Wednesday, March 31, 2010
I didn't realize I was asking for the moon!
One of my favorite meals, when I actually bother to properly cook at home, is one I got from the Protein Power message board years and years ago. Simply called "Steph's Yummy Chicken Stuff", it's basically a dressing mix on chicken, with parmesan cheese baked on top. Excellent and simple.
Well, we have an item on our menu that's basically the same concept--just different dressing and cheese. I'd had that the night before, but I was kind of in the mood for something different Monday night. So I grabbed mayonnaise, salad dressing, and sour cream and mixed up a little bit of topping for the chicken; then I got some shredded parm and gave them both to the cook. I very politely explained what I was after; I said please and thank you. I didn't think it was that big a deal--no southwestern, sub stuff I'd mixed up; no cheddar sub parm; no rice sub veggies. Not high-impact modifiers, honestly. Same processes as what he'd have to do for the regular menu item.
He acted like I wanted him to saw off his own freaking limb! He started throwing things, slamming stuff down, and yelling in Spanish. A few minutes later I came back to the kitchen and he was still bitching, listening off my modifiers at the top of his lungs to the other cook. I got irritated at that point and told him "It's just like the (regular item), it's just different cheese and dressing! What's the big freaking deal!"
He ignored me; I actually thought I was going to have to get Lapdog and ask him to tell the guy to make the food I was paying for! But he eventually put my food up ... only instead of a layer of nicely baked cheese on top, like I wanted and like the regular menu has, and instead of parmesan, I had a pile of slightly melted white cheddar. I was so hungry I just ate it, and it wasn't terrible; but I was pissed that he threw such a fit over it. It wasn't busy; it wasn't late; there was no reason for his tantrum. I didn't realize that asking for two little changes was going to incite such anger.
Well, we have an item on our menu that's basically the same concept--just different dressing and cheese. I'd had that the night before, but I was kind of in the mood for something different Monday night. So I grabbed mayonnaise, salad dressing, and sour cream and mixed up a little bit of topping for the chicken; then I got some shredded parm and gave them both to the cook. I very politely explained what I was after; I said please and thank you. I didn't think it was that big a deal--no southwestern, sub stuff I'd mixed up; no cheddar sub parm; no rice sub veggies. Not high-impact modifiers, honestly. Same processes as what he'd have to do for the regular menu item.
He acted like I wanted him to saw off his own freaking limb! He started throwing things, slamming stuff down, and yelling in Spanish. A few minutes later I came back to the kitchen and he was still bitching, listening off my modifiers at the top of his lungs to the other cook. I got irritated at that point and told him "It's just like the (regular item), it's just different cheese and dressing! What's the big freaking deal!"
He ignored me; I actually thought I was going to have to get Lapdog and ask him to tell the guy to make the food I was paying for! But he eventually put my food up ... only instead of a layer of nicely baked cheese on top, like I wanted and like the regular menu has, and instead of parmesan, I had a pile of slightly melted white cheddar. I was so hungry I just ate it, and it wasn't terrible; but I was pissed that he threw such a fit over it. It wasn't busy; it wasn't late; there was no reason for his tantrum. I didn't realize that asking for two little changes was going to incite such anger.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Waiting for bitchy customers ....
.. because nothing has happened so far this week worth writing about! Damn!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Saturday morning detention.
One of the downsides of being at a corporate restaurant is how they get all uptight about sales and add-ons and crap. At my restaurant, they used to look at your average dollar amount per guest, but they didn't make a huge deal out it. We'd have contests sometimes, and they'd talk about ways to increase it, but it wasn't something they really focused on.Well, now that's changed. They don't look at the check average anymore, actually. We have a whole new system. Basically we get points for things, like upsized drinks, salads, desserts, etc. Each item is worth one point, and then that's divided by the number of guests. I actually like this system better, as it gives me specific things I know I get credit for and that I know are easy up-sells.
What I don't like so much is that they've decided that there's a cut-off percentage. If you're below that cut-off, you have to come in on Saturday mornings before we open for ... well, I'm not sure exactly what. Since it's run by Lapdog, I'd assume it's going to be an hour of bitching about how things need to get better, with some reiteration of "sales tricks" we've heard before.
Today was the first one of these classes, and I didn't have to go--I'm usually at the top of the chart. Actually, last week I was fifth from the top because I was deliberately slacking off. I'd been first or second for several weeks in a row, and I figured that's a good way to get saddled with leading those Saturday classes or being put on the spot at other times.
So I'm not particularly worried about it--if all else fails, I know how to work the computer system so guests get what they want and I get decent scores. If someone orders a "bacon cheeseburger with no cheese", I order a hamburger add bacon. Same price, I get credit for an upsell. I don't think there's anything wrong with that example; but I know it's just a matter of time before someone I work with gets in trouble for only ringing in one guest per table in an effort to avoid the Saturday morning classes. Which is exactly the kind of trouble corporate is asking for by punishing servers for not being salespeople.
Actual late night business? No way!
Last Sunday and Monday, I was absolutely astounded when we had people in the restaurant for our late night hours. Monday it was all bar customers, probably ten of them still there and drinking at our old closing time of eleven.
Sunday night was the one that really surprised me, though. I was busy right up until the end with four or five tables. I had several tables of employees throughout the night, which was nice; but I also had a lot of just regular tables. People were playing Guitar Hero and having fun. It was the kind of late night thing corporate wants us to have, and I was shocked. Of course, since then there's been absolutely nothing, which has CL all stressed out.
My favorite part of Sunday night? The table that, between eight people, had five pitchers of beer, twelve Jagerbombs, three shots of Dewars, and tipped me $60. They can come back any time!
Sunday night was the one that really surprised me, though. I was busy right up until the end with four or five tables. I had several tables of employees throughout the night, which was nice; but I also had a lot of just regular tables. People were playing Guitar Hero and having fun. It was the kind of late night thing corporate wants us to have, and I was shocked. Of course, since then there's been absolutely nothing, which has CL all stressed out.
My favorite part of Sunday night? The table that, between eight people, had five pitchers of beer, twelve Jagerbombs, three shots of Dewars, and tipped me $60. They can come back any time!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Updated roll call!
Since some people have moved on, I thought it'd be appropriate to re-post this with updates ....
For a while, I had a "Cast of Characters" widget on my sidebar, but it was too clunky. But I want people to know who I'm talking about, I'm replacing it with a link to this post, which will be redundant for the time being.
GM/Chicken Little: Our GM, who regularly thinks the sky is falling. Possibly needs medication.
Lapdog: Named after a "House" quote about "because I'm a very high-strung little lapdog!" Possibly needs medication.
Bitter Divorced Man: Manager who's sometimes a riot, and other times won't speak to anyone the entire shift. Possibly needs medication.
Pot Smoking Manager: Almost too laid-back for his own good. Says he doesn't self-medicate, but cheerfully admits he doesn't remember most of the 80s.
Accent Girl: Her accent changes in the middle of sentences--she'll go from being Southern to being from Russia. She claims not to realize she's doing it, and yet it never happens when she's really involved in what she's saying.
Brainless: Not as bad as she used to be, but still a source of hilarity. And irritation because she tries to get out of her sidework every shift.
