So I’m going to try and record events that stick out in my mind as the day goes by.

It’s 12:45pm, lunchtime, and four black women come in. Even though they were not in their usual prison guard uniforms, I instantly recognized two of them and wanted to run. The last time I was here, they came every other day, always ordering to-go, always in a rush, always having that very intimidating demeanor about them, never smiling.

However today, they were dressed up, probably going to the strip mall or somewhere lame like that, and I thought, “Maybe they won’t be as intimidating since they’re not working today…”

Wrong.

“Get me some fried pickles and boudin balls, says the head scary woman.
“Yes ma’am.” I don’t even bother to smile. I used to smile and try to loosen them up, but after many failed attempts, every time they come in my face just goes from :) to >:(
Her friend jumps in, “Ain’t you gonna get me some boudin balls too?
“I didn’t know you wanted any. Did you want something?”
“Yeah get me some fried pickles and boudin balls.”
“Another order.”
Second head bitch says to another woman who was looking through the menu, “Did you want anything?”
The woman shakes her head.
“Then why did you come here if you weren’t gonna get nothin’?” She scoffs.

I hand the ticket over to Jessica and tell her to put it up in the back. I went over to the left to close an open cooler door when the head bitch asks me, “Do you know how long it’s gonna take ma’am?”

“About 15 minutes.” She nods in approval.
“Put them in separate bags.”
Okay not surprising. Usually they tell us to wrap it in saran wrap or something stupid because they can’t bring closed containers into the prison. We usually try our best but they always end up taking it out and making a mess all over our tables before they leave. That would always irritate me. We’re not responsible for what your workplace food policies are. Buy your own shit, package it yourself. I hate how people treat us like we’re their mothers, doing every little thing for them because they think they have the right.

So ten minutes pass by, and I’m in the kitchen packaging their food, waiting for the boudin balls to be done cooking. Jessica comes in and says, “Hey is their food ready? They say they have to go, they’re in a hurry.”

“What? I told them 15 minutes.” The cook and I looked at each other.
“Just give it to them. If the boudin balls aren’t completely cooked through, that’s their fault. I told them 15 minutes. This isn’t a fast food restaurant.”
So we package it and give it to them. Not even a thank you.

So the lesson. Don’t rush the cooks. If you don’t have time or patience to come into a restaurant and wait for the food to be cooked completely, don’t order at all! And don’t be sooo fucking angry looking all the time. >:O