If I work a double, I tend to have restaurant dreams that night or the following night. This was my dream after working 9-11:30 Saturday and 10-8 Sunday:
The restaurant is packed, which is unusual for a Monday afternoon. All is going well until I see a group of familiar faces walk in. "Please don't sit in my section, please don't sit in my section," I repeat quietly to nobody in particular. They are guys from my old high school, former soccer stars. Of course, they sit in my section; my table smack-dab in the middle of the dining room is the last one available.
I go to greet the table, and they don't seem to recognize me. I'm saved! I treat them like any other customers, keeping my super cheery smile plastered to my face while they run me around with a hundred different requests.
All hell breaks loose when I present the check. "No discount for your buds, (embarrassing high school nickname)?" asks the ringleader. Then, as he tells his pals to "watch this," he attempts to reach into my apron. I snap and douse him with his nearly-full water glass. Every table in the main dining room. The silence is eerie - all of the normal fork-clattering and even the kitchen noises have stopped, and the only sound is that stupid The Fray song playing in the background for the 1000th time (seriously, fuck The Fray). A slow clap starts from one of the booths near the window, and suddenly the entire restaurant is clapping for me. The former soccer stars, too ashamed to go complain to the managers, walk out red-faced. I exit the dining room, expecting Manager R. to chew me out and fire me, but when he sees me, he only says, "I have to appear to discipline you, so just go home for the day, but I hate those little shits too; you're not in trouble."
I wake up.
Why did I have this weird dream? I don't even hate the guys who were in my dream; they were nice during high school (the embarrassing nickname was real, but they wouldn't have used it!). Oh yes, maybe I had this dream because of the BITCHES from Sunday.
Three girls walked in the door about 10 minutes after I got to work. Two I didn't recognize, but then I saw the third, the rudest girl from my high school soccer team. We DEFINITELY made eye contact, but neither of us said anything. "PLEASE do not sit in my section," I silently hoped. I knew Rockstar, my favorite hostess, would probably sit them in K-Man's section; she always tries to hook him up with cute chicks. So I thought I was safe. Unfortunately, they wanted to sit outside (on a side note WHY did I have the patio again? grr), so they were in my section.
Why did I dislike this girl so much? On the field, she thought she was the shit despite being one of the mediocre players on the team (not that I was the next Mia Hamm myself, but I didn't ball-hog or toot my own horn), she bossed people around, and she was generally unfriendly. She really loved hearing her own voice. Maybe she has changed since then, but I wouldn't know.
I contemplated giving the table to someone else. K-Man said he'd take them and let me have the next table in his section, because his section was close to mine, and I was really tempted to do that, but I figured I'd have to see BitchGirl anyway if I got any more patio tables. As I went outside, I formulated my greeting in my head. "Good morning and welcome to Restaurant X! How are you all doing today!? Oh. My. God. Bitchgirl! How aaaaaaaare you? I thought I saw you inside, but I wasn't sure!!!!!!" or something equally stupid. Nope, I couldn't do that. I'm bad at lying.
I went ahead with my normal greeting and started taking the girls' drink orders. BitchGirl's cronies were actually very nice; I wondered what they were doing with a friend like her. When I got to BG's drink order, it was as if we were in a competition, each waiting for the other to say something to acknowledge our past relationship (teammateship? Definitely not friendship).
I brought the drinks out, and then took their food order. Luckily, they didn't make any annoying requests, and I raced to put their order into the computer so I could deal with my new, other tables, who were scared of the bees dive-bombing into their $7 Bloody Mary drinks.
I brought the girls' food out to the table with Ms. B, and BG's friend complained about one bee that was terrorizing their table. Ms. B set down the plate she was carrying and simply smacked the bee with one calculated swoop of her order-taking check presenter. It fell dead on the table, I wiped it up with my towel, and the girls were fine. I was embarrassed though; there I was, just finished college (as I assume she probably just had too), and I was cleaning up bees for my former classmates. Ugh!
The rest of their meal went without a hitch, and her friend paid, tipping 20%. I should have been happy, but I was more disheartened than anything. I hate serving people that I know. I'm embarrassed around former classmates who now have "real" jobs (jobs that sound 10,000x less fun than waiting), clueless friends of my parents who ask what I'm really going to do with my life, and former teachers who give me a look like I wasted so much potential. ARGH! It's so frustrating.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Attack of the Bees!