California Girl: Grew up in middle America, but seems like a surfer. Probably the best server in the place. Often calls me at three in the morning when she's had a few beers.
Dallas: Worthy of her own entry.
Flirty Priest: Cuter than a basket of kittens, foul-mouthed and foul-minded, flirts with everyone with tits .... and is attending a Christian college to be become a minister.
Fud: A nice woman, but has an annoying habit of expoing food and then yelling "hot FUUUUD" and standing there doing nothing waiting for someone else to pick it up. Unless it's for her table of course.
Idiot Expo: Started out as a cook but couldn't hack it; was moved to expo and sucks at that too. Apparently can't read, because every order that has mods is missing something--extra plates, three sides of ranch, whatever. After a month, I'm losing hope for improvement.
Judge Judy: Anyone who does anything differently than her is "a fucking idiot." Acts like she's so much better than everyone around her, and yet expects ridiculous amounts of sympathy for her personal problems. Ice on the counter pisses her off, and she sweeps it on to the floor; when I pointed out someone could slip, her response was "You should be wearing non-slip shoes."
Monty: New server who has the same spiky hair and overall look as Ryan Reynolds did in "Waiting". Not sure yet what I think of him--he doesn't talk to me much, other than to try to order me around. I guess because he was originally hired as a manager he thinks he's better than me. Too bad about being on probation because of that DUI, Monty.
Pennsyltucky: Grew up in this state, yet has affected such a banjo-twanging accent that I can't understand what he's saying most of the time. He's 19 and thinks he's got the world by the balls. Recently started serving, which ought to be interesting.
Rehab: Incessantly screaming know-it-all lifer who was a lot more fun before she quit drinking.
Wannabe: Hostess who does productions with the local theater company and thinks she's going to make it big someday (despite, uh, sucking). Mildly annoying, but I was learning to live with it until it turned out she's a two-faced squealer who rats people out to Chicken Little!
Wide-eyes: Has constantly bugged-out eyes she accentuates with tons of eye makeup, making her look perpetually shocked. Whines constantly about everything, shoves people out of her way when she wants to get to the computer, and basically acts like we should all bow down to her. Oh yeah, and she screws up non-stop.
The Vomit-Worthys: Married couple. She never misses a chance to call someone out about something and is always on the warpath about some little, insignificant thing she thinks the rest of us should be doing. Her husband is a nice enough guy--slightly creepy, though, as he gives backrubs to the other waitresses when his wife isn't around. When she is around, though, they earn their moniker--I think I know more about their sex life than my own.
For a while, I had a "Cast of Characters" widget on my sidebar, but it was too clunky. But I want people to know who I'm talking about, I'm replacing it with a link to this post, which will be redundant for the time being.
GM/Chicken Little: Our GM, who regularly thinks the sky is falling. Possibly needs medication.
Lapdog: Named after a "House" quote about "because I'm a very high-strung little lapdog!" Possibly needs medication.
Bitter Divorced Man: Manager who's sometimes a riot, and other times won't speak to anyone the entire shift. Possibly needs medication.
Pot Smoking Manager: Almost too laid-back for his own good. Says he doesn't self-medicate, but cheerfully admits he doesn't remember most of the 80s.
Accent Girl: Her accent changes in the middle of sentences--she'll go from being Southern to being from Russia. She claims not to realize she's doing it, and yet it never happens when she's really involved in what she's saying.
Brainless: Not as bad as she used to be, but still a source of hilarity. And irritation because she tries to get out of her sidework every shift.
California Girl: Grew up in middle America, but seems like a surfer. Probably the best server in the place. Often calls me at three in the morning when she's had a few beers.
Dallas: Worthy of her own entry.
Flirty Priest: Cuter than a basket of kittens, foul-mouthed and foul-minded, flirts with everyone with tits .... and is attending a Christian college to be become a minister.
Fud: A nice woman, but has an annoying habit of expoing food and then yelling "hot FUUUUD" and standing there doing nothing waiting for someone else to pick it up. Unless it's for her table of course.
Idiot Expo: Started out as a cook but couldn't hack it; was moved to expo and sucks at that too. Apparently can't read, because every order that has mods is missing something--extra plates, three sides of ranch, whatever. After a month, I'm losing hope for improvement.
Judge Judy: Anyone who does anything differently than her is "a fucking idiot." Acts like she's so much better than everyone around her, and yet expects ridiculous amounts of sympathy for her personal problems. Ice on the counter pisses her off, and she sweeps it on to the floor; when I pointed out someone could slip, her response was "You should be wearing non-slip shoes."
Monty: New server who has the same spiky hair and overall look as Ryan Reynolds did in "Waiting". Not sure yet what I think of him--he doesn't talk to me much, other than to try to order me around. I guess because he was originally hired as a manager he thinks he's better than me. Too bad about being on probation because of that DUI, Monty.
Pennsyltucky: Grew up in this state, yet has affected such a banjo-twanging accent that I can't understand what he's saying most of the time. He's 19 and thinks he's got the world by the balls. Recently started serving, which ought to be interesting.
Rehab: Incessantly screaming know-it-all lifer who was a lot more fun before she quit drinking.
Wannabe: Hostess who does productions with the local theater company and thinks she's going to make it big someday (despite, uh, sucking). Mildly annoying, but I was learning to live with it until it turned out she's a two-faced squealer who rats people out to Chicken Little!
Wide-eyes: Has constantly bugged-out eyes she accentuates with tons of eye makeup, making her look perpetually shocked. Whines constantly about everything, shoves people out of her way when she wants to get to the computer, and basically acts like we should all bow down to her. Oh yeah, and she screws up non-stop.
The Vomit-Worthys: Married couple. She never misses a chance to call someone out about something and is always on the warpath about some little, insignificant thing she thinks the rest of us should be doing. Her husband is a nice enough guy--slightly creepy, though, as he gives backrubs to the other waitresses when his wife isn't around. When she is around, though, they earn their moniker--I think I know more about their sex life than my own.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Of all the people to lie to, and disproportionate responses.
I'll never understand people who think that lying to try to cover their ass is a good strategy. Isn't it better to just say, "Yeah, I fucked up" and then deal with it? We weren't even terribly busy the night this happened. Wide-eyes, who I apparently went to high school with but don't remember, has worked there for going on a month. She supposedly has served before, but you couldn't tell it by how often she screws up. This particular screw-up was on a table of six. She forgot to ring their food in for ten or fifteen minutes, including their app. Hey, it happens sometimes, I certainly can't criticize based just on that. Oh wait, except she's done it every shift I've worked with her for the past two weeks.
Anyway, she finally rang it in, but ordered their appetizer at the same time and didn't hit the handy little "first out" button so they'd at least get something to eat. Then she didn't tell Lapdog about it at all. So when he was making rounds talking to tables, he got totally blindsided. That always pisses him off, but worse was when she first tried to say it hadn't been that long, then said she'd ordered their appetizer at the same time as their drinks and she didn't know why the kitchen didn't have it done yet.
