Party of Walrus? We Can Get You Seated.

I'm pretty sure 90% of the customers that come into our restaurant should get a tattoo on their foreheads that just says "I fucking suck, expect nothing."  We need some sort of disclaimer.  An immediate way to tell these people apart from normal humans, if you will.

I don't fucking understand you people.

I don't understand how you've come so far in life, with such little to support you.

Darwin's theory of evolution should have fucked you long ago.  Pretty sure something is wrong with the cosmos and way too many of you are flying under the radar.  Essentially, you are the appendix of the human race.

Today, a woman walked oozed into the restaurant.  The conversation went as follows.

Walrus: "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY.  I'M ERIKA."

That's nice Erika.  Your present is that I already hate you and it's only been two seconds into our interaction.  Happy Birthday.

Me: "Is it still going to be for 8 people?"

Walrus: "It's actually going to be 10-12.  And it's my birthday.  So it needs to be good."

Me:  "I see you requested our red room, which only seats 8.  I can check and see if we can get 10 in there, give me a few minutes."

Note still the blatant disregard for her birthday.  We're all born.  I don't give a fuck when you were.

Walrus: "Where can I smoke?"

Me: "Not inside."

Walrus: "So... outside."

Typically, that's where smoking works best.  Way to solve the riddle.

Now, while Walrus woman is outside smoking with her deep sea creature friends, we decide that the red room, a private room for 8, could not possibly fit her and her friends.  In fact, the table itself probably wouldn't have been big enough to accommodate her, let alone the rest of her fleet.  So I politely let her know.

But first I sit 8 people in the room that she wants.
Just to spice things up a bit.
When you want to sit somewhere specific, don't be a fuckbox to the person that will be seating you.

Of course when I let her know, her reaction is unreal.
Moby Dick ain't got shit on Erika.

Walrus: "SOMEBODY GONNA LOSE HER JOB.   THAT WAS RUDE.  YOU SAT THEM THERE WE WANT THAT ROOM EVEN THOUGH WE'RE GONNA BE 10 OR MORE PEOPLE.  FIX IT.  IT NEEDS TO BE FIXED.  I WANT BIRTHDAY SHOTS ON THE HOUSE.  LET ME TALK TO THE MANAGER.  THAT WAS WRONG."

Me: "Ma'am.  I'm so sorry, but 10 people will not fit in that room."

This is where I suggest about four other options.
None of those will do.  Obviously.

Walrus: "SOMEBODY GONNA LOSE HER JOB.  I'M A GENERAL MANAGER OF A RESTAURANT.  SOMEBODY GONNA LOSE HER JOB."

She needs to see a supervisor.  Immediately.
Because I need to lose my job.
Because she has no concept of numbers or space or the combined weight of the people in her party.

So after explaining to the dining room supervisor the "situation" she says her "deliciousness" (AND I SHIT YOU NOT SHE REFERRED TO HER BODY AS DELICIOUSNESS) wouldn't fit at the other suggested areas (NO FUCKING SHIT) so we would have to move the party of 8 that is ALREADY FUCKING SAT out into another room.

"Offer them some calamari on the house or something because they need to MOVE."

We move the party of 8 out.
To a different private area.
And coddle their balls a little for the inconvenience.
And Erika gets the room. Because at this point shut up.  We already hate you.  Just sit down, eat, and get the fuck out.

Her party of 10 turns into 13.
13 people.
In a room for 8.
More might be coming.

The moral of this story is if you're wrong and stupid and suck the life out of people you'll eventually get what you want?

Just fuck off.