Welcome back to the definitive list of terrible people that I met during my time in hospitality. If you missed Part One, make sure to catch up on the finalists ranked from 10 to 5 HERE.
Full disclosure, I feel like Part One was considerably more jovial than this is going to be.
This lot truly are something else.
Kicking us off at 4:
The Guilt Trip
This women we will call Karen. Because she is an actual piece of shit and in my opinion deserving of the moniker. The only reason why I'm not putting her higher because I am kind of giving her the benefit of the doubt, due to the fact i refuse to believe anyone can be this manipulative.
I actually documented this story in the one and only TikTok I ever made before I deleted my account for fear of Chinese spyware. Anyway.
My best mate Anna, another host, was serving the ice cream for the busy Saturday lunchtime shift. A former dancer, with cropped blonde hair and a northern no bullshit attitude. I loved it when a host was serving ice cream because we were then right next to each other and could chat when things were slow.
The queue for ice cream was getting shorter and Anna was coming to the last of the long line, when Karen and a girl of about 9 years old came into the restaurant.
'Excuse me, can she get an ice cream?'
Karen's grip was firmly on the girl's arm.
Anna apologised and gave her the spiel about how you have to eat a meal in order to get it. Before you start thinking how harsh it is not to give a little girl ice cream, let me give some context. On a lunchtime, ESPECIALLY Saturday, there are literally hundreds of parents that come in and plead for free ice cream for their kids. I had no patience for this for 5 reasons.
1) Don't be cheap, buy your kids and ice cream from next door. Covent Garden is literally the home of Ice Cream.
2) If we gave one to every child it would be so much ice cream that it would probably end up coming out of my wages.
3) Word spreads fast. You do it once, and you open a can of 'Oh but you did it LAST time!'
4) I'm a cold bitch, obviously.
and 5) We actually do give free Ice Cream every now and again. But it is at our discretion and certainly not when a Karen cuts the queue.
Anna had barely got to the end of her speech when Karen pipes up -
'Look, her Dad has just died of Cancer. So give her an Ice Cream.'
My jaw dropped. Anna and I shot a look at each other. Both of us, in fact, have lost our Dad's to cancer too. Myself at 16, and Anna even younger, at 9.
Anna ignored Karen and addressed the little girl.
'Do you want one?'
She shrugged.
Anna looked back at Karen.
'Look, of course I'm going to give her an Ice Cream. But from someone who also lost her Dad at a young age, I find the level of emotional manipulation coming out of your mouth incredibly inappropriate. Please leave.'
She might as well have done a death drop on the floor. A top class retort from Anna, as always. We vowed to each other that we would tell a (deserving) customer to fuck off on our last day but never did it. Shame really.
Taking the Bronze at 3:
The Parrot
Ooooooh baby, this is my absolute FAVOURITE story to retell over a bottle of wine, and it is the one I am always asked to re-enact, even though we have all heard it 1000 times. It truly never gets old.
There comes a point in the winter where, due to the cold weather, we need to keep the large ornate front doors closed during the evening shift. This often meant that one host had to stand alone outside wrapped in a big coat and scarf, clutching an Ipad for the waiting list. The other hosts would bring you hot drinks and check up on you every now and again by peering through the letter box. I almost always didn't mind doing this job, as it was a welcome break away from the chaos of inside and you got to look at the pretty Covent Garden Christmas lights. A win win.
NOT TONIGHT.
Enter.... let's call her.... Susannah.
Susannah was a woman in her mid thirties, wrapped in a grey coat and blue hat. She chose to ignore the queue (notice a pattern here?) and cut in front of a couple who had been waiting patiently to put their details down with me for a table later on tonight.
It all happened so fast.
'How long?'
'Good evening.'
'How long?'
My tone immediately matches hers.
'2 hours.'
The couple behind her are burning holes in her back.
'You are FUCKING joking.'
'Fraid not. If you want to put your name down, you need to join the queue.'
'Fuck that at 2 hours.' She starts to walk away and calls behind her 'I'm going to your Denmark Street branch.'
I call back - 'Okay then, bye'
She yells louder 'You've just lost a customer'
I yell back at her even louder. 'I literally could not care less.' I am definitely pushing my luck here.