Of course, Lapdog went right to the computer to pull up the ticket and look at the times. Then he motioned her over and held the print-out out to her. "You know I can check that, right?" Wide-eyes immediately tried to sink through the floor, then started stammering about she thought she had, she didn't mean, she didn't say ..... oh. I'm sure you all have read enough about Lapdog to imagine how he took that. For the rest of the night he ignored her unless directly spoke to, and then nit-picked every last little thing she did when it came time for her to check out. The rest of us thought that was pretty amusing, honestly, considering she acts like she's incredibly special.
It was just my bad luck that I had a table of complainers while Lapdog was still fuming over Wide-eyes' bullshit. I wasn't completely blameless on this one. I had only one table, and while the wife seemed a little uptight I didn't anticipate any problems. When I delivered their food they asked for ranch. I was on my way back to the kitchen when another coworker asked me something about the trivia we were doing that night, and I talked to her for a minute. Then she asked if I'd make an announcement about it, but when I got to the little microphone set-up I discovered it wasn't hooked up. So I plugged it in and fiddled with the dials got about two minutes before realizing .... shit, I forgot their ranch!
I dropped what I was doing and scurried to the kitchen, knowing I'd been in full view of them the last 3-4 minutes they were waiting. As I was pouring their ranch, Pennsyltucky came to the kitchen, talking on his headset to tell Lapdog my table wanted to talk to him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I thought I could get the ranch to them and get back before Lapdog came out, so I could give him a run-down; so I scurried to the table. "I'm sorry I forgot that for a few minutes! How is your dinner?"
The wife stabbed her steak and shrugged, so I asked if it was cooked properly. Yes. I asked if they wanted anything else. They said no, and I turned to go find Lapdog--only to see him three steps away. There was nothing I could do except leave the table and let them talk. I waited in the kitchen; he came back and, without explaining what they'd said, told me to take them to-go boxes, then turned around and went back out. He was still licking their boots, practically begging them to come back another time, when I dropped off the boxes and walked away to wait for my lecture.
The woman told him that I "didn't seem happy" to be waiting on them, that they felt like they were an "inconvenience", that my focus was "everywhere else" but on them. For about five minutes they told him how much I sucked, and so he bought all their food. Never mind that I was cheerful and happy and friendly--I was in a great mood! I was glad to have someone to wait on. Obviously I shouldn't have gotten side-tracked on the way to get the ranch, but how does that translate in to the rest of it?
Since he hadn't gone off on Wide-eyes, because he thinks she's useless, I got the brunt of it for my screw-up. Of course, I didn't think it through that clearly at the time, and I got a little aggravated. After hearing about how we have to be better than everyone else to keep people coming in, he doesn't like being the bad guy but he'll have to write me up, and I forget what else, I got aggravated. I told him, "If you want to write me up because that woman's a bitch, then whatever."
Maybe not the best thing to say. "I don't care what she is, she's not happy!" More lecture. Then he said he didn't want to write me up, but if he didn't it wouldn't be fair to other servers when he had to write them up. Following what I said at the beginning of this post about owning up, I looked him right in the face and said, "You know me well enough to know I admit when I screw up. I forgot their ranch for about four minutes, but that's it, everything else was fine. Her reaction is totally out of proportion to what happened."
By the end of the night he'd calmed down and he agreed with me. It still took the shine off my night though--people exaggerating to get things at my expense has that effect on me. Call me crazy, I just don't think a delay on a side of ranch should equate to $30 of food!
Anyway, she finally rang it in, but ordered their appetizer at the same time and didn't hit the handy little "first out" button so they'd at least get something to eat. Then she didn't tell Lapdog about it at all. So when he was making rounds talking to tables, he got totally blindsided. That always pisses him off, but worse was when she first tried to say it hadn't been that long, then said she'd ordered their appetizer at the same time as their drinks and she didn't know why the kitchen didn't have it done yet.
Of course, Lapdog went right to the computer to pull up the ticket and look at the times. Then he motioned her over and held the print-out out to her. "You know I can check that, right?" Wide-eyes immediately tried to sink through the floor, then started stammering about she thought she had, she didn't mean, she didn't say ..... oh. I'm sure you all have read enough about Lapdog to imagine how he took that. For the rest of the night he ignored her unless directly spoke to, and then nit-picked every last little thing she did when it came time for her to check out. The rest of us thought that was pretty amusing, honestly, considering she acts like she's incredibly special.
It was just my bad luck that I had a table of complainers while Lapdog was still fuming over Wide-eyes' bullshit. I wasn't completely blameless on this one. I had only one table, and while the wife seemed a little uptight I didn't anticipate any problems. When I delivered their food they asked for ranch. I was on my way back to the kitchen when another coworker asked me something about the trivia we were doing that night, and I talked to her for a minute. Then she asked if I'd make an announcement about it, but when I got to the little microphone set-up I discovered it wasn't hooked up. So I plugged it in and fiddled with the dials got about two minutes before realizing .... shit, I forgot their ranch!
I dropped what I was doing and scurried to the kitchen, knowing I'd been in full view of them the last 3-4 minutes they were waiting. As I was pouring their ranch, Pennsyltucky came to the kitchen, talking on his headset to tell Lapdog my table wanted to talk to him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I thought I could get the ranch to them and get back before Lapdog came out, so I could give him a run-down; so I scurried to the table. "I'm sorry I forgot that for a few minutes! How is your dinner?"
The wife stabbed her steak and shrugged, so I asked if it was cooked properly. Yes. I asked if they wanted anything else. They said no, and I turned to go find Lapdog--only to see him three steps away. There was nothing I could do except leave the table and let them talk. I waited in the kitchen; he came back and, without explaining what they'd said, told me to take them to-go boxes, then turned around and went back out. He was still licking their boots, practically begging them to come back another time, when I dropped off the boxes and walked away to wait for my lecture.
The woman told him that I "didn't seem happy" to be waiting on them, that they felt like they were an "inconvenience", that my focus was "everywhere else" but on them. For about five minutes they told him how much I sucked, and so he bought all their food. Never mind that I was cheerful and happy and friendly--I was in a great mood! I was glad to have someone to wait on. Obviously I shouldn't have gotten side-tracked on the way to get the ranch, but how does that translate in to the rest of it?
Since he hadn't gone off on Wide-eyes, because he thinks she's useless, I got the brunt of it for my screw-up. Of course, I didn't think it through that clearly at the time, and I got a little aggravated. After hearing about how we have to be better than everyone else to keep people coming in, he doesn't like being the bad guy but he'll have to write me up, and I forget what else, I got aggravated. I told him, "If you want to write me up because that woman's a bitch, then whatever."
Maybe not the best thing to say. "I don't care what she is, she's not happy!" More lecture. Then he said he didn't want to write me up, but if he didn't it wouldn't be fair to other servers when he had to write them up. Following what I said at the beginning of this post about owning up, I looked him right in the face and said, "You know me well enough to know I admit when I screw up. I forgot their ranch for about four minutes, but that's it, everything else was fine. Her reaction is totally out of proportion to what happened."
By the end of the night he'd calmed down and he agreed with me. It still took the shine off my night though--people exaggerating to get things at my expense has that effect on me. Call me crazy, I just don't think a delay on a side of ranch should equate to $30 of food!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
My luck was short-lived.
