Part II: The Customers (a.k.a. The Crazies)

We all love a good buffet now and again, don't we? Honestly, I do. We all know how much I like to eat, so even after working at Old Country Buffet for 4 years, I haven't been permanently scarred. Granted, I visit a buffet about once every 2 years at this point, but when I do, I get very excited at the prospect of piling several totally unrelated food items on my plate at once. Things I would NEVER order in a normal restaurant. Fried chicken leg? Check. Pudding? Yes siree. Fried okra? Why not? Fried clams? Bring it on. (Wait, one of these things does not look like the others. Quick - someone fry the pudding!)

However...can you imagine going to a buffet every Tuesday and Thursday and sitting there from open to close?

Well, that's what Tommy did.

Tommy was a nice old man who would come to OCB and sit at the same table each Tuesday and Thursday from 11 am until 8:30 pm. His brother, also in his retirement years, would come in to sit with him for several hours, and sometimes another friend would eat with them as well. Tommy would eat little bits throughout the day, and the rest of the time he'd stare out the window or chat with the workers or other regular customers. Tommy prided himself in knowing every detail of our lives (or so he thought) and being the bearer of gossip to anyone who had just started their shift and wasn't fully up-to-date. ("Two busloads of senior citizens came in this morning!" Very important to know.) Tommy was a very nice guy and although you couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him, he definitely made lots of friends with his predictable routine. More so than he would've if he'd just stayed home, so I say, good for him.

Others, however, did not elicit as much sympathy from me.

What are you bound to get when you introduce unlimited amounts of food to the general public? Barfers. Luckily, this was not a regular part of the job for us, but when it did happen, it was The Worst Possible Thing That Could Ever Happen. I won't even go into it because for all I know, you're eating your lunch right now. But let it just suffice to say that I had a good healthy gag every now and again.

We had a lot of regulars (like Tommy) but the most memorable to me were The Gym Guys. (In doing some research this morning, I found that ironically enough, OCB also stands for Organization of Competitive Bodybuilders. I would guess that site gets an entirely different crowd than those searching for Buffets, Inc.) These guys owned a gym not too far away from the restaurant and would visit several times a week to clean us out of chicken. (Baked, not fried...Shaken, not stirred.)

One of those guys was Bob Chicherillo. He was this massively huge guy whom rumor had it once broke a woman's hip bones by doing the vertical mambo with her. (Warning: Do not click on his so-called personal website link because it's no longer in service and you'll end up with 87 pop-ups and messages asking if you want to make BigGreasyBeefCakes.com your home page. Or something like that, anyway.)

Bob was in a GNC ad that I saw in our local mall and then last year I was watching the Ben Stiller "Dodgeball" movie and lo and behold, there he was! Very weird.

Of course, Sundays were the worst days at OCB. The church crowds would come in huge groups and get pissed (how un-Christian!) that we couldn't seat them right away. "No tables available for 35 people? What kind of establishment is this?!? I thought the sign outside said 'OFFICIAL AFTER-CHURCH EATING PLACE.' How could you not be prepared for us?? You're all going to hell!"

And then of course, they'd be so wrapped up in their conversations that they wouldn't watch their children who would be wreaking havoc throughout the restaurant. The kids would be in the bathrooms taking ungodly amounts of paper towels and throwing them into the air like manna falling from heaven. They'd be up at the drink bar, touching the lemon wedges or making the world's grossest drink concoctions that would never reach anyone's lips - because, hey! Newsflash! Pepper in your Coke does not make Dr. Pepper, people. Or most horrifyingly, the kids would circle around the dessert bar, their germy little mouths breathing all over the sweets as their midget-like heights rendered the sneeze-guard useless. Their grubby little hands would touch 5 different cookies before deciding on The Perfect Cookie or occasionally, their snotty little fingers would poke right into a square of cheesecake. On more than one occasion I was forced to chop a child's hand off, much to the dismay of his or her parents. (Oh wait, that was just a fantastic recurring dream I had.)

Naturally, these large parties would also be too engrossed in their conversations to notice me slaving over their mess. And you know what that means? If the customer doesn't notice the staff in a buffet restaurant working hard for them (unlike in a fine dining restaurant where you WANT your server to be as unobtrusive as possible), the staff will not get a tip. (At OCB you pay when you walk in, so there's no chance to add tip to the bill.)

"What's that? We had someone servicing our table that whole time? Oh, I thought the plates had just vanished into thin air and that water Bob spilled had magically evaporated in 30 seconds! Oh well." I mean, that's what I was paid to do, so too bad, right?

Well, sometimes yes. I understand that tipping is totally out of control these days and I completely understand that mindset. I complain about it, too. Everyone and their goddamn brother expects a tip. I even feel guilty when I go to pick up my Chinese food order and I don't tip them. And then I'm like, "Wait a minute. I am picking up my OWN FOOD. NO TIP FOR YOU!" (I mean, you don't tip the people at Subway or Quiznos for making your sandwich, do you?) But hey, if I had to just clean up your kid's PUKE and you just say "Too bad. It's your JOB." ?!? Well, no, that is not in my job description.

The worst interaction I ever had with a customer was in the last year I worked there. This family was sitting in a booth by the window and each time I came over and offered to take some of their plates away, they refused. The plates piled up and were even up on the windowsill - it was fucking ridiculous. They stayed until we'd closed and aside from one other couple, were the last customers in the restaurant.

I had plans after work and was just itching to get out of there. I talked to my manager and told him that I had one table left and that they wouldn't let me clear any plates. I said I had plans. The manager asked me to swing by their table one last time to see if they were all set and then I could go.

I did - and guess who was finally ready to let me take all of their plates? The Pig Slop Family.

So I started to pile the plates, one on top of another. There were seriously about 15 plates on their table. One of the kids had placed an entire ice cream cone on one of the plates, untouched. I added that to the pile and then set another plate on top of it. Then, I pushed down to make the pile shorter.

It was at this point where the ice cream violently squirted out, spraying the mother in the face.

I apologized profusely, but she just sat there in horror. I grabbed some napkins for her but she still refused to accept my apologies. There was nothing more I could do. I told my co-worker that I was leaving, I grabbed my bags, and I went into the bathroom to change into my going-out clothes. (I know: without showering? But I was going somewhere with a co-worker so we figured we'd stink together.) I was in the middle of putting on a cute little outfit complete with brand new close-to-white pants when I heard the manager call me to his office over the intercom. Oh. Shit.

After I'd finished changing, I went to see the boss. That bitch of a woman had complained about me, despite all my attempts to make things right for them. I explained my case to the manager and he said, "Fine. Just go clean up their table."

So in my regular clothes, I trekked over there to wipe up their rank mess. As I was wiping the far-side of the table, I leaned forward and got some RED JELL-O that their child in a highchair had smeared on the end of the table on my new light-colored pants.

I. Was. Livid.

If you can believe there's more to talk about, stay tuned for Part III tomorrow...

Manina, to answer your question - it looks like Buffets, Inc. is made up of OCB, Hometown Buffet, and just plain' old Country Buffet. Stuffing America one mouth at a time.

***American Idol recap coming up!***