I was the cocktail area closer the other night. Our signs all say we close at 9:30. My manager was walking to the door to lock it (right at 9:30. He is crazy punctual), when a trashy looking couple walks in. I was the last person on, so naturally it fell to me to serve them.
After greeting them, I told them “just so you know, our kitchen has been in the process of closing for a while now, so there might be some things that are unavailable, or that will take some time to make.” I expected them to order something quick and easy, like a pot pie.
Instead, I get this “Can I get a full rack of ribs with some fried shrimp, an order of croissants, a salad, a side of mashed potatoes, an order of onion rings (which by the way are hand breaded, fried, and then stacked 22 rings high), and a side of broccoli cheese casserole? And she’ll have the grilled chicken alfredo, a salad, and a side of corn.”
I finally left the restaurant at 11:30 (two hours after we close) after cleaning up their gigantic (mostly uneaten) mess. And the tip? Three dollars. On a $65 bill.
I love people. So. Fucking. Much.