I take a deep breath, and suddenly become hyper aware of the group of 8 or so customers queueing up in front of me. I quickly apologise, to which all of them quickly shake their heads at me and mumble 'unbelievable', 'that poor girl' and 'so bloody rude.' to each other.
Anyway, I carry on with my shift. I thank my lucky stars for every customer after Susannah, and go above and beyond for all of them. See? Not everyone is a dick. She's gone now, just a bad apple.
Then the phone rings.
'Liv... Denmark Street have rung. Apparently there's a lady kicking off about you and wants to make a complaint.'
My teeth clench. 'Did you take one?'
'Obviously not.'
I rest my head back on the door and take a deep breath, watching the hot air swirl upwards into the cold nights sky. As IF that just happened.
And then, in my peripheral vision... I see a blue hat.
The bitch was back. And she was resting her hip against the lamp post facing the restaurant, on the opposite side of the road.
'How long is it now?'
'2 and a half hours. But I'm not giving you a table.'
'I don't care. I'm just gonna wait here.'
At this point, a pang of anxiety shoots into my stomach. Usually, when we encountered difficult customers, we always had back up. We had each other. But the queue had dispersed, and the streets were emptying out. It was just me and Susannah.
I shake it off. I can handle her. If she drags me into the street, so be it. I've had a good run. I've got my keys in my pocket.
Just then, a couple approaches me. They ask how long it would be for a table, and I explain it is 2 and a half -
'Oooooooh! 2 and a half hours, oooooooh!'
I freeze. Is this bitch for real? Is she actually IMITATING me? I look back at the couple and continue our conversation.
'So if you just put your name down -'
'Ooooh, Put your name down, bla bla bla'
My hands grip tighter around the Ipad, and I manage to smile through the exchange. But as soon as the couple leave, I find myself shouting at a grown women across the street once more.
'Do you literally have NOWHERE else to go?'
She is now just making noises and flapping her arms around.
'Right, fuck this' - and I slam the door.
10 minutes later, I peek through the letterbox and she's gone, into the night like a banshee with a choppy bob. I must admit I did have one eye over my shoulder on my way home, however.
Despite being a first prize dick and being fully deserving of being on this list, Susannah has provided me a story that I've dined out on for years.
So I guess I'm weirdly grateful for her. The lunatic.
Grabbing the Silver at 2, solely down to how evil they were:
The Baby Food Brigade
This is the only story that doesn't take place at Flat Iron. Instead, we are walking 10 minutes down the road to Theatreland and Leicester Square. It is a few years earlier, and I am a waiter at Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, which you can read some background on HERE.
If you aren't familiar with London, or the West End, Covent Garden and Leicester Square are pretty much adjacent but have very different vibes. Your Mum and Dad would have some scallops in Covent Garden before their Lion King matinee, whereas your ex boyfriend from school and his mates would grab a KFC in Leicester Square before being sick down the stairs in M&M world.
The clientele was different, to say the least. Especially if you are working in a 420 seater movie memorabilia laden Shrimp Shack right above a famous Piccadilly nightclub.
It's a Saturday Night and we are full to the brim. A group of about 15 adults and perhaps 6 more kids have barged in past the hosts and have settled themselves at the bar. Lord and Lady Thug and their cronies are loudly shouting for beer over the counter, and ordering over £700 worth of steak and shrimp.
I look over (much greener as a waitress and therefore considerably less balls) and grimace. Plates were piled up high, shrimp tails scattered over the heaving bar, kids running around trying to rip fire extinguishers off walls. A baby crying. The Forest Gump film that was constantly on loop somehow getting louder.
All of a sudden, it kicks off.
'I'm not paying for this shit, are you joking?'
The manager, who has been stationed at the bar since they arrived, immediately steps in.
'What do you mean? You ate all of it.'
'It was fucking disgusting'
'I'm sorry to hear that, but if you had mentioned that then I could have replaced your meal. As it stands, you have eaten all your food.'
'What this then?'
Lord Thug grabs a small shard of glass from his plate.
We all fall silent. This is bad. The worst, in fact.
'You put glass in my baby's fucking food.'
