Tag Archives: restaurants

Mexican Restaurant Etiquette


Budge and I love to eat at Mexican restaurants. She had never tried Mexican until we married and I showed her the joys of pollo fundido and arroz con pollo. I still can’t get her interested in flan, but she does like fried ice cream.

In our visits to Mexican eateries, I’ve noticed a few things that disturb me . . . of course, many things disturb me so this should not be seen as unusual. We ate at a local cantina last night called Papa’s and Beer and I watched several people do boorish and ill-advised things, so I figured I’d put out this post as a public service bulletin. Pay attention now, folks, and y’all might learn something.

Rules of Behavior in the Local Cantina

1) Do not try to carry on a conversation or even try to speak with the “chip boy / girl.” Any attempt at conversation will likely be met with a beautiful but tense smile. That smile is a coping mechanism because the vast majority of “chippers” know only very limited amount of English. Mostly their vocabulary is limited to “Chips?”, “more chips?”, and “Hot or mild?” Maybe, just MAYBE — if they sometimes run food — they will know “hot plate,” but that’s pretty much it. This isn’t being racist or mean. Fact is, these folks are usually the youngest employees and have been in the US the shortest amount of time so their English isn’t up to conversational levels yet. Now don’t ignore them entirely, but a smile and nod will suffice to make them happy and let them know you are not a complete jackass.

ABIERTO? CERRADO!! That's right! You watched it back in the day and you know you did!

2) If all the Spanish you know comes from Sesame Street skits don’t try to order in “authentic Spanish.”  Most of us, if we are exceptional, could say one or two things if someone dropped us in the middle of Mexico, Spain, or Argentina before we had to resort to pidgin and pointing at stuff. Personally, I learned all the non-food Spanish I know BEFORE I started to walk the Jericho Road so for me those two things are get a beer and find the bathroom. If you are from the South, you cannot roll your Rs and our precious accent does not lend itself  easily to other tongues. Do you REALLY want to say “please” in Spanish? If you’re Southern, I can almost guarantee it will come out “pair fay vor” instead of “por favor” and your wait person will go back to the kitchen and laugh at the yanqui‘ with the rest of the kitchen staff. Remember you failed Spanish in high school for a REASON.

The white boy sliding as the other guy kicks the ball away? Yeah, that's you.

3) If a soccer game is on, DO NOT try to impress the cute waiter or waitress by asking “do you watch futebol?” No matter how adorable her big brown eyes are, you will only look like a fool to her because of one of two things: A) she played on a B-league team in her home country and has forgotten more about futebol than you and your table full of friends will ever know OR B) her boyfriend, father, husband, brother etc played on a B-league team back home and she has to hear their boring, repetitious war stories over and over and she’s sick of it. Either way, you won’t score any goals with her.

Speaking of home,  4) DO NOT assume your wait person is MEXICAN because you hear him/her speaking Spanish. This is going to blow some minds, I know, but Spanish IS SPOKEN outside of Mexico, Texas, and Berea.  For example, out in the Pacific Ocean, there’s a big group of islands called “The Philippines.” Their native language is Tagalog but guess what? Many, many of them ALSO SPEAK SPANISH! Ever heard of Europe? Well there’s a country in Europe called “Spain”, and THEY speak Spanish too!!You know that big pizza-slice-shaped “continent thing” below the United States on a map? That’s called SOUTH AMERICA and the entire continent — except Brazil — speaks some form or dialect of SPANISH! Brazilians speak Portuguese, but I’m willing to bet the farm you can’t tell the difference.  Anyway, your wait staff could be Colombian, Honduran, Chilean, Cuban, or South Floridian and NOT necessarily MEXICAN!

Which one of this bunch is Hispanic? Um, try ALL of them.

Furthermore on the subject of ASSUMPTIONS, 5) DO NOT assume your light complected, blue-eyed waitress is ANGLO. She may look like a true Southern belle straight out of a Junior League Cotillion yet not speak one word of English. That’s because once the South ran out of food and had to stop fighting The War of Northern Aggression, a good many BLONDE, BLUE-EYED Southern plantation owners packed up and sailed to that big pizza-slice shaped continent called what? That’s right, South America! Some of them carved out plantations where sugar and rubber replaced cotton and, unfortunately, they bought themselves new slaves because many South American countries, especially Brazil, didn’t end slavery until the 1880s. All those Confederate expatriates intermarried with the locals and over time their offspring forgot English, but kept the hair and eyes.

6) DO NOT assume every employee in the restaurant is an illegal alien. I don’t care what anyone says, Rush is NOT right, Hannity needs to shut up or be shot, and Glenn Beck needs Kleenex, some Valium, and a tour of duty in Afghanistan or Iraq so he’ll have something to CRY ABOUT. Not every Hispanic you see is here in the country illegally. Maybe they are but even if they are, you don’t have the right to look down on them and you DAMN SURE don’t have the right to give them a $1 tip after they’ve spent all evening running back and forth to keep your fat butt full of tea and salsa. They — like ALL OTHER WAITSTAFF IN THE WORLD — are HUMAN and make $2.50 per hour without tips so get off the hip and put 15% at least on that ticket and if you can’t afford to tip your hard-working waiter or waitress, EAT A PBJ AT HOME!

I bet he won't send the pollo fundido back NEXT time!

