Oof, I didn’t make it clear: we didn’t meet through my job! We met through a mutual friend (who, it must be confessed, I was kinda sorta dating until we met). We met socially, then went our separate ways; he broke up with his girlfriend, I made it clear to our mutual friend that I wasn’t interested in him romantically, and a couple of months later, he came into my restaurant and asked me out. I’d never have dated a customer, and he’d never have hit on a waitress.
actually, in Ohio a preacher said “I only give Jesus 10%, why should I give you more?”
Just so. When my mother in law was living with us, when her dementia first manifested, her doctor needed a stool sample. My wife was understandably squicked out by the thought of handling her mother’s feces, so it fell to me. Certainly wasn’t a pleasant experience, but it wasn’t horrible, and it needed to be done. So I did it.
Along the same lines, I’ve never understood those men who clutch their pearls and get all fluttery at the mention of menstruation, or the associated products, like tampons or pads. Yeah, it’s gross, like any other bodily fluid; but it’s something women’s bodies do, and it’s no worse than anything that comes out of your body, bucko.
Decades ago, when i worked as a nurse’s aide in a nursing home and had to toilet some of the old folks, more than once I had my hand shat upon as I was cleaning them. Yes, it was disgusting, but you do what you have to do – finish the cleanup, get the person back in the wheelchair, then scrub your hand and go on to the next task.
In his commencement address to the University of Western Australia (available on YouTube and well worth listening to), Tim Minchin said that he’s more than once decided whether he’d work with a particular director or producer based on how they treated the waitstaff at a restaurant.
Years ago, when I was in college and perpetually lonely and horny, my roommate and I sent away for one of those cheesy “How To Pick Up Girls” books. And even that proto-PUA manual answered the question, “How do I hit on the hot bartender/ waitress?” with “You don’t. She’s working.”
Sounds like a preacher who should be sent to do a stint washing waitresses’ feet. WWJD, indeed!
I found that slipping it under my plate worked.
Even when we told my mom she needed to tip, she’d get out her calculator and work on figuring out “what’s 15% of the pre-tax total.” That meant I only had to slip the server a couple of bucks.
Years ago…there was a near-by apt complex where most of the cousins did time had their first on-their-own apt. We’d all pitch in to help some cousin move in/out & then go across the street to the neighborhood Denny’s where the movee would treat us for our cheap labor. This was back in the very early days of computer printed bills instead of handwritten ones. Of course, Denny’s famous item is a(n all day) breakfast combo called the “Grand Slam” The bill comes & there’s a line on it “1 Slam…$x.xx”
“Great, I got slammed at Denny’s” comment turned into our not-so-polite nickname for them.
Jesus gets 10% of everything the guy makes (I presume). The wait person only gets a percentage of the cost of the meal.
ETA: the waiter or waitress also has more living expenses than Jesus.
A friend of mine in college called it the Slam Dunk breakfast.
Like this? 
Yeah, dude: if you want to tip 10% of your income, knock yourself out.
“I’m not worthy of such a comparison to our Lord and Savior. Please only give me one per cent of your income.”
Can you tell us the name using asterisks and other symbols?
In my early twenties, I worked for a local pizza chain. It was a great company to work for with one glaring exception: free spaghetti for kids under five. Obviously, TPB had never worked in a restaurant or had kids.
It was a small bowl of spaghetti with a piece of garlic bread a parent usually ate. That spaghetti ended up everywhere. There were a lot of conscientious parents who cleaned up after their kids, but some did not. Another poor decision was to carpet the dining area. I don’t know how many hours I spent on my knees picking up cold spaghetti piece by piece. There were also parents who intentionally ground it into the carpet as they were leaving.
Fun times.
That’s great! But I personally wouldn’t darken the door of a presumably fundamentalist church like this, not for a service, anyway.
(I’m mainstream Protestant.)
I never minded whatever passed for being hit on when I waitressed. What I DID mind was elderly men who always had to point out, repeatedly, that I’m left handed, as if I hadn’t already known this.
I worked graveyards at a coffee shop when I was a dewy young thing, so I did have some very obnoxious drunks hitting on me during bar run. I could generally handle it when it was verbal, but they’d often try grabbing my hands (or occasionally other body parts). The one time someone really scared me was a guy who grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let go of me. The kitchen had a pass-through that was open to the restaurant, and our wildest cook was on that night. He saw what was happening, leaped over the counter with a chef’s knife in his hand, and chased that guy all the way out of the parking lot.
Is there any other kind on graves?
Glad he had your back.
I have a coworker who worked a second job for a little while at a local general store-themed chain restaurant. She said her favorite customers were the older gentlemen who came in with their wives; she would lay on the charm extra heavy – borderline flirtatious, even – and would nearly always receive very generous tips. (Some of the wives didn’t quite realize what was going on, and assumed that the flirty young waitress really was trying to steal her man – and, per my coworker, there was nothing they could do besides sit there and look livid, since hubby was paying the bill.)