Tuesday, March 31, 2009

A story from a coworker.

So a coworker of mine was having a really bad day yesterday. Right before work, she found out that one of her dogs has a large tumor and probably has to be put down. But she has to pay rent, so she couldn't afford to take the night off. She was doing the best she could considering she felt like she couldn't focus; she'd also been given the station furthest away from the kitchen, which is always a pain in the ass.

So last night, L picks up a credit card at the table the absolutely farthest from the kitchen, which requires walking around the entire restaurant to get to. The lady asks for a box, so L winds her way around the perimeter of the restaurant, dodging other customers and co-workers. She drops some plates off in the dish area, runs the woman's credit card, gets her box, and heads back to the table. It takes four or five minutes, and this is at the tail end of the dinner rush, so the place is still full.

When L gets back to the table, the woman grabs the box out of her hand and snaps, "I was about to leave with the plate, that took you so long!"

L handled it very well; she didn't let it get to her. I probably would have let myself burst into tears, sobbed about my dog, and done my level best to make the woman feel like a total asshole.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Between guilt and a snow storm.

So I was scheduled to work in forty minutes. But we're having seriously crappy weather today. It took my roommate two hours to get home this morning. Two hours to go eleven miles. I had a message on my phone from work saying to call later because they probably wouldn't need me, and after hearing horror stories from my roommate, and my mother, and seeing on the news that the highway patrol is advising people not to go out, and seeing all the closures .... I called work as requested and they tried to tell me they were full at 2:30 in the afternoon and needed me to come in.

I put my foot down and refused. My rear-wheel drive ghetto buggy probably wouldn't even make it out of my neighborhood, and even if it did, I'm not risking my life and spending hours on the road to and from work to make no money because nobody with half a brain will be out. I will be extremely shocked if I hear tomorrow that they were busy in the least.

But I feel guilty. I've been the manager in this situation before. I know it sucks. I feel bad for everyone who does go in today. So here I sit, watching "Wife Swap" in the pajamas and feeling like an asshole.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

I didn't get stiffed tonight!

I feel like I've gotten stiffed every day for the past few weeks, so it was nice that I didn't have to deal with that today. I actually had quite a fun day, despite being on a double shift and making fuckall. I was in a good mood and was amusing people around me--especially one coworker who finds my impression of Elaine's dance hilarious.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Dear Asshat Cowboys

Thank you for sitting at the bar while waiting for a table. Thank you for ordering your food there, and the moving to one of my tables. Thank you for being rude and impatient when I introduced myself, and for talking to me like I was an insect beneath your notice. Thank you for telling me "I haven't gotten to try it yet!" when I asked how your food was when I returned with your ranch. Because clearly, your burger was inedible without ranch on it, which is why you didn't ask for it right away.

Thank you for swallowing your burgers whole and going back to the bar to demand your ticket, despite having ordered a second round of drinks which you then refused to take or pay for, and then stiffing me because clearly twenty minutes is too long to wait in a crowded, wait-listed restaurant on a Friday night.

And thank you, above all, for fucking right off.

Love,
Your Server

I was in a good enough mood tonight that I didn't let it bother me; I just sort of wondered how people like that justify their behavior.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Lithium might be your friend.

So tonight at work I was filling a bucket of ice, when my manager and a girl I'm friendly with, Anna, walked by. I sort of waved the big ice scoop at Anna, who said something like, "ooh, scary ice scoop". So I scooped up a few ice cubes and went to toss them at her. Unfortunately, my boss turned around right then and got hit right in the face with ice.

This is the same boss I wrote about yesterday, who bit my head off (completely without cause, I think). So you can imagine, I thought I was dead.

Oh, no. She laughed. She thought it was hilarious. She even joked about I probably wanted to do it anyway. And laughed when I pushed my luck and said I'd never say such a thing. She was totally fine.

So let me get this straight ... she jumps down my throat for keeping my opinions to myself, and laughs when she gets a face full of ice?

Huh.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Time for me to get a new job, or for you to STFU?

So I've written before about my boss being the drink nazi. Well, today she took it to a new level. Someone was pouring a drink, and she informed us that we're no longer ALLOWED to put the drink in first, and then the ice. A lot of us do it that way, because the water tends to spray all over us if the glass is full of ice. But we're no longer ALLOWED to--and she says this came from the district manager. I don't know if I believe that; I think it's just her personal thing.

Anyway, she laid down the law about this, and I asked why. I very carefully was not snotty or sarcastic; I just asked why. She said we're not getting enough ice in the glasses, we need to fill them ALL THE WAY UP with ice and then the drink. I just nodded. She started saying something to someone else, so I walked away to see if I had a table, and shook my head a bit. I hadn't said anything, because I didn't want to deal with her rants.