After having an amazing shift two Tuesdays ago, making $145, my luck took a decidedly shit turn this weekend.
Friday I was stiffed at least once (possibly twice, but I'm having a hard time remembering). I admit they had to wait an extra 2-3 minutes for me to pick up their credit card because I was taking orders at the tables on either side of them.
Saturday my first table left me 40 cents, my second to last left me 50 cents, and my last left me zero. That's right, 90 cents on about $100 in sales.
Sunday was another shitty night. I think every one of my tables needed to go change their tampons or something, everybody was so fucking bitchy! My co-workers were all saying it too. I lost it at one point after a steady stream of 5-10% tips, followed by being given eight dollars on a fucking big top's $140 ticket. I ended up in the kitchen angrily crying, throwing shit and yelling about how next week I refuse to wait on those "fucking Mexicans" anymore because this was the second week in a row they'd done this to me. No, I'm not proud of saying that.
Monday was unremarkable, I think; it seems so far away now! I know it was another night of sitting around doing nothing the last couple of hours when we once again didn't have late night customers. Tuesday ... well, Tuesday's primary bitch is worthy of her own entry.
I've had two days off now--two days of having stomach flu, isn't that splendid--and my work week begins anew tomorrow. Hopefully it'll be a bit more lucky--goddammit, I'm Irish, this is supposed to be my week!
Friday I was stiffed at least once (possibly twice, but I'm having a hard time remembering). I admit they had to wait an extra 2-3 minutes for me to pick up their credit card because I was taking orders at the tables on either side of them.
Saturday my first table left me 40 cents, my second to last left me 50 cents, and my last left me zero. That's right, 90 cents on about $100 in sales.
- The first table was two teenage girls--I wasn't expecting much, especially after they got shitty with me because I would let them use expired coupons to get two free desserts when that was all they ordered.
- The second-to-last table was a couple of cranky old bitches who come in fairly often; the wife accosted me and demanded "Don't you have any burgers that aren't smoked?" Um, yes. All of them, actually. I suggested maybe her bun was a little bit burned and offered to get her a new one, and she kept insisting it was the meat.
- The last one was three trampy-looking twenties bitches. I asked if they needed boxes and was told no; the next time I walked by a couple of minutes later I was snottily informed that they needed boxes. I gave them their check; five minutes later they hadn't touched it, so I asked Anna to pick up their ticket while I made a dash in to the bathroom because I couldn't hold it anymore. Sure enough, when I came out two minutes later they had grabbed Pennsyltucky and jammed cash in his hands, while bitching about how I "disappeared".
Sunday was another shitty night. I think every one of my tables needed to go change their tampons or something, everybody was so fucking bitchy! My co-workers were all saying it too. I lost it at one point after a steady stream of 5-10% tips, followed by being given eight dollars on a fucking big top's $140 ticket. I ended up in the kitchen angrily crying, throwing shit and yelling about how next week I refuse to wait on those "fucking Mexicans" anymore because this was the second week in a row they'd done this to me. No, I'm not proud of saying that.
Monday was unremarkable, I think; it seems so far away now! I know it was another night of sitting around doing nothing the last couple of hours when we once again didn't have late night customers. Tuesday ... well, Tuesday's primary bitch is worthy of her own entry.
I've had two days off now--two days of having stomach flu, isn't that splendid--and my work week begins anew tomorrow. Hopefully it'll be a bit more lucky--goddammit, I'm Irish, this is supposed to be my week!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Are they trying to drive employees away?
We've had a lot of changes at my restaurant in the last year or so, most of which have pissed us all off. We no longer get paychecks, the money gets put right on a debit card that's a big pain in the ass to retrieve our money from. We went from jeans and a black shirt to head-to-toe black. We got new, enormous, hugely colorful, cheesy-line-infused menus. We no longer put silverware on the tables ahead of time, only when guests are seated. Etc.None of those are that big a deal; minor annoyances. Now, though, corporate has made what I suspect will be a very bad decision for everyone involved: they've decreed that employees can no longer smoke at work.
I don't smoke, so it doesn't impact me immediately. But I work with a lot of people who already get bitchy as hell when they don't get their nicotine by eight at night. I do not want to see them on an eight hour closing shift when they're not allowed to smoke.
Honestly, I'm not even sure how it's legal for them to say this. According to the labor law, you're supposed to get a paid fifteen minute break for every four hours of work. Even though it's paid, it's personal time. How can they tell you what to do with that time, as long as it's not illegal? They say it's because of laws banning smoking within a certain number of feet of the door--but I'm pretty sure that's only a public entrance, not a bad door to the trash area or whatever. They also say it's a safety concern, because they "can't guarantee" employees won't be injured while off store property--but this is just going to force people to leave the property to smoke. Which is maybe the point, if somebody is hurt off the property it's not their legal responsibility.
I'm sure they're thinking this will cut back on guest wait times, improve service, blabbity blah. In reality, it's going to lead to pissed off and cranky employees, being pissed off and cranky at each other and guests. It's also going to lead to people sneaking out to their cars, desperate to suck down half a cigarette. But it's also probably going to lead to some of my more addicted coworkers quitting their jobs in favor of more cancer-friendly places.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
More confirmation that Lapdog is smoking crack.
So as I said in my last (real) entry, late night has so far been ... not very exciting. I stay up really late anyway, usually doing nothing exciting, so it doesn't bother me to read or do crosswords or whatever in that last hour--it's kind of a nice wind-down. But for the rest of the night, I like to know who I'm saddled with.
While perusing this week's schedule, I noticed I'm closing with unusual people all week. Then I went to look at the ones who normally close with me, and saw that ... uh, I'm closing with them, too? WTF? And there are two bartenders on every night?
Yes, Lapdog definitely broke out the crack spoon before making this week's schedule. Every night, we have three closers and usually two bartenders. Five employees, to tend to a projected zero customers. Last night, Pot Smoking Manager gladly let the third closer leave with the last cuts, and the second closer an hour before we locked the doors. Tonight, Lapdog is managing, and he has a strange aversion to sending people home, even when we barely have a trickle of business. I really think it's just because he can keep us there and irritated, because he can't possibly see a need for so many people with so few tables.
While perusing this week's schedule, I noticed I'm closing with unusual people all week. Then I went to look at the ones who normally close with me, and saw that ... uh, I'm closing with them, too? WTF? And there are two bartenders on every night?
Yes, Lapdog definitely broke out the crack spoon before making this week's schedule. Every night, we have three closers and usually two bartenders. Five employees, to tend to a projected zero customers. Last night, Pot Smoking Manager gladly let the third closer leave with the last cuts, and the second closer an hour before we locked the doors. Tonight, Lapdog is managing, and he has a strange aversion to sending people home, even when we barely have a trickle of business. I really think it's just because he can keep us there and irritated, because he can't possibly see a need for so many people with so few tables.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Late night update.
It still sucks.
Okay, I'll go in to a little more detail. I've closed five of the last eight nights, and we have yet to have a single table or even bar guest come in after 10:30. Even on the much-lauded bingo night that was supposedly soooooo busy last week. So basically, it's still a waste of time. Oh well. At least I'm getting some crosswords done.
