Squirming to jostle her sweaty buxomly plumpness into the chair next to me.  The chair bitterly rejects attempts to accommodate her fat as bacon swad.  My caballero, introduces us.  “This is Penelope, she specializes in restaurant resolutions, maybe she can help with your problem.”  The Nubian hippopotamus throws a disinterested nod, while her glassy eyed spouse steadies a wobbling half pint of beer and sits down with a clumsy thud.

“I just gave the whole kitchen a good piece of my mind, she says.  Did you hear me screaming?  I let their lazy arses have it with both barrels, I’m fed up with this sh*t.  Either they do it my way or I want them out of here.”  She turns to him with,  “Honey, you’d better get back to the kitchen, cuz two of them are still crying.”   Ignoring Mrs. Bully, hubby attempts to focus his slithered eyes on me.  “Penelope, you’ve been here for a couple of hours, have you seen enough?  Don’t you think you should step into the kitchen and see our set up?

Now it’s Mrs. Bully’s turn to ignore hubby.  She commences, “Hey look, I set them straight from day one.  I tell ’em straight up, I have a potty mouth, I shout and throw stuff around and I don’t take no sh*t.  My husband and I are a team.  We play the good cop bad cop dyad.” (pointing to her Leaning Tower of Pisa, mate).   “Honey, I’ve lost count, how many times did I have to say, ‘I’m sorry’ tonight to customers?  We can’t take much more of this crap.  I’m at the end of my rope - I’m ready to shut this nightmare down, but I can’t.  I need the cash flow.  Well?  Well, Penelope what should we do?  Fire my worthless crew huh, and start over?  You’ve come highly recommended.  I trust your opinion.”   I shoot Mrs. Bully a vexed, yet foxy smile.  Ooouuu the viper tries to schmooze, Penelope.

My caballero gets jittery, silently sliding back into his chair, sensing the storm about to be unleashed.  She jabs me like a punchy boxer poking me with a command, disguised as a question, “Well Penelope, What’s it gonna be?  Come on Ms. restaurant expert, give me your best shot?”  I write 3 words on my note pad, circle it with my red pen, punctuate it, with a bullet sounding exclamation point, then push it under her uppity snout.  I watch as Mrs. Bully reads... SHUT IT DOWN!  Her eyes grow wide and white “You’re kidding right, no sh*t?”

“Nope!  I’m not kidding, one bit.  Both of you are responsible for killing this rather quaint little cash cow.  Do yourself, your customers and especially your dog-eared, over-worked, under-paid, stretched well beyond their limit - crew, a favor and put everyone out of their misery.  Shut this babe down.  Pretend its a horse with a broken leg, and be merciful.”  She discharges an emancipated exhale, refraining with a whining resistant, “buuuuuuuut whyyyyyyyyy?”

“I’ve watched as both of you walk around apologizing for the lousy food and horrific service. Why isn’t one of you back in the kitchen with your crew?  Why are you beating up on your crew, when neither of you are doing your job, that being - too manage?  You get pissed off, because they aren’t working fast enough.  You think that because you openly declare yourself a bully - this declaration, this fear factor, this sorry arsed alibi for power, excuses your brow-beating behavior?  Well it doesn’t!  It’s counter productive and stresses everyone out, including your guests. Besides its cruel and very wrong.

You’re short at least three waitstaff and one busser.  It wouldn’t be so bad, if both of you strapped on a damn apron and jumped in to help.  Instead you lollygag around apologizing and condensing your irritation by blaming and inflaming the crew - openly bad-mouthing them to your customers no less.  I’d bet even money your business is in the red.  This is unacceptable since you have plenty of walk-in traffic - but lack the ability to manage.  This isn’t a functioning business, it’s a Rocky Horror Picture Show. What a freakin’ pity!”

She shuts up tight.  I now have her full attention - she has been effectively stung with my truth serum. I watch with great pleasure as my words mystify her gargantuan ego.  Suddenly the revelation takes hold as her littleness begins to seep through.  I have effectively undressed this stone.

I continue... “Mrs. Bully, you play the bodacious alpha male, the bully, the dead-beat tired heavy lifter in this business scenario. Hubby is along for the ride - he’s a functioning alcoholic.  You’re anything but a team.  You are your own worst enemy and the worst of it is, you aren’t going to take any of my advice, because bullies NEVER DO!  Bullies blame everyone but themselves.  Take the f*cking whip and use it on yourself.  You need it big time.”

My caballero and I depart, walking down a ways.  He turns and nudges me to about face.  I watch as both of them strap on aprons and start bussing tables.    Maybe our little chat did some good after all.  I smile and walk away shaking my head, not feeling a bit guilty about my enjoyment in annihilating yet another bully.  Penelope smiles!

Dang! I love my work!

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(c) 2010 ptsaldari.posterous.com : PTsaldari Group Inc. | The Art of Serving Well | Serve Me Well Inc. All rights reserved. This article originally appeared on ptsaldari.posterous.com blog authored by PTsaldari.  This article may be shared and reprinted as long as this entire copyright message accompanies it. Email: ptsaldari@gmail.com