But she followed me to the end of the kitchen and was incredibly snappish and bitchy--in fact, it made me cry. I don't remember all the wording, but basically she said "Maybe you need to go work somewhere else, since you're so frustrated with everything. We go through this with you any time there's something new."

I have no idea what she was talking about; I was frustrated at that (and had not expressed it) and about one other stupid, corporate-wide thing--and I said very little about that. But I don't like being attacked out of the blue, and I spoke before I thought and said I don't understand why the district manager (if it even was him) is worried about something that doesn't matter when there are more important things. Oh, god. "Drinks full of ice are important! (Other random stuff about maybe I should go work somewhere else)."

I was just so taken aback. Are you fucking kidding me? So I'm not allowed to have an opinion--even if I don't express it? I don't even remember what she said next, or what I said; I had a table and I walked over to greet them, feeling tears welling up because I cry when I'm angry (and I was tired, and it was first thing in the morning, and just WHAM right upside the head with this). I got their order, and then I went into the bathroom and oozed tears for a while.

The fact is, I'm a good employee. Yeah, I'm habitually five minutes late, and yes, I screw things up occasionally. I'm not claiming to be perfect; but I get more compliments than complaints, I could work any position they need me to, I help my coworkers. But since I don't always keep my opinions to myself, I guess I need to go work somewhere else.

Or she can just get over herself.

(Incidentally, all my customers were just fine today!)

Friday, March 13, 2009

An odd moment.

I was a little loopy at work today anyway; I had a midterm this morning, and I was so afraid I would sleep through it that I didn't get any rest. I slept between my test and work, but I still felt a little out of it. I had a table of two women and two girls around 12, who had been there for a while and one had had three chocolate martinis (yuck), and about the time they ordered dessert the two girls launched in to some sort of song. I didn't really catch it; it was one of those in-jokes kids have. When they finished they turned and gave me big cheeky grins, and I just wasn't sure what to say.

So I sang "Yellow Submarine".

Their mothers got quite the kick out of it.

Monday, March 9, 2009

I think this eight cents would fit neatly UP YOUR ASS.

Yes, that's right, I got an eight cent tip yesterday. Now, it definitely could have been worse, but all in all it still left me steaming.

I was in an interesting mental state yesterday anyway--double shift on about two hours of interrupted sleep. Regular readers of this or my primary blog will probably think I was just being a dumbass and staying up until all hours again, but that wasn't the case (this time). I actually tried to sleep this time!

So my first table of the day was a nice single lady who comes in every Sunday, so that was fine. My next table was a woman and her granddaughter. The woman was in the bathroom when I first approached the table, and the granddaughter said she didn't know what she wanted and would wait until her grandma got back. So I went around doing some other stuff, and when they were both there took their drink order--a strawberry lemonade and an iced tea. I was a little out of it, so it took me a few minutes to get their drinks--maybe three minutes. I smilingly set their drinks down and asked if they knew what they'd like for lunch. The grandmother, without looking at me, said "youuuuu're going to have to GIVE us a minute!" in this chiding, sort of sing-songy voice.

Over the course of the next thirty minutes, I checked on them repeatedly. Each time they said they weren't ready. They asked about the soup of the day, and what dressing came on a salad, and I forget what else. The granddaughter said she didn't come to my restaurant often, so didn't know what she wanted. No problem. Eventually, I check back and the grandmother out of the blue says, "We're just going to have the drinks. Can you take the money for them now?'

"Sure," I said, and waited as she fumbled with her wallet. I was trying to disguise my irritation--they had taken up 1/3 of my section during the Sunday lunch rush, asked me a bunch of questions, kept other tables waiting, and now were just having drinks? But I stayed polite. Until....

"WELL, how MUCH is it?" The tone clearly added "dumb bitch" on to the end of it.

I hesitated, but my brain couldn't formulate anything more diplomatic than "I don't know, I don't have your ticket since I didn't know you weren't going to order. It'll take me just a minute." I said this as politely as I could, I didn't snap, in fact I smiled. But what else was I supposed to say? She hadn't asked for the ticket; she'd asked if I could take the money right away.

So I get their ticket; I take it to them; the woman still has no money out, although she's fumbling with her wallet some more. I went to go grab something for another customer, and halfway back to the table, another server hands me the book that they jammed in her face thirty seconds after I walked away.

I get their change and take it back, all polite and smiley and "have a nice day". I tend to another table, and when I turn around they're gone. The book that had several ones in it is empty; next to it is a nickle and three pennies.

I just started laughing. Seriously? I mean, yeah, their drinks were only $5--but even if I weren't a server, even if I were just a decent human being, I'd leave at least a dollar for being a pain in the ass!

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Finally, some stories!

Ever since I got sick last month, I have just been dragging ass. Just can't seem to get on top of things again. I haven't been working nearly as much as usual either--I've been taking more days off than I should, because I'm just worn out. Luckily, most of the days I've worked, people haven't completely sucked.