The sky was overcast this morning, and I walked to work with my fingers crossed hoping I'd been assigned an indoor section. As soon as I opened the door, Ms. E, one of our hostesses, started apologizing. "I feel so bad for you, you have the upper patio! Don't worry, we'll stay on pick-up until everyone gets here so you can have some tables inside."
Restaurant X was busier than usual for a weekday, and I had six tables total from 9:00 (when I came in) until we went into sections at 11:00. I figured that would probably be all the money I'd make for the day, but then miracle of miracles, the sun came out!
The first person to sit outside was a man who, right now, probably has a BITC (Blood Iced Tea Content) of .99 after all of the glasses of unsweetened, fresh-brewed goodness he drank. A friend joined him, and they ate and chatted for a while.
Next came the Mullet Mamas - two 50-something women with seriously butch hair from the front, and long, curly locks in the back. One of the two oddly-coiffed ladies requested hot tea with "LOTS of honey and lemon" (where was the please?). About four bees decided to exact their revenge on the honey-loving lady by swarming around their table for the duration of the meal. When they complained to me about the bees, I asked if they wanted to move inside, but nope! "Just get me a flyswatter or something, dear," said Mullet Mama #2. The Classified section of the paper worked just fine, but the ladies left rather quickly after eating.
I asked Ms. E to warn people about the bee problem before seating them outside, because with each table, the bees increased in number and obnoxiousness. I almost dropped a few plates when two bees landed on my arm at the same time while I was prebussing (Mr. Iced Tea got a good laugh, at least). Ms. E started mentioning the problem to people, but a few valiant souls braved the onslaught and ate on the patio.
The lunch rush died down, and I had just started thinking about what I would eat for lunch, when a party of three women and NINE kids walked through the door. I didn't pay any attention at first; normally we don't get big parties on the patio. Not today! Despite Ms. E's warnings about the bee problem, the women insisted on sitting outside.
I knew there would be trouble when the kids were already starting to FREAK while I was taking drink orders. A poor, petrified girl couldn't even move her lips to tell me what she wanted because she was so transfixed on a bee buzzing around her chair. "Come on, tell the waitress what you want, dear," coaxed one of the women. I recommended pink lemonade, and she nodded, still staring at the bee.
"You know, it's really not a problem for us to move you inside if the bees are going to bother you too much," I said to the women, hoping they'd listen. But no... why listen to the waitress, right? I must have no clue what I'm talking about.
"We'll just see how it goes," snapped Ms. Soy Decaf Iced Latte. I already knew how it was going to go, and bet $10 to Ms. E that they'd be asking for a table inside within 15 minutes.
The kids became increasingly terrified as I took their orders, which wasn't helped by the fact that Kid #7 spilled his entire kid cup of Sierra Mist all over the table. I dashed inside to get some paper towels, and one of my fellow servers offered to help - she's a saint! When I got back outside about 13.7 seconds later, at least three of the kids looked on the verge of a total meltdown. The bees were SWARMING over the spilled soda, and some were even swimming in it. The women were trying to calm the kids.
"This just isn't going to work, we need a table inside," said one of the women (Ms. Normal Iced Latte). I told Ms. E, and we set up a 12-top in the main dining room. Luckily, a few servers had just been cut, so this did not fuck over anyone's section, and I got to keep the party. I tried helping them carry the kids' drinks inside to the new table (of course, none of them had brought their own drinks inside), but now Normal Iced Latte was getting snappy too. "You won't remember who had which drink," she said, as if I was the slowest person on earth. I secretly hoped she'd drop the four kid drinks she was struggling to carry (she refused my offer of a tray), but my wish was not granted.
The rest of the party's meal went fine, and after doing a quality check and refilling drinks, I avoided the table until it was time to drop the check. Nothing on top of the 18% auto-gratuity, and they made me wait 20 minutes for them to figure out how to split the check three ways. I offered to do it for them, but no, "We'll take care of it!" barked Normal Latte. They finally handed their cards over sheepishly after scribbling furiously on the receipt and consulting multiple cell phone calculators. Thanks, bitches!
Seriously, if your hostess or server suggests that you might not want to sit outside because of a BEE BRIGADE, you should probably listen! If you have kids in your party, you should DEFINITELY listen!
