Not only was my day just awful, we were running a skeleton crew with only one bartender on a horribly busy friday night.
Then this table walks in.
Here's an actual chronological account of what happened.
Customer: [snaps fingers]
Customer while I'm talking to another table: "EXCUSE ME LADY"
While taking drink orders from another table: "HEY, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?"
A silent apologetic stare from my eyes to my table I am talking to. I should have assumed a woman of her class wouldn't know that margaritas at our establishment are made from fresh pressed juice, which tends to have a bit more pulp than from a corn syrup-laden Jose Cuervo margarita mix. She didn't know what pulp was.
Customer: "Where the hell is my food?"
Customer: "KATRINA? WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"
Me: "It's Kayleena---"
Table members laugh, one says, "She said Kayleena."
Customer: "Well, KATRINA [snickers] I need you to get me another margarita [spins fingers in my face]
Customer: LADY, 8 SHOTS OF TOP SHELF TEQUILA.
Me: [lists topshelf]
Customer: "You don't have Sauza?"
Me: "That's our well tequila."
Customer: "CAZADORES THEN."
$212.85 bill. $7.15 tip. Name scratched out. Signed "Daft Punk"
Please tell me why I am still a server, give me all the pros of your jobs please I'm dying D:!!!!