My tables all hate me.

This is thanks to the expo, who switched around about four tables' orders and created chaos throughout the joint. I wasn't perfect when I was an expo, but I don't think I ever sent the complete wrong meal out.

Oh well, those tables are all gone. Next round!
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Six days like this, is it so much to ask?

Last night was great. I'm so glad I was closing. Instead of the usual sitting around waiting for 11 to roll around, I was running until the last minute. At 11:20 I still had two tables. I left with $103 after dinner and tip-out.

Six days like that a month and I could pay my rent. Is that really so much to ask?

The bitches are back.

So the people who complained about me to corporate were in tonight--despite declaring they'd never come back for dinner because it was such a disaster, they'd only be back for lunch. They weren't at my table--I'm sure they'd asked not to be, but I forgot to ever check that with the hostesses--but I had to walk by them to get to my section. I recognized them as regulars, but I wasn't sure they were the complainers until they started giving me nasty looks every time I walked by.

On the way to my station, the woman would glare at me. On my way back to the kitchen, the husband would glare at me. I just continued by with my vague, pleasant smile on my face, but warned my boss in case she did a table visit--I'm sure they'd've unloaded on her. She didn't go by the table, probably specifically because of that; but supposedly they were happy this time.

Of course, I thought they were fine at the end of their visit last time, too; let's see if my coworker gets a bitching out too!

I also saw a couple of days ago the steak guys--I was glad to see that they came back after my horrible mistake last time!

Maybe I'm the last person in the world to know this ....

But you can actually get pretty decent work shoes for cheap at Wal-Mart. TredSafe "bistro" shoes are really pretty good! I've only worn them two shifts, but I have yet to slip and crack my skull in the kitchen (and our tiles aren't really non-slip). They're fairly comfortable, and they my feet didn't get nearly as hot as when I was wearing "Skechers for work" shoes. The Skechers have better tread--with the new shoes I can feel a bit of slippage when I'm just pushing my foot off the floor to step, if the tile is wet.

But they were $22, compared to the $60+ for the Skechers, so I ain't bitchin.

Shorthand.

I've been noticing lately that a lot of my coworkers write down every single word of the order. They'll write out "7 ounce sirloin medium well mashed potato green beans" etc. At first I thought it was just brand-new servers, but some who've been doing it for at least a year do it as well.

Between that and somebody gawking at all the orders I had crammed on to a tiny page, it made me start thinking about my own shorthand. Some of it is pretty obvious--CFC is pretty standard for chicken fried chicken. "T" for tea is pretty simple. But I think some of it would confuse almost anybody. "H" is water. Why H for H20 instead of W for water? I have no idea. I've just always done it that way. "Ranch" is our buffalo chicken sandwich, whereas R is a salad with ranch, first out. "OR" with a R written in subscript is onion rings with a side of ranch. "2x" is one of the shrimp dishes, and "3x" is a three-cheese dish. CL is cherry limade, unless it has a subscript of "pt", "B", or "m", in which case it's a Coors Light.

And then some of it is just .... quirky. Green beans are always "gB" in cursive. Again, not really sure why; I think it has something to do with writing an ess-tzet (ß) when I was taking German, as that looks like a capital B. "rib" is short ribs, but "Rib" is baby backs. If something is circled it's a temperature for a steak; if it's underlined it's a pre-meal item. "spin" is either a spinach salad or a spinach dip, but I don't differentiate (unless I put a 1/2 in front for the smaller portion) for some reason. Some things (like "cf" for chicken fingers) are always in cursive, where as others ("BL" for boneless) are always in print.

What are your abbreviations or notepad quirks?

Full circle.

So my last post, raging about how I hate my job and all? Well ... turns out I'm stupid. Apparently after picking up the ticket book from table 51 I set it down without taking the cash out of it, but I still closed out the ticket. I don't know why I would have done that; I never do that. Luckily for me, the server who found my cash turned it in to the manager. Since the ticket was still in the book they held it for me. So it turns out I actually made about $60 that night, which isn't bad considering it was fairly slow. And I'm rather embarrassed.

I worked Tuesday night, and it was actually a great shift, in terms of both customers and money. Thursday was good too. I was starting to think maybe it was just one bad night. Well, Friday was horrid. Had a four table section, which is fine. But 31 was taken up by this complete bitch who comes in once a week; she and her friend take up the table for hours and don't tip anyone except one bartender, who gets $20 off them. They were there before I arrived, and didn't leave until two hours later.