With, of course, a few notable expections.

The first is from way, way back (you know, two weeks!). I was a second cut, and had gotten a table of six right before the cut, so was still out and about on the floor. I noticed a table of two had been sitting for a while, and as I was going over to greet them (since I couldn't find the closer they belonged to) another two got sat. I didn't want to just walk away from them, so I greeted them too. They seemed nice enough; normal, even. Friendly, kinda jokey. They ordered a couple of beers, and I went and rang them in.

Unfortunately, we were out of Blue Moon, so I went and told them that, and they were fine. Again, they were smiling and joking. The bartender ended running the beer to them and talking to them for a few minutes. By this time, I'd transferred the two tables I'd greeted to the closers, one to each. These guys' server, I'll just call her Rachael, was taking their order as I closed out my six top. I went about my business of finishing up my table and my sidework.

Forty-five minutes later, my six had finally left. I cleared off the table and went back to move it back in to place, move the chairs, sweep the floor, etc. I hadn't talked to those two guys since taking their drink order, but Rachael had, and quite a bit. She'd taken their order, brought their food, checked back with them, chatted with them for a while. Since I didn't have any tables, I was just bopping around, doing my thing. It took me about five minutes to get the table back in place and the floor clean. This whole time, I was not more than five feet from the two guys and their beers.

After getting the floor clean, I walked a whole three feet over to get silverware, and heard someone behind me yell "EXCUSE ME!" I turned and saw the beer guys glaring at me. I stepped back over and asked what I could do for them. The one who was the most good-natured seeming said "We'd called for you four times, I guess you couldn't hear us." His tone of voice was strange--it was joking, but bitchy at the same time. But he was sort of smiling. So I smiled at him and said "I think you're messing with me!" After all, I had been five feet away from them, and it wasn't like I was involved in my thoughts, I was thinking nothing. There's no way they said anything and I didn't hear it.

Oh dear.

"NO, we called for you four times! I guess you can't hear! We need two more beers!"
I tried not to visibly recoil, and just politely said, "Okay, I'll get your server, Rachael, and let her know right away."
"Well how were WE supposed you know you're not our waitress? Nobody told us! How are we supposed to know?"
A million things rushed through my mind. The first one was "maybe because I haven't even looked at you in almost an hour?" and was closely followed by "are you serious?"
I bit my tongue and just said "sorry, we'll get your beers" and walked away.

One of my least favorite people was working that night, the one who never talked to me and acted like she thought she was going to catch fat from me. But she overheard this and asked me, before we were even out of earshot of the guys, "HOW did you just bite your tongue?"

Writing it out, it doesn't seem as bad as it was. Feels very anticlimactic, actually.


A few days later, I was having a pretty awesome night. I had a great station--well, most people don't like it, but I do. I had two booths and three two-seaters, which I love. I don't tend to get good tips off of big tables, I prefer lots of little ones. So I was happy. One of my last tables of the night was a table of two. They seemed nice enough; had two identical salads, and then told me they wanted to buy a pint of the dressing. We get that occasionally, though I can't imagine why. It's basically sugar.

Anyway. I know that some places sell a lot of their dressing, like Olive Garden, and some have bottles they sell it in. We're not one of them. We get the request often enough that we have a button on the computer for it, but we give it to them in styrofome (phome? hmm.) containers. Because we are your average cheap chain restaurant, people.

So I pour out two half-pint containers. I think about just setting them on the table, but if one of those popped open they'd have a big fat sticky mess in their car. So put the two containers in a box, and I take it out to their table with a bag to put it in.

"Here you go folks, we've got a pint of dressing in two separate containers," I open the box to show them, "and they're labeled and dated for you." I close to box and set it on the table.

They stare at each other and then the woman sneers at me. "Don't you have a bottle to put this in?"

I blinked at her. "I'm sorry, no."

"OH." Sneer.

"It comes to us in two gallon jugs, and we don't have anything else to put it in. Will this still be okay?"

They don't answer, just look down at keep eating. Oooookay. I slightly lost my temper and just walked away--if they can't be bothered to speak to me, then it's their fault. As I walked away, I heard the woman go, "Ugh! Who would want THIS?"

Seriously? It's the same goddamn sticky stuff. Were they expecting a cut-crystal glass decanter to go with their $4 dressing?

Sunday, March 1, 2009

The ET finger.

It really annoys me when people feel the need to reach out with one finger to tap their glass or whatever else. Especially old women with long garish fingernails. I always want to be like, use your words bitch!
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This day was a waste of a latte.

At least I made it at home rather than going through Starbucks. Just been slow. On the plus side I did get a decent tip off a nine top. But now servers outnumber customers. Ah, the joy of Sundays.
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Maybe it's just the coffee...

But I actually feel ready for today! Let's see how that goes, shall we?
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