Bitch Juice

I’ve long since discovered that when it comes to the service industry there is no solidarity in womanhood. Sure, we’ll pass toilet paper to each other underneath a bathroom stall, but once you’re the one delivering her cosmos all bets are off. There are a number of ways to tell if you’re serving the type of women who will regard your presence like you are a dog that has shit in a particularly expensive pair of her shoes. They are as follows:

1.      She orders chardonnay.

2.      She waves her glass around when it’s empty.

3.      She intends to make up her own order for dinner, complete with a typed ingredient list.

4.      She wants to speak with the hostess. She doesn’t care that you don’t have hostesses. She will wait until you get one.

5.      You attempted to tell her that he skirt was tucked into her pantyhose and now she has decided that you’re the one who tucked it there.

6.      Your uniform makes you look like someone parading around as a schoolgirl.

7.      Her husband left her for someone parading around like a schoolgirl.

8.      You could hear her jewelry from down the street (naturally, this gave you enough time to draw straws with the other servers to see who would have to deal with her).

9.      She pulls your hair when you’re speaking to the table behind hers to get your attention.

10.  You had to cut her off as soon as she got here and she is not taking it well.

11.  She threw up in the doorway of the pub as soon as she got here.

12.  She is mad that the bartender won’t give her his number.

13.  She is mad that the bartender is married.