Okay, I'll go in to a little more detail. I've closed five of the last eight nights, and we have yet to have a single table or even bar guest come in after 10:30. Even on the much-lauded bingo night that was supposedly soooooo busy last week. So basically, it's still a waste of time. Oh well. At least I'm getting some crosswords done.
I'd feel sorrier for you if you weren't a table jacker.
Since servers come in at staggered times in my restaurant, it's not unusual for me to come in and five and find that all my tables are full and other people are waiting on them. Technically, according to the rules, those servers have every right to keep those tables. In practice, most of us choose not to be assholes, and will give any table that hasn't ordered yet to the server whose section it is.
When I arrived at work on Monday, there were two tables that had just been sat in my section. Both had been greeted, so I started trying to figure out by whom. One coworker told me the table of two wanted waters, but she didn't know who had greeted the other one (a party of five). So I took waters to my couple, got their order, and resumed trying to figure out who had greeted my other table.
Turns out it was Mr. Vomit-worthy--who had stopped to trade Family Guy quips with me already, so he knew I was there, knew that I had arrived right after he greeted my table, and yet chose to keep them. They didn't even have their drinks by the time I got the other table's order put in--anyone else would've given them to me with a smile.
Of course, according to the actual rules, I didn't have grounds to demand he fork over the order. So I stewed for a while. But restaurant karma caught up to him: he got rapid-fire sat with large tables full of high-maintenance people. I watched him dash around, dealing with his full section plus one table out of his way in my section; I watched panic cross his face; I watched, and I didn't offer a damn bit of help. He was managing, it just would've made his life easier if I had stepped up to help him. Instead, I focused on my own tables, ensuring they were perfectly attended to.
When I saw that VM had gotten orders for all but one table, I finally approached him and asked, as sweetly as possible, if he needed help. He gave me a wild-eyed look and said, "I'm fine, now. I think." I just smiled and went back to my tables.
When I arrived at work on Monday, there were two tables that had just been sat in my section. Both had been greeted, so I started trying to figure out by whom. One coworker told me the table of two wanted waters, but she didn't know who had greeted the other one (a party of five). So I took waters to my couple, got their order, and resumed trying to figure out who had greeted my other table.
Turns out it was Mr. Vomit-worthy--who had stopped to trade Family Guy quips with me already, so he knew I was there, knew that I had arrived right after he greeted my table, and yet chose to keep them. They didn't even have their drinks by the time I got the other table's order put in--anyone else would've given them to me with a smile.
Of course, according to the actual rules, I didn't have grounds to demand he fork over the order. So I stewed for a while. But restaurant karma caught up to him: he got rapid-fire sat with large tables full of high-maintenance people. I watched him dash around, dealing with his full section plus one table out of his way in my section; I watched panic cross his face; I watched, and I didn't offer a damn bit of help. He was managing, it just would've made his life easier if I had stepped up to help him. Instead, I focused on my own tables, ensuring they were perfectly attended to.
When I saw that VM had gotten orders for all but one table, I finally approached him and asked, as sweetly as possible, if he needed help. He gave me a wild-eyed look and said, "I'm fine, now. I think." I just smiled and went back to my tables.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Late night crap, day 2.
After the first dismal night that was our late night scene, I wasn't expecting much out of Tuesday. Tuesday was trivia night, and also "2 for 1" drinks; and I was quite surprised when at about 8:30 a table of five younger guys actually came in specifically for trivia! We had a couple of other random tables or two or three, and the host asked them if they wanted to sit in the bar area for trivia. It just happened that the entire bar area was my section, so I actually got quite busy. So busy, in fact, that I got serious tunnel vision and didn't really notice that nobody else was getting tables. I felt bad about that later, but at the time I was just running in laps around the bar.
CL in to run trivia; it was a low-key affair at first, just a boombox mic and a couple of rounds of ten questions. Several of the tables that sat in the bar didn't actually decide to play, so when we started there were only three teams. Honestly, it was pretty goddamn boring. CL obviously isn't in to trivia. She would read the question, exactly as written, clearly and carefully and monotone-ly pronouncing each word. Then she'd re-read it the same way. With the music off and nobody talking, the place felt deserted despite the customers.
After the second round, Anna and I were the only servers left and were alternating tables. Our usual Tuesday night Jehovahs came in, one table of three and one of fourteen. They were separated by one two-top, and so I ended up with both. That was about the time when nobody wanted to read off the trivia questions anymore. I spent the last hour or so of trivia reading off ten questions (trying to insert a little life and humor into the proceedings), dashing around getting refills and dessert orders, running back to read off answers, taking off to check on people again, etc. etc. Anna had a few tables, and she helped me; Cali Girl was stocking the bar; CL and Pot Smoking Manager were basically watching in amusement. All in all, it went quite well. I was surprised.
At the end of the night, I counted my money four times because I couldn't believe it was right. I made $145 that night! At first I thought if that's how the late night stuff is going to go, I can totally get on board. But of course, it was luck: luck that I got that section, luck that two tables were employees, luck that a table pre-cut had left me twenty bucks, luck that I got both tables of Johovahs.
It was nice to have a little luck for once. Nobody came in after ten, though, so the late night counter? Still at zero.
CL in to run trivia; it was a low-key affair at first, just a boombox mic and a couple of rounds of ten questions. Several of the tables that sat in the bar didn't actually decide to play, so when we started there were only three teams. Honestly, it was pretty goddamn boring. CL obviously isn't in to trivia. She would read the question, exactly as written, clearly and carefully and monotone-ly pronouncing each word. Then she'd re-read it the same way. With the music off and nobody talking, the place felt deserted despite the customers.
After the second round, Anna and I were the only servers left and were alternating tables. Our usual Tuesday night Jehovahs came in, one table of three and one of fourteen. They were separated by one two-top, and so I ended up with both. That was about the time when nobody wanted to read off the trivia questions anymore. I spent the last hour or so of trivia reading off ten questions (trying to insert a little life and humor into the proceedings), dashing around getting refills and dessert orders, running back to read off answers, taking off to check on people again, etc. etc. Anna had a few tables, and she helped me; Cali Girl was stocking the bar; CL and Pot Smoking Manager were basically watching in amusement. All in all, it went quite well. I was surprised.
At the end of the night, I counted my money four times because I couldn't believe it was right. I made $145 that night! At first I thought if that's how the late night stuff is going to go, I can totally get on board. But of course, it was luck: luck that I got that section, luck that two tables were employees, luck that a table pre-cut had left me twenty bucks, luck that I got both tables of Johovahs.
It was nice to have a little luck for once. Nobody came in after ten, though, so the late night counter? Still at zero.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Well, I tried to turn off the word verification.
And got three spam comments within two hours, so it's back. Sorry ya'll, I know those things are annoying.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The first "late night" close.
It could have been worse. It was also the night of the "snugglebunny walkout", and like I said there Lapdog was in a good mood. That made it a lot more tolerable--I was thinking he'd be a horrible grouch all night.
