Heeeey!
Waitressss!
Come eeear! (That translates to “here” for those of you who don’t speak drunk.)

At the end of a long, exhausting night of cocktailing, the angry Jersey Waitress knows that one of two things is going to follow that inviting introduction.

Either the alcoholic at her table — who’s already broken two glasses, fallen into the pool table, and would have to think for a good long time to remember how to spell his own name — hasn’t had enough to drink and is ready to beg for one more shot (ten minutes after last call) or he’s struck out with every available girl at the bar and is now turning his attentions to the staff.

I have seen middle-aged men tell 20-year-old servers that they are FBI agents who will have the bar raided if they don’t accept their dinner invitations; ambitious lesbians pursue straight women even after being told that they are married, uninterested, and uncomfortable with even their own vagina; and 30-somethings stumble and cop cheap feels before asking for phone numbers.

My favorite, though, was a forty-something fisherman from Flordia. He was a big man, about 6’2” and shaped like Humpty Dumpty. Too big for a belt, his pants were held up by large, red suspenders that peaked out from beneath his flannel shirt. His hair (both facial and otherwise) was wild and uncombed, black and bushy. It was a bit like Dumbledore’s from the Harry Potter movies, only with dandruff.

And I’ll never forget his smile, as part of it wasn’t there. His front tooth was missing.

After a long night that consisted mostly of Yuengling, Jamesons, and rejection, he and his friend decided that they would go into the kitchen to a grab a snack long after we stopped serving food. After being ejected from the kitchen, the following conversation took place:

Humpty: I’m sorry if I got you in trouble by going into the kitchen. Can I take you to dinner some time to make up for it?
Me: Oh, no it’s not necessary. I’m not in trouble - just don’t do it again.
Humpty: Well even if you’re not in trouble, I’d still like to take you out. I’m living with my mom while I get divorced.
Me: Sorry to hear that but I’m – uh – sort of seeing someone and I wouldn’t feel comfortable going out with someone else.
Humpty: Sorta? That means he’s not your boyfriend. You’re probably a very nice girl not to run around on him like that – Not like my ex-wife! She stole my entire coin collection! Sold it! Used all the money to buy cigarettes.
Me: Oh. A whole coin collection to buy cigarettes? Terrible. I need to check on…

At this point, I clearly looked terrified. The bartender was looking on with a mixture of concern and amusement. He was probably expecting me to say something sassy and make an exit but Humpty had a $100 check and a $20 tip might’ve been nice on such a slow night. Also, I was too stunned by my suitor’s whiskey-infused stink-breath to come up with an exit strategy.

Humpty: Cigarettes are terrible things – cause a lot of problems. I hope you don’t smoke. I wouldn’t want to date another smoker, but I should tell you a little bit about me. I have a lot of money. That’s how I’m retired at such a young age. I’m a Cancer. It’s a water sign, because I’m a deep-sea fisherman. It means I’m family oriented. I don’t have kids but I’d like some.
Me: Okay. But I still need to check on that…
Humpty: Do you mind if I tell you a racist joke? Would that offend you?
Me: Probably…

I refuse to repeat the joke as it’s not only offensive but incredibly unfunny. Apparently, my suitor was not a fan of African-Americans, Jews or gays. That is all you need to know.

Me: I’ve never heard that one. I’m going to go check…
Humpty: Look, I know I’m not much to look at now that I’m missing the tooth. (Points out gaping hole in his mouth – as if I hadn’t already noticed and wasn’t fighting with every fiber of my being not to stare into it.)
Me: Oh you can barely tell…
Humpty: Well let me tell you how that happened. I was out fishing and I needed to tie off a knot in the line. So, I was tying it around my tooth, you see, and a giant marlin grabbed a hold of it and leapt through the water. It took my tooth with it. Here – I’ll show you…(reaches into front pocket).
Me: DON’T SHOW ME THE TOOTH!!!!

It turned out that Humpty wasn’t reaching for his tooth – but for a photo of himself before the great marlin accident. For those of you hoping he’d get the girl in the end, the snapshot didn’t change my opinion of him. I promptly ran away, printed out their check, and begged a male co-worker to bring it to them.

Getting hit on, man-handled, and asked out by a customer always puts the server between a rock and a hard place. If we respond to our customers with rudeness or rejection, we’re likely not to get tipped. If we play along, the harassment usually only increases and we still have no guarantee of an increased gratuity. Sure, there’s not a ton of money at stake. And yes, it’s not as severe of a situation as say, a stripper, might encounter. But there just aren’t enough showers in the world to make me feel clean after some intoxicated slob “accidentally” grazes my breastal area while I’m putting the next round of Jack Daniels on the table — and then hands me a dollar as if he’s handing me the world.

It is not only female staffers who put up with this kind of behavior, mind you. I have seen waiters of all ages, shapes and sizes slapped on the ass by old ladies who ask if they’re on the dessert menu. They feel equally, if not more, degraded and embarrassed (especially since it’s so much funnier to their co-workers).

Not every restaurant is a Hooters or a Chippendales. So, if you’re looking to get some extra attention from your wait staff, go there.

— by Jersey Waitress
The Jersey Waitress column is written by a real Jersey waitress who prefers anonymity. Got a story to share? Let us know...

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