I must add that the kids themselves were very polite and well-mannered. Their moms (or nannies, or whatever, but probably moms) were the ones acting childish!
On a good note, I walked out of the restaurant with $75 after tipout, so I splurged on Starbucks. Yum!
Restaurant X was busier than usual for a weekday, and I had six tables total from 9:00 (when I came in) until we went into sections at 11:00. I figured that would probably be all the money I'd make for the day, but then miracle of miracles, the sun came out!
The first person to sit outside was a man who, right now, probably has a BITC (Blood Iced Tea Content) of .99 after all of the glasses of unsweetened, fresh-brewed goodness he drank. A friend joined him, and they ate and chatted for a while.
Next came the Mullet Mamas - two 50-something women with seriously butch hair from the front, and long, curly locks in the back. One of the two oddly-coiffed ladies requested hot tea with "LOTS of honey and lemon" (where was the please?). About four bees decided to exact their revenge on the honey-loving lady by swarming around their table for the duration of the meal. When they complained to me about the bees, I asked if they wanted to move inside, but nope! "Just get me a flyswatter or something, dear," said Mullet Mama #2. The Classified section of the paper worked just fine, but the ladies left rather quickly after eating.
I asked Ms. E to warn people about the bee problem before seating them outside, because with each table, the bees increased in number and obnoxiousness. I almost dropped a few plates when two bees landed on my arm at the same time while I was prebussing (Mr. Iced Tea got a good laugh, at least). Ms. E started mentioning the problem to people, but a few valiant souls braved the onslaught and ate on the patio.
The lunch rush died down, and I had just started thinking about what I would eat for lunch, when a party of three women and NINE kids walked through the door. I didn't pay any attention at first; normally we don't get big parties on the patio. Not today! Despite Ms. E's warnings about the bee problem, the women insisted on sitting outside.
I knew there would be trouble when the kids were already starting to FREAK while I was taking drink orders. A poor, petrified girl couldn't even move her lips to tell me what she wanted because she was so transfixed on a bee buzzing around her chair. "Come on, tell the waitress what you want, dear," coaxed one of the women. I recommended pink lemonade, and she nodded, still staring at the bee.
"You know, it's really not a problem for us to move you inside if the bees are going to bother you too much," I said to the women, hoping they'd listen. But no... why listen to the waitress, right? I must have no clue what I'm talking about.
"We'll just see how it goes," snapped Ms. Soy Decaf Iced Latte. I already knew how it was going to go, and bet $10 to Ms. E that they'd be asking for a table inside within 15 minutes.
The kids became increasingly terrified as I took their orders, which wasn't helped by the fact that Kid #7 spilled his entire kid cup of Sierra Mist all over the table. I dashed inside to get some paper towels, and one of my fellow servers offered to help - she's a saint! When I got back outside about 13.7 seconds later, at least three of the kids looked on the verge of a total meltdown. The bees were SWARMING over the spilled soda, and some were even swimming in it. The women were trying to calm the kids.
"This just isn't going to work, we need a table inside," said one of the women (Ms. Normal Iced Latte). I told Ms. E, and we set up a 12-top in the main dining room. Luckily, a few servers had just been cut, so this did not fuck over anyone's section, and I got to keep the party. I tried helping them carry the kids' drinks inside to the new table (of course, none of them had brought their own drinks inside), but now Normal Iced Latte was getting snappy too. "You won't remember who had which drink," she said, as if I was the slowest person on earth. I secretly hoped she'd drop the four kid drinks she was struggling to carry (she refused my offer of a tray), but my wish was not granted.
The rest of the party's meal went fine, and after doing a quality check and refilling drinks, I avoided the table until it was time to drop the check. Nothing on top of the 18% auto-gratuity, and they made me wait 20 minutes for them to figure out how to split the check three ways. I offered to do it for them, but no, "We'll take care of it!" barked Normal Latte. They finally handed their cards over sheepishly after scribbling furiously on the receipt and consulting multiple cell phone calculators. Thanks, bitches!
Seriously, if your hostess or server suggests that you might not want to sit outside because of a BEE BRIGADE, you should probably listen! If you have kids in your party, you should DEFINITELY listen!
I must add that the kids themselves were very polite and well-mannered. Their moms (or nannies, or whatever, but probably moms) were the ones acting childish!
