Muffin’s gonna harm you…

Since the site I usually go on and refresh obsessively is out of commission for the time being I thought I’d update this.

What kind of a mental…  Who calls a restaurant, asks to speak to the manager about something, is told the manager is busy and will take a message, and then throws a hissy fit to a server about getting the manager on the phone?  Look lady, I used to deal with your type for nine hours a day five days a week I’m not intimidated, I don’t care, I’m not going to go out of my way.  I told you she’d call you back and you’re having a fit to a server not a secretary.  Catering to your whim is not my job.  This is a restaurant not a cubicle filled office.  You can call anyone you like and complain but no one is going to help you.  The world does not, in fact, revolve around you.  I didn’t know you needed to call a restaurant to find that out.  I mean, seriously?  Do you expect me to physically drag the manager away from business so you can feel better about yourself?  You’re not the only one with a job to do.  Then I was really pleased she had someone call back for her from a different department to ask for the manager again and be told the same exact thing then call once more and be told again because she was just a bitch in the first place.  Now it’s just become a restaurant-wide joke.

Ham and Cheese Omelette Man was sighted eating a pot-pie about a week and a half ago.

Okay, by now I expect some people to be asshats and not tip or leave miserable tips.  However, do not come up to me at the end of a shift and say “I wish I could give you a tip.”  If you don’t have enough money to tip you don’t have enough to eat out and you have the audacity to come up to me and tell me about it?  Not to just stand there and tell me but to sit down at the booth I’m at doing my work so I can get the hell out of work and tell me that?  Response: “Just so you know, I get paid 2.65 an hour.  That’s less than minimum wage which is 7.40 so…”  Thanks.  Eat and get the hell out of my section.

Also.  I don’t care what’s wrong with your comprehension skills.  I don’t care what part of your brain was damaged or never fully developed.  You keep your hands to yourself.  Don’t pat me on the back, don’t try to touch my hand, don’t intentionally move your foot to put it on my when I’m taking your order, and don’t even think about asking to hug me.  And for the love of all things good don’t call me ‘Dear.’

Monsieur Petite Fille

Tonight the cooks decided to brush up their French.  It was a lot of absurd sayings from; the type of sayings you learn when you first start taking a language because it’s really funny – example: Je suis un anana and monsieur Jay est une petite fille.  It was an all around good time in the kitchen; as usual.

It was all but dead on the floor but we were over staffed and under patroned.  Let me say that on Friday nights all the weirdos come out of the woodwork.  They’re liberated from the four walled cubicles and decide to flock to us.  I’m fairly certain the only normal people I had were a Canadian couple and their daughter and they ended up being my last table.  I’m not saying these other people were mean or like “American Gothic” like I had Monday but they were something.

The mystery that is Ham and Cheese Omelette Man has been solved.  I had written about him and was going to post it to this entry but he deserves his own post.

Ham and Cheese Omelette Man – the Man, the Enigma

Ham and Cheese Omelette Man has been sighted several times in the restaurant when I haven’t been present.  I received news of it by word of mouth and via text.  We know he is still alive and well.  He was ignored once much to my chagrin and had I know what server failed to notice him I would have promptly beaten them with the split bill of a twelve top in books.  I was beginning to wonder about his well being after I stopped working so many mornings because of the questionable scheduling.  I’m pleased to know he’s still coming around ordering his omelette and tea and muffin.

It was dead quiet from two to five today.  I had a total of two tables in that time span.  However, there was a woman in the parking lot that sat there for about an hour with her head on the steering wheel.  I was convinced, after a time, that she had died.  Suspicions were later proved false as she came in to eat dinner alone.  It was possible she had decided to take a nap until dinner.

I have stopped writing on the checks as of today.  There has been a questionable decline in tips since the beginning of the test.  We’ll see if things pick up now that I’m not writing on them or if I’m just in a tip slump.  Are to many patrons of this restaurant gaining literacy and accessing the interwebs?  I ask this again because I must know!

One of us!

I am not some angst ridden teen discovering and adopting ideals of an anarchist utopia here but I loathe blatant conditioning and forced assimilation/integration.  If I wanted to be a carbon copy drone I would have come into this world as a copy of a copy of a copy from the original memo you stuck in the copy machine at work.

I started noticing this conditioning a few months ago.  Every time I see the GM there would be a greeting, instant ‘hello.’  Then I started saying it first.  Then I stopped because I realized that I had been conned into saying it.  I didn’t really want to say ‘hello’ to the GM, I was just doing it reflexively something like Pavlov’s dogs.  Another thing: “don’t let the phone ring!” and I was at work, not clocked in but there post-meeting to have breakfast and almost answered the phone.  That I can’t actually blame on anyone.

