Darling Vik

Why Limit Yourself to Spit When There Are So Many Other Interesting Bodily Fluids

Friday, January 13, 2006

An Open Letter to My Customers

Dear Customer,

I fucking wish you people were forced to wear video recorders, so at the end of the day you could look at yourself, and see the kind of snotty, crappy, petty bullshit you pull every day. Maybe then you'd see that being a sarcastic jerk makes you look like ... well, a sarcastic jerk.

Ok, one guy in particular. This bastard is looking at the menu, and I am walking by carrying seven fucking plates of food. This prick tries to stop me, and when I ignore him and keep going (yeah, asshole, because when I'm carrying seven full fucking plates, thats the time to try and get my fucking attention) he calls me stupid.

Later, after I drop of the meals I come back to take his order. All the time, he's fucking talking reeaaalll slllooowwwwllllyyyy tooo meeee, lliiikkkkeee IIIII''mmmmm sommmmeeee kiiiinnnnnddd ooooofffff reeeettttaaaaaaarrrrd or some thing. When I take their order and turn to go, he whispers something to his girlfriend and she giggles behind my back like I'm a fucking joke there to make them laugh.

I wonder if that prick, during his $75.00 Blanquette de veau, ever stopped to wonder why his meal tasted so strongly of sweaty pork? Oh, probably because I kept your meat in my underwear, nestled up under my balls, for like five minutes while I walked around, filled your wine glasses, and laughed at your bullshit jokes.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Welcome

My name is Darling Vik, and I am a waiter.

If that sounds like a confession, then there is a reason for that. This blog is, in its way, a Confessional, wherein I plan on revealing why I refer to myself (at least, in my mind), as the worst waiter to piss off in New York City.

I used to be a good waiter. I became a waiter because I actually enjoy the job. The chatting, the people, the food, its all fun. Over the years, that love, that joie de vie, has been raped and pissed on by a succession of fat, self-indulgent, inconsiderate, rude, pathetic, mouth-breathing simpletons. People who are too important, to self-absorbed, or too stupid to bother with even a modicrum of patience or politeness.

Now, instead of loving my job, I hate it. So you might be asking yourself: Why doesn't he just quit? Well, you smug bastard, I've been doing this job, and only this job, for 10 years. I'm not qualified to do anything else. School isn't an option, there's no money for it. And besides, if I was all that good in school in the first place, I wouldn't have become a waiter, would I?

I am not a racist. Some people think I am, but I'm not. I have nothing against any religion, or the color of a person's skin. I just don't like people that aren't from this continent. Canadians are ok for the most part, even though they all sound like ignorant farmers (even the rich ones) and smell like ham. Mexicans are pretty annoying, but at least they're fun to laugh at.

Anyone not born in North America can kiss my ass. People from other countries are almost uniformally ignorant and rude. News flash for you there, Pierre (or Rudolph, or Achmed, or Ranier or Loosh or whatever your stupid foreign name is): No one in American gives a shit what the wine is like in your country, or how filet de Saint Pierreen Écaillede Truffe Noire is prepared in your country. You're in America now, so shut the fuck up.

I am going to post some of my day-to-day life here, describing what its like to work as a waiter when I would rather suffer from hideous open boils than speak to the common sewage that calls itself our client base. Maybe that will help me control the dreams.