Crap Dishing Twat

No matter what restaurant you go to, they all have one thing in common – the uniform.  Some servers rock the whole white button-down and tie thing – others are lucky enough to be able to do a simple company issued polo and some jeans.  But, they all have uniforms in place for on specific purpose: so they can be spotted easily (either by guests or by management).

So, why, if all the servers are wearing the same uniform, are some servers telling others not to be on their cell phones while texting their boyfriend who is working across the room?  It’s probably because that server is a crap dishing twat…better known as a CDT.

Every restaurant has them.  Every server hates them.  And no one, absolutely no one, wants to be them.

Every restaurant has what’s known as a CDT – a certified designated trainer.  Yeah, I know – fancy title, huh?  But that’s all it is…a title.

The CDT is responsible for training new employees, enforcing restaurant rules and codes of conduct, and setting an example for all employees to emulate.

There are two types of CDT:  there’s the CDT that took the job so they could get the extra twenty-five cents an hour…and the other CDT.

Something happened to the other CDT.  Usually when one is presented with this gracious opportunity – they are given a token of appreciation by management.  It’s usually something small like a pin or a different name tag.

Legend has it that one can actually see the dildo being inserted into the CDT’s ass, thereby preventing any douche from exiting and causing the CDT to become ever so slightly more irritated (and irritating) as time goes on.

Now, my problem with the CDT is that they are extremely confused individuals.  So, let’s try and clear up the confusion, shall we?…

  1. No one fucking cares.  I cannot stress this point enough.  No one cares about “the official greet”.  No one cares that you’re supposed to use a tray for more than three beverages.  No one cares that the proper garnish for a mojito is a lime wedge and a mint leaf but we only have mint leaves so you’re scrapping the lime.  No one cares that you care.  And no one sure a shit cares that you’re a fucking CDT.
  2. No one is jealous of you.  No one is jealous that you were “chosen” to be a CDT.  No one thinks it’s something special.  The only way anyone would want to be a CDT is if there was a modern-day flood and each restaurant had to pick two CDTs to go on the ark to receive salvation and make a new life.
  3. We get it…Listen, I understand, man.  I get that your father doesn’t hug you enough or your mom’s friend Rick made you watch TV in the living room while he helped her fix a lightbulb in her room and that kind of trauma caused you to feel like you were never good enough so you decided to advance yourself by being a server…but I’m never going to love you.  So your power trip about how the straws need to be restocked every hour and your dedication to ensuring that there’s enough silverware is not going to make me love you.  Give it a rest.
  4. No one listens to a walking contradiction. You can’t tell my to put my phone away while texting your gal pal about whether or not you’re going to get wasted OR super wasted tonight.  You can’t order me to bring table 52’s food out when you put the ‘run’ in “runner”.  You can’t lecture me about sidework when you just stole all my fucking ketchups…come on, bro…
  5. The amount of people you are better than is equal to the amount of good movies Kristen Stewart has been in. You need to check yourself before you wreck yourself.  You are a CDT a (insert name of restaurant here)…which means you teach people how to follow the directions of other people and where things are.  You are better than no one.  You are above no one.  And you need to remember that you still wear the same shirt as everyone else in this building.  So, until you get your manager’s card…get the fuck out of my face.

Therefore, it is my pleasure to inform everyone that I will be writing to the President demanding that every restaurant install a patio section for all CDTs to be assigned – this way, the Earth’s atmosphere might be able to facilitate their egos…maybe…

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