On a good note, I walked out of the restaurant with $75 after tipout, so I splurged on Starbucks. Yum!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Excuse me, I forgot my toast.
Restaurant X (must remain anonymous!) specializes in breakfast, so weekend mornings are our busiest days; families who have just gone to church, young people waking up after a rough night out, and couples radiant with that special post-morning-sex-glow (or glowering from lack thereof) flow in and out of the restaurant in a steady stream from about 9:30 to 3:00. I work Saturday mornings and a double on Sundays, and after the two morning rushes, it is nice to relax a little on Sunday nights.
Last Sunday, my section was one of our two patios. During the morning, I was slammed; everyone wanted to sit outside because of the nice weather, and my wallet was very happy. Around 4:00, business began to dwindle as most of the remaining late-lunchers paid their bills and left. A pleasant couple who had been drinking champagne and munching on bruschetta bid me a good day and exited the patio, leaving me with just one one-top to watch, a cute young woman reading a book and sipping wine while waiting for her salad. I thought I was in for a typical, uneventful Sunday evening.
I waited near the kitchen for my one-top's salad, and ran it out to her as soon as it was ready. When I got outside, there was a man wearing a green button-down shirt and khaki pants leaning over the patio fence. He appeared to be reaching for the table where the friendly couple had dined. It hadn't been bussed yet, and a basket with one piece of wheat toast remained on the table. I shot him a "wtf-are-you-doing" look, and he gave me a sheepish grin.
Green Shirt Guy: Excuse me, I just ate here and forgot about my toast! Can you please hand it to me over the fence?
Waitress X: I'm sorry sir, but I cannot give you the toast since you did NOT eat at this table; this is my section and you definitely weren't here.
Green Shirt Guy: But I'm hungry!
(I give him an evil stare).
Waitress X: Sir, I can't serve you food left over from someone else. You are welcome to come in and place a to-go order; toast is $1.79.
Green Shirt Guy: Yeah... I guess you would get in trouble if you gave that to me.
What the FUCK!? I don't know what this guy's situation was, but he was clean-shaven and dressed pretty nicely, so I am guessing he wasn't homeless or anything. Why in the world did he think he could just reach over and take food from the patio? I felt bad for the guy, but I wasn't about to risk my job over a piece of toast!
On the bright side, my cute one-top was totally listening to the exchange, and she left me a great tip!
Last Sunday, my section was one of our two patios. During the morning, I was slammed; everyone wanted to sit outside because of the nice weather, and my wallet was very happy. Around 4:00, business began to dwindle as most of the remaining late-lunchers paid their bills and left. A pleasant couple who had been drinking champagne and munching on bruschetta bid me a good day and exited the patio, leaving me with just one one-top to watch, a cute young woman reading a book and sipping wine while waiting for her salad. I thought I was in for a typical, uneventful Sunday evening.
I waited near the kitchen for my one-top's salad, and ran it out to her as soon as it was ready. When I got outside, there was a man wearing a green button-down shirt and khaki pants leaning over the patio fence. He appeared to be reaching for the table where the friendly couple had dined. It hadn't been bussed yet, and a basket with one piece of wheat toast remained on the table. I shot him a "wtf-are-you-doing" look, and he gave me a sheepish grin.
Green Shirt Guy: Excuse me, I just ate here and forgot about my toast! Can you please hand it to me over the fence?
Waitress X: I'm sorry sir, but I cannot give you the toast since you did NOT eat at this table; this is my section and you definitely weren't here.
Green Shirt Guy: But I'm hungry!
(I give him an evil stare).
Waitress X: Sir, I can't serve you food left over from someone else. You are welcome to come in and place a to-go order; toast is $1.79.
Green Shirt Guy: Yeah... I guess you would get in trouble if you gave that to me.
What the FUCK!? I don't know what this guy's situation was, but he was clean-shaven and dressed pretty nicely, so I am guessing he wasn't homeless or anything. Why in the world did he think he could just reach over and take food from the patio? I felt bad for the guy, but I wasn't about to risk my job over a piece of toast!
On the bright side, my cute one-top was totally listening to the exchange, and she left me a great tip!
Oh hi, my name is Waitress X...
... but you won't remember it. You can call me "Miss," or get my attention by saying, "excuse me." All whistling or finger-snapping will be ignored!
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