Finally, and to me most importantly, 7) These people prepare your food and you never want to piss off someone who has access to your food out of your sight. Some of these men and women have Aztec warriors’ blood running through their veins. Know what the Aztecs did to people who pissed them off? They drug them up about a gazillion narrow little steps to the top of a humongous pyramid, threw them down on a flat rock, then CUT OUT THEIR HEART AND BIT A CHUNK OFF OF IT BEFORE THEIR DYING EYES. Hispanics of all ages and occupations are very often an extremely passionate people and if you piss an extremely passionate person off, your ranchero sauce might be diluted with something you DON’T want, like Habanero pepper juice. Oh, yeah, and when you take a big bite and start gagging and eye-watering and wanting to scream at them, they’ll stand there sweetly and demurely and say, with great sorrow, “perdone, no speak anglais, senor!”

Don’t mess with the Aztecs!

Love y’all and keep those feet clean!

Always Right? Really?


Were you BORN a jackass or did you have to take a class?

Recently, I was at Home Depot at the butt-crack of dawn so I wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of people. In and out in less than ten was the plan. All I needed was a small bag of mulch and soil to replenish Zelda’s habitat. I guess I didn’t come early enough.

This Cadillac driving old fart went in one door and I went in the other, but I ended up behind him in line. He had a folding ladder on a cart and LAST WEEK’S flyer in his hand. The young lady gave him the total at which point he flew into a rage, slammed the aforementioned flyer down on her counter, and began gesticulating wildly at a picture of a ladder similar to the one on his cart while screaming that the ladder was HALF that price!  I felt a familiar feeling creeping up my spine to the part of the brain that evolved when man had to kill big ol’ mammoths to survive. This guy was beginning to look awfully woolly to me.

The cashier tried to reason with the jerk by pointing out the flyer was for the TWO DAY sale that had ended days earlier and the ladder on his cart was NOT the ladder in the flyer anyway. Instead of acknowledging his mistake, Goober screams at her that he knows the flyer is outdated and the ladder isn’t the one advertised but he couldn’t come in during the sale because he was at the beach and now all the ladders in the flyer were gone  so he wanted the more expensive ladder TODAY  for the price in the flyer and he was the customer so he wanted it NOW.

I was just about to tap him on the shoulder and tell him people in Hell want ice water, and offer him a binkie so he’d leave and I could get my turtle’s mulch. Fortunately, a manager had heard the “debate” and asked the whining,  spray-tanned Baby Boomer to come  to the service desk. I paid for my $3.00 mulch, thanked the girl for being so incredibly patient with an obviously mentally deficient person and went on my way.

Driving home, the whole fiasco reminded me of an episode several years ago when I was on a date with Budge, at a eatery in Spartanburg. Our waitress was working the section alone because the other two girls called in “sick” and it was her FIRST night solo after a week of training. I told her to stay calm and not worry about us. Everything’d be alright.

The other patrons had some differences of opinion. One couple was on an early-in-the-relationship date and oblivious to time passing because they had so entranced each other. A family with two children in diapers got up and left without eating once the little ones began a full-scale meltdown. The three other tables didn’t say much.

That left one particular old fart who berated that poor waitress every chance he got. He sent his food back twice and his wife’s back once. His glass was never full enough. On and on and on for nearly two hours. Finally, he and his wife took their bill straight to the manager and began relating a tale of woe. I only caught snatches of the conversation, but the gist was the waitress was incompetent and an idiot to boot and he demanded a complementary meal or he’d “call corporate.”

The manager folded like a cheap lawn chair when a fat man sits in it, comes back to the section and starts apologizing and fussing over everyone and offering free desserts and all sorts of what not. Then she goes in the back where the waitress has just disappeared when the girl returned, she was trying hard to keep from bursting into tears. The manager reappeared and came over to our table and started her spiel about how sorry she was for the poor service, etc, etc.

I put my hand up and said, “Ma’am, sit down please. I need to explain something to you.” She looked funny at me but she complied and I told her what I’ve told several other jackasses in restaurants since then. I said,

“Ma’am, I’m sitting at a nice table with my beloved. In a little bit, that little girl is going to BRING food to me that’ll be hot, delicious, AND four times more than enough for one meal. We just sit her and wait. On the other hand, my daddy ate twenty year old C-Rations unheated and covered with flies and mosquitoes because it’s what he had in Vietnam. Right now, a gang of little boys and girls are scrounging a massive garbage dump outside Guatemala City for rotten fruit, moldy bread, and maybe a few bones with a scrap of green meat on them to eat. Finally, I could take you in my car not ten miles from here to a group under a bridge trying to fix a bit of stew that will be all they’ll eat tonight and most of tomorrow. I don’t want free dessert, I don’t want a complementary meal, and I surely don’t care what that ignorant jackass who just left said. That girl has worked like a galley slave doing the best she could and I guarantee that jerk didn’t even leave her a quarter for a tip. Thankfully, Mama and Granny raised me to be grateful and generous so I’ll make up for his lack of manners.”

You're not the King or Queen of England. Be nice to each other.

I had a lot more money then AND I’d just gotten my paycheck for the month so I laid a $100 bill on the table, told the waitress to keep the change, took Budge by the hand and walked our happy asses to the car.

I’m nothing special, but I do know one thing. Just because someone is serving you in some capacity, you do not have the right to make their life a little piece of Hell. Stick your thumb in your mouth, suck it up, be thankful for what you’ve got, and act like you’ve got some raising. We are all in this together. Some of us are just more blessed or just plain luckier than others.

Keep that in mind this weekend and make sure to keep those feet clean.

Love y’all.