Our last actual table came in about about 9:30, par for the course for a slow Monday night. There were two regular customers at the bar then; two more came in before 10:30. They all sat there nursing $1 beers for about an hour; then two left. The other two played a round of Wii bowling with me (or taught me how to play rather), then sat around nursing another couple of $1 beers and playing Wii sports until 12:30. Knowing we closed at midnight, I might add. Made a whole $54, which I promptly spent at Wal-Mart on dog food, cat food, and me food. Yippee.
I'm going to keep a tally of how many guests come in after our normal close time on the nights I work. First night: zero. Then again, it was the very first night, so I guess we couldn't expect much, right?
Our last actual table came in about about 9:30, par for the course for a slow Monday night. There were two regular customers at the bar then; two more came in before 10:30. They all sat there nursing $1 beers for about an hour; then two left. The other two played a round of Wii bowling with me (or taught me how to play rather), then sat around nursing another couple of $1 beers and playing Wii sports until 12:30. Knowing we closed at midnight, I might add. Made a whole $54, which I promptly spent at Wal-Mart on dog food, cat food, and me food. Yippee.
I'm going to keep a tally of how many guests come in after our normal close time on the nights I work. First night: zero. Then again, it was the very first night, so I guess we couldn't expect much, right?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Snugglebunny walkout.
Last night just wasn't very busy. After we cut to closers I think I got two tables. One was a family; the other was a younger couple who sat four tables down from the family. They were sitting on the same side of the booth, and she was leaning against him; the entire time they were there they were touching. He ordered a house salad and a burger; she ordered nothing. Someone else took out the salad while I was eating; but I knew that my table could see me while I was eating, so I made a special point of not sitting down for more than a minute or so at a time. I admit, I didn't talk to them again--they didn't seem like they wanted to be bothered.
I was in the area several times, and I made sure to look in their direction and make eye contact when I visited the table with the family (who were running my ass off). Maybe I should have actually gone and addressed them about .. well, nothing, really; but I didn't want to heir their couple-talk or see if they'd graduated to an under-the-table-handjob or something. Wouldn't be the first time.
I kept checking on their burger, which was taking a little longer than was normal--but like I said, they had their salad, they didn't seem to want to be bothered, and their water glasses were never below half empty. But I came out of the kitchen from checking on their burger, which had been rung in for twelve minutes at that point, and saw them leaving! I couldn't catch them, so I went to get Lapdog so he could handle it--I'm not chasing people in to the parking lot, but if he wants to that's his business.
Of course, Lapdog got irritated with me. Especially when the cook lied and said the burger had been up for a long time! That window was empty when I went back to the manager's office; it was empty when we came back through the kitchen to the front. I told him that in no uncertain terms--I'll take the blame for mis-reading my customers, but not for the newbie cook forgetting to start their burger or whatever.
Then Lapdog started griping about the "convention" around the employee meal table, and maybe that's what set them off. He has this idea that if customers see a bunch of employees clustered around a table they'll think we're all being lazy. Maybe that's true, if you assume that people even pay enough attention to realize it's a bunch of employees. It was a moot point in this instance, though, as I was sitting there and one other person. Cali Girl and Dumb were both up front, and everyone else was doing sidework. So I let him know that, too.
He didn't quite listen though, because then he tried to get angry at Dumb and say if she'd been up front, they'd've told her what was wrong. Too bad for him there were two people up there. Next he tried to blame it on employees playing on the Wii (one of our last-night things). I pointed out that we weren't, only a bunch of kids whose parents were ignoring them. I think he ran out of his go-to, default things to bitch about at that point, because he shut up and then he even started laughing and talking and joking. He was overall very pleasant, which kind of threw me!
I was still stressed out--customers walking out will do that to you. The thing is, these people didn't display any signs of frustration. Their wait wasn't very long, when you consider they had a salad; it's not like I just left them sitting there isolated, I was in the area; they seemed quite absorbed in each other. They didn't even say anything to Cali or Dumb when they left, and Cali gave them the usual "thank you, have a good night" stuff.
So I don't know what their deal was. Maybe they just had to go get naked or something.
I was in the area several times, and I made sure to look in their direction and make eye contact when I visited the table with the family (who were running my ass off). Maybe I should have actually gone and addressed them about .. well, nothing, really; but I didn't want to heir their couple-talk or see if they'd graduated to an under-the-table-handjob or something. Wouldn't be the first time.
I kept checking on their burger, which was taking a little longer than was normal--but like I said, they had their salad, they didn't seem to want to be bothered, and their water glasses were never below half empty. But I came out of the kitchen from checking on their burger, which had been rung in for twelve minutes at that point, and saw them leaving! I couldn't catch them, so I went to get Lapdog so he could handle it--I'm not chasing people in to the parking lot, but if he wants to that's his business.
Of course, Lapdog got irritated with me. Especially when the cook lied and said the burger had been up for a long time! That window was empty when I went back to the manager's office; it was empty when we came back through the kitchen to the front. I told him that in no uncertain terms--I'll take the blame for mis-reading my customers, but not for the newbie cook forgetting to start their burger or whatever.
Then Lapdog started griping about the "convention" around the employee meal table, and maybe that's what set them off. He has this idea that if customers see a bunch of employees clustered around a table they'll think we're all being lazy. Maybe that's true, if you assume that people even pay enough attention to realize it's a bunch of employees. It was a moot point in this instance, though, as I was sitting there and one other person. Cali Girl and Dumb were both up front, and everyone else was doing sidework. So I let him know that, too.
He didn't quite listen though, because then he tried to get angry at Dumb and say if she'd been up front, they'd've told her what was wrong. Too bad for him there were two people up there. Next he tried to blame it on employees playing on the Wii (one of our last-night things). I pointed out that we weren't, only a bunch of kids whose parents were ignoring them. I think he ran out of his go-to, default things to bitch about at that point, because he shut up and then he even started laughing and talking and joking. He was overall very pleasant, which kind of threw me!
I was still stressed out--customers walking out will do that to you. The thing is, these people didn't display any signs of frustration. Their wait wasn't very long, when you consider they had a salad; it's not like I just left them sitting there isolated, I was in the area; they seemed quite absorbed in each other. They didn't even say anything to Cali or Dumb when they left, and Cali gave them the usual "thank you, have a good night" stuff.
So I don't know what their deal was. Maybe they just had to go get naked or something.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Humorless bitches.
Sunday was my first day back after being sick, and it wasn't all that much fun. That was partially because I was exhausted within the first hour--that post-cold, weak sort of feeling. But it was mostly because apparently a Cranky Bitch convention was in town that day. It wasn't just me, either--all my coworkers were saying the same thing.
The worst example, though, was in the middle of the dinner rush. A mother and two daughters (about 12 and 20) were in my corner booth. The 20ish daughter had a six-inch thick hardcover literature book with her. I thought it might be a good prop for some conversation, so after the initial greeting I said something slightly sarcastic, like "That looks like a lot of fun!" and I smiled at her.
She looked back at me like she didn't understand English. So did her mother. Not having a stepping stone, I floundered to move forward. "I just took a class where I had a big book like that. Can I get you blahblahblahicedteasomealocholicbeveragebasicwaitressspiel?"
They very curtly ordered three water (good times!) and away I went. came back and took their order, uneventfully (or so it seemed). A few minutes later the older girl's water was low, as was her mom's tea. With a pitcher in each hand I approached. "Let me top those off for you!"