Forced assimilation/integration.  I’m glad you have your little quirks that work for you.  I really am.  But here you are complaining about turn over times and telling us to drag out the patrons’ stay while we get through a now lengthy script that they probably don’t want.  They know what they want.  You come up to some of the them and don’t even get your greeting out before they tell you what they want to drink therefore why should I waste my time, their time, and the company’s time to ask them if they wanted what they ordered plus something else?  Why?  And these ridiculous buttons aren’t doing us any favors either.  If we don’t ask, we suffer?  More accurately: If they don’t remember when they’re evaluating us then we get screwed over.  Please, rely on customer memory (when most don’t even remember what their server looks like two minutes after they’ve left the table, let alone their name) to recall what we said to them.  They’ve been to restaurants for years, they know how things go so they’re going to tune out 95% of what we say unless they make a conscious effort to respect their server.  That’s how I like getting screwed over by the restaurant.  Love it.  I won’t even get into the obnoxious size of these pins.  This flare.  Nazi imposed Jew flare… sending us to the crematorium.  (God, that’s offensive.)  But let me state for those people who like the conformity and drone actions of servers who are all the same: we are not high class dining, I don’t get enough in tips to be a drone, and the nasty uniform is bad enough.

Quesa-what?

I know the pictures are pretty and reading is hard but combine the two and you might figure out what you’re looking at.  Quesadillas do not look like that, they do not stand up, they are not spherical, so when you say “That’s not what I ordered.  I ordered the quesadilla.”  I just might think you’re an idiot.  Especially, if you think you’re going to have the right to get mad at me for your like failure.  Unlike working as a telecommunications CSA where I couldn’t put the rules and regulations under your nose and point it out and say “What does the cow say?”  I can do that in the restaurant.  So… off I go to get a menu because otherwise she’s just going to throw a fit for no reason.  Return.  Find the picture of what she thought was a quesadilla.  Have you been hiding under a rock?  Offer to change her order.  There are still onion rings to be eaten and its only an appetizer that she ordered.  “No, this is fine.”

You know what?  Damn right its fine, bitch.  Eat it.

I don’t come into where you work and throw a tantrum.  What are you five?

For today: smiley faces flunk.  We’ll see about when next I work.  Today most people were curt and didn’t look at the slip.  Really?  Where do you have to get to on a Friday?  You’re already, obviously, not working.  Important bars to hop?  Weekend meetings at the golf course?  Where do you think we live?  The Hills?

Thank You :)

You know what I hate more than spam on my blog?  Getting scheduled one day and having the GM give me a transparent lie as to why.  Thank you.  I’m a big girl, I know b.s. when I hear it and that was about as rich as it gets.  That made my day, really.  Oh, no, actually working until close made my day.  I know, it gives a warning every other week about the hours we should expect to work but maybe you should have scheduled a three o’clock.  Really?  Why are you giving a server who is going to have to many hours the same time as me?  Why?  I will tell you: epic fail.  That’s why.  Tickets, scheduling… my faith in you as a leader is nonexistent at this moment in time.  Redeem yourself at the nearest kiosk or give me a refund.  If you want me to get a little comment thingy you had better start scheduling me otherwise I don’t want to hear you say a damn thing about it.  Plzkthx.

Also, who hits on a server with promises to take her to a bar (but not the fancy one)?  Really?  Classy.  I’m sure you’re going to make some woman very happy some day…  I may be young but that says nothing about my value.  Do men assume young girls are not as high maintenance?  How young and eager do you think I am?  Do you assume I’m desperate or incapable of a relationship that doesn’t revolve around short skirts and vodka?  Something has gone wrong here, terribly wrong.

At work today I’ve decided to start writing on the checks.  The computer generates our bills for us and no one actually writes on them but now I’m curious to see how much a hand written Thank You and smiley face will do.  Thus far, (though still to early to confirm) its been going well.  I’m a sucker for smiley faces and cute things like that.  Also, the words “thank you” not “thanks.”  I hate the casual word “thanks” if not meant sarcastically.  Thanks.  Sick.  It reeks of sarcasm.  Who would think “thanks” is acceptable?  I never say thanks to people in the restaurant – thank you.

And once again: expo paid for my gas for the week and nothing else.  Its something.  Whatever.

Happy Fifth of July

As much as I love the change in apron color (granted it doesn’t have pockets) and the very stylish back of house lunch lady hair net, on a Sunday, I would made more money as a server.  Direct quote: “We’re short a server today.”  What?  Excuse me?  Was this because you let everyone and their mother’s gerbil have the day off?  Was it because you failed to acknowledge that I’m not actually an expo but a server that has worked many a Sunday during the winter?  Hrm… something is amiss here.  As expo you want me to… run… food?  Run food?  Really?  Dear GM, you run food and stop messing up the tickets.  You’re doing more harm in the kitchen than good.  Gtfo.  How many orders did I f-ball?  Zero.  How many did you f-ball so that the server, not you, had to reap the benefits?  I can’t even recall the total tally.  You’ve fallen off your rocker and can’t get back on.