'No we didn't.'
I look in horror at my manager, not breaking Lord Thug's gaze.
Oh good. We are all going to die today.
'You calling me a liar?'
'Yes.'
You know the rest. A fight breaks out. Police are called.
We watch CCTV later and SHOCKINGLY find... Lord Thuggery of Dickville putting the glass in his own baby's food. Who saw that coming?? Bigger twist than The Omen.
Now... first place is complicated. So I am breaking the tiara in two and throwing it into the audience. Our First Alternate is... who else?
Lily.
This bitch deserved her own blog. Read it HERE.
Most would argue that she should be number one, due to the sheer audacity.
But no. Despite the what the title of Lily's blog may lead you to believe, someone just about snatches her crown and title of: The Worst Customer Ever.
Brace yourselves.
And the Oscar goes to... at Number 1:
Stevie.
You may have noticed that I have not even tried to change the names of number 1 and 2, the reason being I honestly don't give a fuck about protecting their identity. Some people just simply do not deserve it.
Stevie was known in the area. Mid 50's, blue beanie and straggly ponytail that ran down his back. I was warned of him previously as he had caused some trouble on a night I was off work.
He was drinking at the bar and when Omar, the bartender, suggested he had had enough alcohol, he threatened to follow him home and stab him. So, naturally, he was forcibly removed from the restaurant and barred for life.
But on this one fateful night, when I had my back turned, Stabby Stevie managed to slither past and sneak into the bar.
Once I had clocked the rat tail hanging down his back, my manager advised me that it was best just to leave him and keep an eye - any confrontation could turn violent and in a full bar, that was to be avoided at all costs.
He kept his head down for about half an hour. Nursing an Old Fashioned and every now and then making a random and unwanted comment to the people either side of him. I kept an eye on the bartenders just in case shit went down, but maybe he was a just a drunk weirdo who had nowhere else to go.
But alas, no.
Lottie, one of my best friends ever and a main character in the Lily Blog, usually worked as a host with me. However tonight we were understaffed, and she had whacked an apron on to join the floor team. On her way past the bar towards me, tray in hand, long ponytail swishing in the air, undoubtedly coming to have a chat and have a break running plates to the hot kitchen, walked past Stevie.
Without missing a beat, Stevie leant back on his wooden stool, and with one fell swoop, grabbed Lottie's vagina.
Now something to note here is that Lottie is currently doing her masters in order to become a therapist. She has the patience of a saint and never... EVER loses her temper. On the rare occasion she would run and cry in the toilet, we knew she would have dealt with a right arsehole. So true to form, she twisted her hips away from him and lifted her chin to face him.
'Did you just grab my crotch, sir?'
Stevie has his head down, a slight gruff noise coming out.
'Why did you do that?'
No answer. Customers either side had started to turn in wonder, looking in horror at Stevie then back at Lottie.
'Do you think that was appropriate?'
By this time, Sam (another protagonist from the Lily Story) and I had run over, apoplectic with rage. I don't really remember what I said, but Sam was now asking to him leave.
'Fuck off, I'm not moving.'
I take Lottie to one side, to make sure she is okay. She just shrugs but I can tell that she is putting on a brave face.
'If you don't move, I will call the Police.'
'Do it then.'
After more coercion and a few larger men joining Sam for back up, Stevie leaves. Not for long though, when later on he tries to come back in for 'one last drink'.
Only to be met with Sam and I physically shutting the door on his face.
Here's some faces to put the names to in these stories.
Lottie
Sam
Anna
So, that's that. I will probably lie in bed tonight and think DAMN! Missed that story. So there may well be more of these tales in the future.
As stated before, these blogs are honestly my love letters to hospitality staff, especially during the current climate where so many jobs are in jeopardy and service workers are often being stretched to the absolute limit in order to be as COVID compliant as possible.
This too shall pass, and we will back in sweaty bars, having scallops in Covent Garden and being sick down the M&M world steps once more.
Stay safe and have a lovely Christmas period, whatever form it might take.
Ps. Lottie still works at Covent Garden Flat Iron, and has done for over 5 years. Next time you go past, give her a cheery wave. She bloody deserves it. They all do.
Liv
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