Silence.
Filled the tea; filled the water. Unfortunately, the water pitcher was in my left hand, and apparently my hand-eye coordination was a little off in my non-dominant hand that day. Horror of horrors, I spilled about a tablespoon of water on the table. It was nowhere near her book, but she jerked the book back as if I were trying to light it on fire.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Guess I can't pour with my left hand today, I'll be right back with a towel."
Silence, and death glare. I grabbed some convenient napkins on a nearby ledge and had the offending spot wiped away within thirty seconds. Still silence. Their food came up a few minutes later; the mother hadn't finished her salad yet at that point, which I think contributed to what happened next. I listed each item as I delivered it to them, and was not corrected. They said they didn't need anything else, so I took an order a couple of tables down, then a drink order on another table. While I was ringing those in, another server came up to me with the mother's reuben sandwich.
Supposedly, the woman ordered the turkey club. Thing is, she pointed at the picture of the reuben. The picture of the reuben that takes up half the freaking menu page. Personally, I think she just wanted to finish her salad first and not have her fries get cold, so she lied. But of course, we got her the turkey club right away. She picked it apart and didn't eat it; when I asked how it was I got "it's okay". So I asked if something was wrong with it. "Well, it's a little cold in the center!"
Yep, she complained that the center of her sandwich was cold. You know, the center of her sandwich, where the turkey cold cuts were. WTF? So Pot Smoking Manager took it off the ticket for her. I was so aggravated. That's right up there with the jerk who sent a ham sandwich back because "it's too hammy!"
When I delivered the check, I looked her right in the eye with a big smile and said, "And next time if you want us to make that club a hot toasted sandwich, just let us know. We'll be happy to!"
Silence. Are you surprised? Because I know I was.
I got an order next door, went to the computer, rang it in. Then I headed back to see if they were ready to pay, only to see the mother and younger daughter walking to the door and no cash on the table. The mother finally deigned to speak to me to say "She took it up there." with no indication of where "there" was. I assumed it was the host stand, but after scouting the crowd didn't see her. Next stop, bar. Yep, she'd elbowed her way through the crowded lobby, down the ramp where people were lined up waiting for tables, and through the bar guests to give the bartender their ticket. Instead of, you know, waiting two minutes.
Imagine how surprised I was when they left exact change.
The worst example, though, was in the middle of the dinner rush. A mother and two daughters (about 12 and 20) were in my corner booth. The 20ish daughter had a six-inch thick hardcover literature book with her. I thought it might be a good prop for some conversation, so after the initial greeting I said something slightly sarcastic, like "That looks like a lot of fun!" and I smiled at her.
She looked back at me like she didn't understand English. So did her mother. Not having a stepping stone, I floundered to move forward. "I just took a class where I had a big book like that. Can I get you blahblahblahicedteasomealocholicbeveragebasicwaitressspiel?"
They very curtly ordered three water (good times!) and away I went. came back and took their order, uneventfully (or so it seemed). A few minutes later the older girl's water was low, as was her mom's tea. With a pitcher in each hand I approached. "Let me top those off for you!"
Silence.
Filled the tea; filled the water. Unfortunately, the water pitcher was in my left hand, and apparently my hand-eye coordination was a little off in my non-dominant hand that day. Horror of horrors, I spilled about a tablespoon of water on the table. It was nowhere near her book, but she jerked the book back as if I were trying to light it on fire.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Guess I can't pour with my left hand today, I'll be right back with a towel."
Silence, and death glare. I grabbed some convenient napkins on a nearby ledge and had the offending spot wiped away within thirty seconds. Still silence. Their food came up a few minutes later; the mother hadn't finished her salad yet at that point, which I think contributed to what happened next. I listed each item as I delivered it to them, and was not corrected. They said they didn't need anything else, so I took an order a couple of tables down, then a drink order on another table. While I was ringing those in, another server came up to me with the mother's reuben sandwich.
Supposedly, the woman ordered the turkey club. Thing is, she pointed at the picture of the reuben. The picture of the reuben that takes up half the freaking menu page. Personally, I think she just wanted to finish her salad first and not have her fries get cold, so she lied. But of course, we got her the turkey club right away. She picked it apart and didn't eat it; when I asked how it was I got "it's okay". So I asked if something was wrong with it. "Well, it's a little cold in the center!"
Yep, she complained that the center of her sandwich was cold. You know, the center of her sandwich, where the turkey cold cuts were. WTF? So Pot Smoking Manager took it off the ticket for her. I was so aggravated. That's right up there with the jerk who sent a ham sandwich back because "it's too hammy!"
When I delivered the check, I looked her right in the eye with a big smile and said, "And next time if you want us to make that club a hot toasted sandwich, just let us know. We'll be happy to!"
Silence. Are you surprised? Because I know I was.
I got an order next door, went to the computer, rang it in. Then I headed back to see if they were ready to pay, only to see the mother and younger daughter walking to the door and no cash on the table. The mother finally deigned to speak to me to say "She took it up there." with no indication of where "there" was. I assumed it was the host stand, but after scouting the crowd didn't see her. Next stop, bar. Yep, she'd elbowed her way through the crowded lobby, down the ramp where people were lined up waiting for tables, and through the bar guests to give the bartender their ticket. Instead of, you know, waiting two minutes.
Imagine how surprised I was when they left exact change.
FML.
More coming soon, including humorless bitches, snugglebunny walkout, and the first late night close.
ETA: Sorry for the weird graphic stuff up the corner the last day or so. I installed a Greasemonkey script for Facebook, and apparently every time I go to post a blog it sticks the code in there. Grrr.
ETA: Sorry for the weird graphic stuff up the corner the last day or so. I installed a Greasemonkey script for Facebook, and apparently every time I go to post a blog it sticks the code in there. Grrr.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Idiocy commences in t - 33 hours.
I get to close tonight, and I'm sort of looking forward to it--if only because it will be the last close before Mr. Idiot VP's new "late night" approach kicks in. See, this guy really likes to I've run some (admittedly flawed) calculations on this crap. I don't know how much electricity, gas for the grills, etc. adds to the total, but let's say they keep on a cook, a dishwasher, a server, and a bartender an extra hour every night. That's about another $30 in labor a day. We'll ignore any extra cost, such as the loss on liquor from doing $1 beers, etc.
In my restaurant management class I took a couple of years ago, I learned that the average restaurant makes about ten cents of profit on the dollar. That means that to cover the extra labor for that hour, the restaurant would need to do an extra $300 in sales that hour. We're usually lucky to do $100 in sales per hour after nine! And even if all this gimicky crap pulls in some extra people, it's still not going to work out like the want--especially with $1 beers and $3 appetizer specials.
If a couple of guys come in to play Guitar Hero and nurse two beers each and order some hot wings, that's going to give them a grand total bill of, um, $7. Whoohoo! Seventy cents to the restaurant! And probably, what, a dollar to their server? Bullshit. Do they really think we're going to get forty groups of people in there for this? Or let's get really crazy and say the guys have four beers each and three appetizers, for a bill of $20 (we'll round up). Now the restaurant and the server both get two dollars! Oh yeah! Swimming pools and movie stars, bitches.