I had come in thirty minutes early for someone who needed to come in late; she still got two tables before I got one. My first table at 32 were ten percenters--ten percent on their half price appetizers. 33 and 34 were taken up for an hour plus by a group of eight: the parents, ex-wife, and children of one of the cooks. They tipped me eight bucks on sixty.

So two hours in to the night, I'd had three tables and sales of $92. On a Friday. Once that lot of people left, I had three tables open (non-tipping bitch was still there)--a booth and two high round tables. And the hosts double-sat the girl in the station next to me (Shayla) at a high table, and double-sat a girl on the other side of her in a booth. I waited around with three empty tables for a good fifteen minutes while they sat people around me. I didn't have a full station all night.

Right before first cuts were made, they triple sat Shayla. Then cut was made, and I was moved in to a ten table section. Which would be great .... except two were my only two tables at cut; two were another girl's section originally and were sat; four were Shayla's, and were full; and two were on the patio .... and were full plus it was getting cold. Even after my tables emptied out, the ignoring of my section continued. I was freaking livid.

But then Saturday was a really good night; nice customers, good tips, coworkers all in good moods, etc. Today I was off; I guess we'll see how tomorrow goes.

I'm a quitter.

Well, I'm not yet, but I will be soon. I can't take this shit anymore. I worked six hours tonight and made $29. My sales were $470, I should've made at least $50. But between the douchebag hill folk, the people who took up a fourth of my section to have a single margarita each instead of sitting at the bar three feet away, the snotty bitches who looked at me like I was something smelly the entire time, the mother and daughter who were fighting the entire time and left me three fucking cents ..... yeah. $29.

I went in to work in a great mood, too. The first couple of hours, I was happy and cheerful and thought to myself, "This is why I'm still here, I work with great people, the work isn't that hard. I'm having fun tonight!"

I didn't make a single mistake tonight. People were just being cheap fuckers. And I'm fucking over it. I may not make as much overall with an hourly job once you factor in taxes, but at least I'd know how much I'd be getting every week. But I am fucking done busting my ass taking care of assholes who don't bother to tip on percentage or service, but instead make up some random arbitrary fucking number.

I wanted to quit on the spot tonight, I was so pissed.

Git back to yer hollers, hill folk.

Two dollars on $72 is an insult, not a tip. Go get crabs from your cousins and stay the fuck out of my restaurant.
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Inciting violence in customers, part two.

So I finally worked with my GM last night for the first time in more than a week. We were all sitting around talking about how crazy people are--people who we suspect bring in hairs to plant in their food, etc. I mentioned the people who complained about me, and right away she rolled her eyes and started talking about how nuts they were! She also mentioned that they complained about getting too much food, and claimed they heard my table of drunk college kids saying outside how they hated us and would never come back. Uh ... right.

Anyway, she totally didn't take them seriously. And here I thought her head had surely exploded the second she got the email from them.

Caution: being my customer may provoke violence.

Last Saturday, I had a table of two semi-regulars. They're older and always act like their server is bothering them by asking questions, but they were okay. They ordered a dip for an appetizer and two pasta bowls. The dip involves the cooks plopping it in a dish and toasting some cheese on top; it shouldn't take long. Apparently it did, because they got their appetizer only a minute or two before their dinners.

They were all pissy about it, but wouldn't let me fix it. I offered to take their pasta bowls and bring them brand-new ones when they were ready. The guy snapped at me that that was a waste of food. I said it wouldn't go to waste, but they just weren't having it. Later, they seemed perfectly happy--saying that the dip actually was a really good topping to the pasta.

By the time they were finished, all my other tables had left. They asked me for boxes, so I took them two boxes and the check. The wife promptly told me they weren't big enough and didn't we have bigger boxes. Normally, I tell people we don't and I'd bring her another ... but I'd just walked by them with a much bigger box (which is only supposed to be used for call-in carside orders) as a joke for another table.

So I trot to the back and get these boxes, which are much too big for what they've got--their food would've fit in the smaller boxes just fine. As I was walking up the woman rolled her eyes, I assume thinking I was just too stupid to bring the right size box or something. I explained we were out of any box sizes in between, and she seemed fine and started scraping her leftovers into the boxes. Her husband had disappeared at this point; she said something about he was "really hurting" and they had to get him home.

I cleared a couple of plates from a neighboring table that had left, and then came back. When I picked up their appetizer platter and two dinner plates, she still hadn't opened the book with the check in it. Just as I started to walk away with two armfuls of plates, she reached for it. I made a lap through the kitchen. All I did was drop the plates in the dish area and come back out, but when I came out the kitchen door I saw the woman was standing by the table, staring around. I hustled over there, but her book was gone.

