Saturday, 20 April 2013

Customer Review: Miss Piggy's Older Sisters


You better hope these two bitches aren’t coming to any of your family BBQs.
Starring: Miss Piggy #1 (P1) and Miss Piggy #2 (P2), and waitress A.
Scene: Two of twenty guests at a sit-down Christmas function, these two women have eagerly ordered a bottle of (the cheapest) sparkling to kick things off.
P1: *tasting sparkling* Ooh, that’s not very nice at all!
P2: Ooh, you’re right. It’s awful!
A: I’m sorry – would you like to select something else from the wine list?
P1: No it’s fine, we’ll drink it.
P2: Just aaawful!
Before she got her big break on The Muppet Show, Miss Piggy practised her musical acts for her two lesser-known older sisters, who attended a Christmas function at my place of work last December. Things started off swimmingly, as you can see from above excerpt. But the best was yet to come!
As the time came for me to take everybody’s orders, I found myself stuck between the middle-aged Miss Piggies for a painfully long period, fielding questions like what is rillette, is that cold, why, what is parfait, is that cold, why, what is ceviche, is that cold, why, and finally, what was vegetarian.
“I’m vegetiiiiirian,” Miss Piggy #1 snapped, “Vegetiiii-
“Yes, ok,” I interrupted, wondering why the fuck she was asking idiot questions about dishes prefaced with non-vegetarian words like duck and chicken, “well, this and this is vegetarian.”
The set menu had four entrées and four mains to choose from, each section containing one vegetarian option. Limited? Sure. Will you die? As much as I dare to dream, no. So I pointed to the grand total of one vegetarian entrée and one vegetarian main, stopping to explain ratatouille, and wondering if I’d have to do the same with “mushroom risotto”. Instead, P1 jumped on the word mushroom.
“I really hate mushrooms,” P1 spat, looking at me expectantly.
This is why it pays to be nice to the waiter. Had it been a more polite guest, I would have rushed to accommodate a last-minute preference at set-menu function. But when confronted with an obnoxious stank-faced harpy whose sole reason for existing seems to be to waste my time, I tend to change my tune. Why the fuck should I go out of my way, when you won’t give me basic respect in return? You’re not paying the bill – your company is. You’re not going to tip – your host might. You’re not even bothering to speak to me in a civil tone, whereas that nice couple on Table 7 is, and I’d much rather be spending my time accommodating them. I don’t expect you would waste your time pandering to a rude bitch, and so, neither will I.
“Oh dear,” I responded, wondering if a vegetarian who hated mushrooms was committing some form of hate crime. P1 furiously waited for me to gush and apologise and swamp her with sincere offers of delicious vegetarian alternatives for her and her only. I blinked. After an awkward silence, P1 huffed and waved me away in that method so favoured amongst imbecilic customers (“Could you start with that side of the table?” *waves in random direction, unaware that everybody else has ordered*).
Eventually the ordeal of order-taking was over, and we were back to serving the drinks. P1 and P2 expressed constant shock and disgust that the bottom-of-the-barrel cheap shit they insisted on drinking was somewhat unsatisfactory to their refined palates.  Our constant offers to replace the offending sparkling were spurned, as the brave Miss Piggies vowed they would endure the “awful” wine… loudly and attention-seekingly like true Australian martyrs. My colleague eventually just gave up topping up their wine glasses in face of the invariable “This is just aaaaaawful” whenever she did so. Perhaps we should have bottled their cheap wine as a complimentary little eau de fragrance instead, so P1 and P2 could smell as awful as their personalities.
If that wasn’t bad enough, their hysteria appeared to be contagious as another woman chimed in and claimed her glass of merlot was definitely “corked”. I could barely contain myself when I showed her the screw-top bottle from whence it came.
Entrées arrived, and the two Miss Piggies perked up. As I walked away, I heard that all-too-familiar screech of P2. “It’s cold!”she squealed, apparently having tuned out when I was painstakingly informing her of this fact.
As we all know, there is no such thing as cold food, ever, and there is certainly no such thing as cold entrée dishes ideal for group functions. Understandably, P1 and P2 exchanged pearl clutches over their cold dishes, and started searching their handbags for some nice hot Chiko rolls.
The cold entrées were not forgiven come mains, either. As I brought a male guest his main course, Miss Piggy #2 hooted across the table, “Is ya food warm?” before rolling back in her chair guffawing. Clearly unimpressed with P2’s boiled-egg-sharp wit, the gentleman rolled his eyes and awkwardly thanked me.
The light at the end of the tunnel came in form of the company organiser/boss, who arrived after having been held up at a meeting, right as the guests were leaving. He was grey and weary, and politely declined our offers of a glass of wine or late meal. His slumped shoulders suggested he clearly wanted to be at home in his striped pyjamas rather than catching the end of the office Christmas party, and he smiled and thanked us before doing the rounds. The more gracious guests thanked him, assured him the function ran smoothly despite his unfortunate absence, and passed on their warmest Christmas greetings. Miss Piggy #1 and #2 pounced as their turn came.
“The service was good, and the drinks were okay,” P1 reported.
“But the food was” P2 began threateningly, before spying me and lowering her tone. The two women plastered fake thin smiles to their faces as I walked past, and I countered with one of my own. The hospo kid knows this silence all too well: the gap where the customer is waiting for you to leave earshot because they want to say something thoroughly rude. Whether it was a last-ditch attempt at having manners, or a piggy self-preservation thing, you be the judge. All I knew was that the Piggies would be gone soon, and were now the problem of their harried boss.
But let’s end this review on a positive side! These two odious women provided us with our favourite new workplace amusement: quoting “This is just aaaawful! Just aaaaawful!” in the worst, most nasal Australian accent before dissolving into hysterical laughter. It is evidence that in the darkest times, there can be rays of hope, so for that I sincerely thank you Miss Piggy #1 and #2. We hospo kids get bored, you see.
Customer Score
Presentation: 0/5.  Do you know why you should always dress for your age and the occasion? Because often there are other people in the vicinity trying to eat. That means nobody wants to see your leathery old tits at the dinner table, ladies. Spicing them up with a red bra doesn’t help either.
Intelligence: 2/5. I give them each a point for being able to communicate after so obviously being dropped on their faces as children.
Behaviour: 0/5. I’m always disappointed when somebody thirty years older than me hasn’t mastered basic etiquette. Shrill whining and repeatedly calling food and beverages “just aaaawful” as you guzzle them down are not acceptable modes of conduct for guests, and grown women at that. I have a feeling that if two women carried on like that at your dinner party, P1 and P2, you’d be venting your spleen via passive-aggressive Facebook updates the very next morning.
Value: 0/5. They weren’t footing the bill, they’re not coming back (please God), and they sure as hell didn’t tip.
Experience: 0/5. Just aaaawful.
Total Score: 2 tickets to South Morang out of 25. Nearly put me off bacon. Nearly.
0-5 complete waste of human organs 6-10 a distinct displeasure 11-12 what a turdburger 13-14 customer could accomplish something with more manners 15-16 a few mildly tolerable hiccups 17-18 staff could handle as a regular 19-20 a pleasure 21-25 the ideal customer

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