crybaby; “and your little dog, too!”

sat 9 feb

this new chef is a bit of a crybaby drama queen. he’s been imported from the other, more sucky restaurant in Mill Valley. Sucky Mill Valley Restaurant is closing soon, because, well, it’s sucky.

Drama Queen Chef is accustomed to having maybe 3 tables total for the whole night. he’s a bit full of himself, and thinks he’s hot shit.

hi, reality check. you’re a cook. i don’t care if you think you’re a rockstar. you’re not. you’re a cook.

he freaked out tonight because he felt that plates weren’t going out timely. and food was sitting in the window for too long. so he called Owner Guy to complain to him. why didn’t he call me, the manager that night? yeah, the one who was in the kitchen at the time trying to expedite the whole food-running situation!

and why didn’t he call me? because he’s a fucking crybaby pussy.

i could go on about the details, but i don’t want to relive the stupid drama.

in other news, tonight, some guy tried to bring in his poodle into the restaurant. i informed him about health codes, etc. and only service dogs are allowed into the restaurant. etc. etc. blah-da-blah-da-blahblahblah.

he claims that the dog is actually a service dog, but her collar was stolen. (uh, helleau?? do people actually believe this crap!?!?)

a sob story ensued about how he’s meeting his lady friend at the bar, etc. etc.

i told him Dog can’t be in the restaurant. period.

then he leaves Dog outside for a moment, and goes into the bar to say hi to LadyFriend.

(Dog was very well-behaved during the whole scenario.)

and then leaves.

and then comes back a few minutes later. leaves Dog outside again.
goes inside to talk to LadyFriend.
LadyFriend (less than 5ft tall, stocky, harsh blunt haircut, too much makeup) trudges to the front. tries to convince me that Dog is indeed a Service Dog.

me: without her tags, i can’t have her in the restaurant.

LadyFriend: but she is a service dog. she just doesn’t have her tags. someone stole her collar.

me: okay, but without any documentation to prove otherwise, she’s just like any another dog. and i can’t have her in the restaurant.

LF: well, it’s against the law, because she is a service dog, and she’s allowed in any restaurant.

me: i’m sorry. i can’t have her in here without proper documentation.

LF: do you need a note? i can write a note. i’m a doctor. (i think she said a clinical psychiatrist)

me: nope.

and more back and forth. and back and forth. it was seemingly endless.
by the end, i still didn’t let Dog in, and she was so fucking pissed off !

like i’m gonna let some dog into the restaurant because she says it’s a service dog? and i should believe her?

and in the unlikely event that she actually was a service dog, she should know the deal, and wouldn’t be arguing with me in the first place.

honestly, if Dog were a labrador, or even had the proper harness, or vest, i’d be more likely to believe her.

this thing was a mid-size black poodle, with a regular leash.
uh. nice try lady. maybe it’ll work in Buttfuck, USA. but not on my clock.

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