And another thing: don’t dictate to me, I’m working.  I don’t need you to try to hold my hand as we cross from the doors to the line.  Get out, get out, get out!

Why do guests continue to stiff servers?  You are taking into account that perhaps you had to wait to get a table which indicates there are a lot of other people besides yourself that need attention?  Should we set up a mani- and pedi-?  Perhaps a massage for you?  What would make you less irritable about having to sit on your butt in a seat and ingest calories or filter mindless conversation with your friends?  Would it be STAYING AT HOME?  …I don’t know.  If you didn’t bring the tip, you might as well.  This wasn’t even my table.

I’m reading Fight Club… that’s all I’m saying.

Ham and Cheese Omlette Man, come back to me!  I’ve missed you and fear for your health.  (Look, something chipper amidst this irritation.)

I forgot to mention how the fourth of July is the fifteenth of August.  What does that mean?  It means that despite the guise of celebration we’re not celebrating anything because there are not holidays in our world.  No holidays and no official days off unless the place burns to the ground.

Happy Fifth of July! (Because its just as special as the fourth to us.)

There’s nothing better than a small tip.

Oh, wait, yes there is.  No tip on a $44 bill.  You think I have any sympathy or understanding for you being a little handicapped?  Hell no, I don’t.  You can come into a restaurant by yourself; you can pay me.  Oh, you’re taking your friends out to eat?  You’re paying?  How cute!  Give me a tip!  I don’t care what you’re doing with those people, I don’t care if you kidnapped them.  I don’t care about what you’re going to do for the holiday!  I don’t care that you lost your job but you’ve come out to eat with a friend.  I just don’t care.  I have to care or at least pretend to care for at least six hours.  That’s a lot of smiling and caring and I am not that kind of understanding, bleeding heart if people are going to rip me off.  I have my own problems that I don’t pour out to you.  Do you care?  No.  Why would I?

That was just the way the day was going.  I sold almost two hundred and fifty in food and made about twenty five.  How does that even happen!  You know how that happens?  People are asshats.

Happy Fourth of July Weekend!  We’re not controlled by England and you’re not a slave.  Freedom!  Meaning you get paid.  If I got tips like that every day I would rather not get paid.  At least then I would have to have food and shelter if they wanted me to continue working/living to work.

And you know what happens when I get bad tips and sell some food?  I lose more money because tip-out goes with sales, not how much money I made.  Thanks.  Thanks a huge bunch.

I think repeat customers who you know don’t tip, gratuity should be automatically placed on your bill…  That’s right.  It should.

I didn’t even get a comment card.  You want to be lousy to me: have a reason!  Food bad?  No my fault.  I could have fixed that for you if you spoke up.  Wrong order?  Potentially, my fault.  I could have fixed that for you.

Think your server’s getting paid minimum wage?  Wrong.

Eating, waiting, paying…

Eating, waiting, paying, sitting, looking – repeat.  Serving is organization and classification.

Organize:

• drinks,
• orders,
• checks,
• money,
• change,
• seating chart.

Classify drinks, tables, guests.
Lists: drink, order, dessert, check.
There’s something comforting that amidst the thousands of things that could go wrong, fundamentally you fall back on commas and scripted lines.

Unpredictable things:

• guests
• orders
• cooks
• floor traffic
• tips
• schedule (sometimes)

But even those unpredictable things can be worked out and almost predicted.  It isn’t difficult with time and attention.

Superfluous

Got to hang out BoH as expo on Saturday.  No real reason to be there since they started cutting right when I arrived.  Didn’t need to fill the line except for fruit.  All-in-all, it was a pretty good use of my life.  I mean, I did get paid for minimal labor and there’s nothing easier than reading tickets and traying food.  Unfortunately, BoH was more subdued than usual, less shenanigans, though cooks did pick up a game to pass the time with the slow weekend day.  I was skeptical.  Thankfully, it hasn’t progressed to the game in Waiting.  Once it does, I fear BoH will slowly rot from the inside out and eventually vanish into some alternate dimension.  Though humidity does make me question whether I would really stick my nose up at such a game – any excuse to get naked!  …kidding?

Popped in today.  Back of House was… silent.  Smokers were out smoking, one cook on the line, and not a soul else hanging out.  Tumble weeds could have passed through, fires could have started, we could have been robbed of all the fresh bakery and no one would have known until it was to late.

You know, I didn’t take the fourth of July off because GM has been saying how everyone wants it off and its good we’re getting new people to take those shifts but did I get scheduled for it?  Nope.  Scheduled all around it but not on the fourth.  Well, hell.