"It disappeared!" I smiled at her, confused.
"I couldn't wait for you," she snapped, just as the manager came up with her card. I was confused--I'd been gone 45-60 seconds, tops. She was just emanating irritation, so I wasn't even expecting a tip. To my surprise, I got 15%, so I assumed she wasn't really that upset.

Oh, but she was. When I got to work today, I found out she'd e-mailed our corporate office. Allegedly, when she was ready to pay I was "nowhere to be found". Apparently, from now on they're only going to come in during lunch, "when the service is much better". And according to the email, they'll "refuse" to be served by me again.

All that's fine; clearly she's over-reacting, and I know that I didn't do anything wrong. What's really hilarious is that in the middle of this email she starts listing things she saw that supposedly mean I'm a bad server--such as the fact that tables around them got their food "out of order", and the fact that the people behind them sent their steaks back because they were under-cooked.

Well, the two tables next to them did get their food "out of order"--64 sat down before 63, but 63 got their food first. Because they had two salads, and 64 had appetizers before their steaks. And the people behind the complaining bitches did send their steaks back--but they weren't even my table. They just flagged me down as I was walking by, that was the extent of the communication I had with them was taking their steaks back to the kitchen.

So my boss had to call these people to "resolve" the issue, or whatever. Apparently, the wife wrote the email, but my boss talked to the husband. He repeated the things his wife said, and added some more idiocy. He said he's "ex-military surveillance" and he was "monitoring" the restaurant. I'm not sure exactly what he said about tables 31 and 32; we did have some issues there, but again, not my tables; and how the hell would he know what was going on when they were across the restaurant from them?

The most hilarious thing, though, is that the guy said that another table was stabbing their to-go box with a knife because they were pissed off! Uh, no; he was stabbing his box with silverware because he was a 23 year old punk. That table was emphatically not unhappy--two of the guys were buzzed, one was totally drunk, and their sober girlfriends were half-amused, half-embarrassed. They were laughing and joking with me the entire time. The guy just decided he didn't want to take the rest of his salad and decided to destroy the box because it was there.

But apparently, Mr. Ex-Military with the busybody wife decided that I was such a terrible waitress another table was stabbing things. Oh yeah. I am that bad.

Color scheme

Is it hard on the eyes? Be honest. I know sometimes I let purple get in the way of my judgment.

A brief history of table 19.

Last night I had the same section I had on Tuesday night; which happens to be the section farthest from the kitchen and closest to the door. It's generally not a money-maker. I did okay last night, despite one of my tables being worthless. It was like it was cursed. I had five tables there throughout the night:

-An older woman and her crotch-spawn's two crotch-spawn. They were in last week and didn't tip me; I didn't expect anything different this week, despite remembering them and entering the kids' food correctly even though she didn't order it correctly. I got $2, which is about $2 more than last week.

-Two Mexican guys who ordered extra crispy wings and two beers, and "tipped" 38 cents.

-Four teenagers who waiting until they saw me approaching with their four waters, and then suddenly told the hostess they "had to go" and bolted. I didn't want to wait on them anyway!

-A single old man who got great service--despite the fact that I had six tables inside and two tables outside and the whole world was exploding because a 20 top walked in and the two hostesses didn't have a brain to share between them and filled up two sections on one side of the restaurant, leaving everything else empty. I forget my exact "tip" from this guy, but it was less than sixty cents.

-Two women who like to come in, share a meal, and sit until after closing. When they hadn't left an hour after paying their tab, I told one of the closers she could have the tip if she cleaned it, and I went home.

I really hope I don't have that same section tonight.

Cunt-tastic.

I decided that was my word of the week last night, even before discovering my money was missing. Some example of cunt-tastic behavior from the last week or so:

-Last week, the manager divided up closing sections in a very odd fashion. Instead of giving everyone square-ish sections, he'd done long rectangular sections ..... because we had a 24 top coming in. I nearly gave up my close right then, since they'd be in my section. I hate big tables, as they almost never tip me well in this place. But I'd been sick the night before; I needed the money; I had to at least try. They were due between nine-thirty and ten, so when I got a table of nine at about 8:45 I figured it'd work out perfectly. One of the guys at that table was a total jackass; several of them were very bitchy; I only got ten percent despite them running me. But whatever. They're not the cunt-tastic ones.

