loves company, right?

So with that, I invite anyone who has something to bitch about to contribute to this blog. Got something to get off your chest immediately? Email me your story for posting here! Or, do you find yourself needing to bitch more frequently, simply because you seem to be surrounded by idiots despite your efforts to avoid them? Then become a contributing blogger! Find out more on the “Contributors” tab.

Bitchily yours,