Work was hell tonight. I have a violent pounding headache (so why am I on the internets and not in bed, clearly I am an idiot). I was rewarded at the end of my shift by a visit from the fabulous Miss D, a cute boy I know sporting a ridonkulous mustache (I believe he lost a bet with his father or something), and a table full of very cute boys who were all very charming. The universe gives and takes away. One table early in the night expressed shock that I could remember their order without writing it down (yes, three pies and one chicken sandwich, god, when I get to the point I can’t remember that, just kill me). I never write down orders and I rarely mess them up (which isn’t to say I don’t forget, but usually I realize it and go back and clarify with the customers). Is this a skill? I mean, it’s not rocket science, it’s just what good servers do, right? Another table was horrible to me, insisting I’d brought them the wrong beers. I didn’t. It would have been impossible, as we only have one IPA on draft and no other drafts that color that could be confused. Finally they decided that it must be bad batch (a local microbrew). Yes, it was bad and no one else noticed even though I probably served a hundred glasses of it tonight. Then when I tried to find a substitute beer for them, they started arguing about how the wife didn’t even like IPAs. So clearly she wasn’t going to like the beer she ordered. ARG. They proceeded to be rude and entitled in a variety of ways. Good thing the universe sent me all those cute boys at the end.