The cunt-tastic ones are the twenty-four top who showed up at nine. And it turned out to be ten adults and fourteen of their crotch-spawn, of some church variety. They put the kids in four booths, and the adults at one long table. They tipped me decently, percentage-wise; but I'm calling them cunt-tastic because of their attitudes--especially of the children, who kept clogging up the aisle, moving from table to table, yelling and screeching, demanding refills every time I walked by even if they'd just asked me ten seconds before. Also everyone ordered drinks and food at separate times. And their total bil between of all of them was $140 because they had three entrees, one dessert, and six half-priced appetizers. And they hung around forever. And the kids broke their crayons and threw them all over. And they all talked to me like I was an imbecile. Saving grace? They didn't want separate tickets.

-Then there were the teenagers who tried to give me $10 less than their bill was, threw another tenner at me when I pointed it out, and left me a six cent tip.

-And the other teenagers next to them, who were snotty bitches, camped out forever, were a big mess and inconvenience, and left $4 on $56. It wouldn't have pissed me off so much if it hadn't happened within thirty seconds of the six cent "tip".

-Then there was the couple last night with their daughter; $1 on $40 for excellent service. They looked sort of familiar, and when I saw that "tip" I remembered they've done that before. I tried to fix their faces in my memory so next time they're getting bare minimum service. She's slightly chubby with chin-length blonde hair; he's got dark hair and earrings; their daughter is about three. I'm hoping writing that down will help me recognize them next time.

-I almost forgot about the table of eight soccer moms who came in on Monday. It would take pages to describe all the events, so I'll try to sum up: rude, demanding, ordering one at a time, ordering waters individually every time I came by the table, trying to get discounts, joking about my tip, talking and laughing at ear-splitting volume. I got behind on all my other tables because of these bitches, and their tip didn't make up for it.

-The old people who come in every Thursday and order the same thing and complain every damn time. They choose their own table, conveniently located where his motorized cart can be the most in the way, since he has to have it next to him with his elbow resting on it the entire time. They don't answer questions, they look like they've been sucking on lemons, they bitch and get free food every time, and about 80% of the time they try to leave less money than they owe for their bill.

-The fuckers who order a ribeye and then complain it's "too fatty". It's a fucking ribeye, people.

-The people who come in close to close every week, order a ridiculous amount of food, complain every goddamn time, and take 90% of their food home in boxes before leaving a five percent tip.

Still, all of these bitches pale in comparison to the most Cunt-tastic Cunt Of Them All. Because you see, I've finally figured out where my money went last night.

Last night's business came in waves, and at the end of one wave three tables left at once. Two paid with credit cards; one (table 19) I saw putting money in the book from across the restaurant. A few minutes later, one of my other tables (24) was ready to go. I left what I thought was their ticket; I was just stacking a couple of dishes up when I heard the woman say her check was ready to go.

When I turned around, the book looked weird--propped open. When I picked it up, it had cash in it, plus the credit slip from table 18 and a pen. I forget what I said; some sort of expression of confusion. The lady laughed and said she thought it looked like a weird ticket. I gave her cash back, apologized, and said I must've left the folder with her ticket on the counter. Ran and got it; she gave me $30, I took her change. That was the only change I had to make that night, and I triple-counted it, so I know I didn't give her the incorrect change.

Today, though, it all fell into place, because I realized a host cleaned off 19 for me--I just walked up and it was cleared off. Not unusual. I thought I had picked the book up at the time--things were a little hectic, though, and I was wrong. I'm 99% sure that the hostess, trying to be helpful, put 19's cash in 18's book after clearing the table. I then jammed that book in my pocket. Ten minutes later, I set it down on 24, thinking it was their ticket--which I know I'd printed and put in my apron pocket, but must've removed at some point without realizing it.

All of that is my fault--I'm aware of that. I should've been more cautious, should've checked before setting the book down, etc. I'm wicked fucking pissed at myself. But I'm even more pissed at the dishonest bitch who opened that book, saw what was in there, and decided to pretend that money was hers. She basically got paid $9 to eat dinner there--make that $6, since she left me $3 out of the $30 she took from me. So I lost my tip off table 19 and paid for 24 to eat, basically.

Like I said, I should've been more careful; ultimately the fault is mine. But I still hope karma gives that bitch a swift kick in the twat for taking advantage of a stranger's honest mistake.

Endless stream of expletives.

For the first time in my serving career, I lost a chunk of my bank. No idea how or where. Just gone.
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