Sixteen with Stilettos

Number of People in Party: 30…ish

Number of Birthday Princess’s: Oh…ONLY one.


Sunday is always a fun day. First, there are fewer servers than the weekend so that means bigger sections and more money. Secondly, we play live music so it draws in a crowd; mostly friends, family, and a bunch of regulars. Lastly, everyone comes to get drunk; and at my store that’s really when we make money. I had about a six table section, until a fourth of it with a table or two from another server’s section were smashed together for this party of “thirty-ish” people. (Side-note: NEVER go into a restaurant and give the host an “ish” after your party number, plan.) As the tables were being pulled together, I look outside through the front window and out of a white Escalade I see a flood of balloons pour out the side of this car, my hearts sank.

I immediately ran to the back of the store and smoked the fastest cigarette of my entire life. I knew I wouldn’t be getting another one of these for a hot minute and now was my last free breath of Sunday night. As I walked back in I passed the hostess, with her eyes closed, teeth clinching, and balled fists she muttered to me with a little attitude I must say, “there finally fu**ing sat”, she’s a sweetheart by the way.

Complete utter shock was my initial feeling when I looked at the table; the amount of decorations this mother bought to dress up our tables for her little princess was insurmountable. I mean table clothes, napkins, center pieces, plates, basically everything she would need to present and serve all the food minus the table. I scanned the table for the birthday girl to get her and her parents drinks first but it didn’t take me long. Sitting, at the end of this extremely long table of people, with parents on either side, sat a freshly LOUD sixteen year old. Before I could even ask her what she wanted to drink she was already shouting it to me, from across the entire table of 30 whatever people and their little conversations. It was a deafening squeal, which equated in my ears to nails on a chalk board. After I got her taken care of I put it in third gear, I was THAT server that made it a point to interrupt your conversation make sure I got your drink and just wanted to get it all handled fast and as painless as possible.

Getting the order was actually surprisingly easy; ha, the princess had this one pizza that was her favorite pizza. I too am actually am a big fan of this specialty pie but I just happen to like the ingredients. But because it was her birthday, and she wanted it her way her parents literally order seven large pizzas of the exact veggie pizza she liked. So if you liked anything else that sucked for you, because she wanted an infinite amount of slices of her fave. They didn’t even use the menus because half of the party was around 16 years old and the parents were assuming I guess they would eat anything.

I did this table right to be honest, I was fast and I didn’t spend a lot of time wandering around the table. If they needed something they got it and, then I was out to attend to other tables, and just get away from her. Her voice followed me around the entire restaurant, at every other table, at the expo line, at the drink station, I heard her everywhere. Then finally their food came up and I was elated, finally something to fill her mouth! But no, she instead used MY plan, and since everyone else starting eating they got quieter, perfect time for her to walk around the table and thank every person INDIVIDUALLY.

As she made her way around I was still trying to bring the last of the pizzas to the table. I’m setting the last pizza down and she is walking to the next person, and the next person , until the wipeout. She fell, but not just a fall, this girl little turned the wrong way and just plummeted to the ground. Unfortunately her four inch spiked stilettos were not made for beginners, and her wobbly birthdays self ate it. In my head I lost it, but she was literally four feet away and looked so ridiculously helpless I couldn’t walk away. I helped her up, and then looked at the table and shouted “look she’s still killin’ in those shoes” and they all laughed. I looked at her, and through her teary eyes she actually smiled right at me. I mouthed to her she looked fabulous, and exited, hoping the moment would too, for her sake. I’m not a saint, but it was her birthday, and from the heart of a Vogue obsessed server those shoes were magnificent, and this was their night too.