CL keeps talking about how she went to a different chain restaurant in the next town over, and how their game night was just a huge success!!! Yeah ... about that? Different chain restaurant atmosphere with a proper bar, in a college town. Then she starts talking about how there's nothing to do in our town after a certain time, yada yada. Even the local bars, real bars, close at the same time we do now. Think there might be a reason for that?
It's not that I don't want this to work. If it doesn't CL gets fired and god knows who they'd bring in--at least I know how she works. And the net effect of this extra hour every night is that I can't work more than five shifts unless I give up some of my closes, which I can't afford to do. So I'd like to make some damn money at it. I just don't see how it'll work.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe "Pin The Tail On The Donkey Thursdays" at Local Chain Restaurant will be the next big thing. Maybe I'll be eating my words in a few months. Stay tuned.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Ten percent plus fingernails.
Monday was the last day I worked, thanks to catching a cold that removed my voice. Hard to ask bitches if they want any fries with their ranch when you can't talk, you know?
It wasn't a very busy night; Cali Girl was supposed to close with me, but she gave her close to Dallas, which of course just thrilled me. She wasn't as annoying as usual, actually. We were both eating our dinner when the first post-cut table came in--at 9:30. I decided I'd offer to take it, because it seems like whenever I convince the other closer to take the first table, restaurant karma catches up with me and I get screwed by the tables I end up with.
Anyway, I scurried over to greet them, and right away I just got a weird vibe off of them. The woman wouldn't make eye contact; the guy had his headphones in. He still answered me right away, though--but was one of those annoying slow talkers. "Well! Hooooooooow are yooooooou tonight?" he asked, looking at me very intently. After about five minutes I managed to get a drink order out of both of them (a tea and a water), so I meandered back to the kitchen, thinking longingly of my rapidly cooling hamburger.
When I returned with their drinks, they were too busy arguing over something to acknowledge me, so I made a lap around the (empty) restaurant and came back. This time, the guy had a stupid question for me: "Where's that pick three appetizer thing?" he asked, flipping his menu to the next page. I politely flipped it back to the page he was just at and pointed it out. The next hurdle was the fact that he'd forgotten his glasses. First he tried to use his wife's glasses; then he tried to, uh, use his wife's glasses by holding them backwards--what? I don't know. Eventually, he trundled out to their car to get his glasses--headphones still plugged in--but was gone for about ten minutes.
Then he was bemoaning the fact that there weren't enough chicken items on the appetizer trio. "Oh, that's beef. No, everything's gotta be chicken." He then stared at me with a befuddled expression and told me to come back in couple of minutes. So I did, and got the same thing. Eventually I got frustrated and told him I could substitute chicken in one of the items--even though we're not supposed to. I figured it was late, there were no other tables, the cooks could deal with it.
Of course, he was just sooooo appreciative--so of course I wasn't expecting a tip. Half an hour had passed since they'd sat down, and I'd finally pulled an order out of them. During this time, they had not touched their drinks at all. So I rang in their order, I did some other little errands, I glanced over at my table, and I sat down to resume my dinner.
A couple minutes later, someone at the bar started waving at me. She was there with a girl who used to work with me--who doesn't like me--and she yelled at me that "your customer over there needs something!" I looked over my shoulder to see the guy at my table sitting there, holding his glass of ice straight up in the air and staring up at nothing. I felt bad for a second, before I realized he'd let his tea sit there for thirty minutes before drinking the entire thing in less than two minutes.
Of course, I jumped up and grabbed the iced tea pitcher. He continued sitting there, glass in the air, holding his arm up like a kid does in school, looking pissed off. When he saw me approaching, with the damn tea pitcher, he started rattling the ice at me. I about poured the entire pitcher on the asshole. From that point on, I was absolutely fucking obnoxious with the tea refills--I made sure to come by with the tea every two minutes. He didn't drink anything until the end of the meal, at which point he slurped down another entire glass and rattled the ice at me.
As I came by way too frequently with the iced tea, I noticed she was fiddling with his fingers. I didn't think much of it until I was clearing their plates and saw a cuticle stick on the table. A few minutes later, I was walking by and heard a distinctive snapping noise. My head swiveled a
round slowly, like I was in a horror movie and didn't want to see. She was trimming his nails. Seriously? In a goddamn restaurant? Who the hell does that?
They sat there until thirty minutes after close, his headphones in, her manicuring tools out. When they finally left, I was pleasantly surprised to find there were no fingernails on the table. I'd like to think they were just polite, but after the rest of their behavior I doubt it. They were probably afraid I'd do voodoo or something with them.
It wasn't a very busy night; Cali Girl was supposed to close with me, but she gave her close to Dallas, which of course just thrilled me. She wasn't as annoying as usual, actually. We were both eating our dinner when the first post-cut table came in--at 9:30. I decided I'd offer to take it, because it seems like whenever I convince the other closer to take the first table, restaurant karma catches up with me and I get screwed by the tables I end up with.
Anyway, I scurried over to greet them, and right away I just got a weird vibe off of them. The woman wouldn't make eye contact; the guy had his headphones in. He still answered me right away, though--but was one of those annoying slow talkers. "Well! Hooooooooow are yooooooou tonight?" he asked, looking at me very intently. After about five minutes I managed to get a drink order out of both of them (a tea and a water), so I meandered back to the kitchen, thinking longingly of my rapidly cooling hamburger.
When I returned with their drinks, they were too busy arguing over something to acknowledge me, so I made a lap around the (empty) restaurant and came back. This time, the guy had a stupid question for me: "Where's that pick three appetizer thing?" he asked, flipping his menu to the next page. I politely flipped it back to the page he was just at and pointed it out. The next hurdle was the fact that he'd forgotten his glasses. First he tried to use his wife's glasses; then he tried to, uh, use his wife's glasses by holding them backwards--what? I don't know. Eventually, he trundled out to their car to get his glasses--headphones still plugged in--but was gone for about ten minutes.
Then he was bemoaning the fact that there weren't enough chicken items on the appetizer trio. "Oh, that's beef. No, everything's gotta be chicken." He then stared at me with a befuddled expression and told me to come back in couple of minutes. So I did, and got the same thing. Eventually I got frustrated and told him I could substitute chicken in one of the items--even though we're not supposed to. I figured it was late, there were no other tables, the cooks could deal with it.
Of course, he was just sooooo appreciative--so of course I wasn't expecting a tip. Half an hour had passed since they'd sat down, and I'd finally pulled an order out of them. During this time, they had not touched their drinks at all. So I rang in their order, I did some other little errands, I glanced over at my table, and I sat down to resume my dinner.
A couple minutes later, someone at the bar started waving at me. She was there with a girl who used to work with me--who doesn't like me--and she yelled at me that "your customer over there needs something!" I looked over my shoulder to see the guy at my table sitting there, holding his glass of ice straight up in the air and staring up at nothing. I felt bad for a second, before I realized he'd let his tea sit there for thirty minutes before drinking the entire thing in less than two minutes.
Of course, I jumped up and grabbed the iced tea pitcher. He continued sitting there, glass in the air, holding his arm up like a kid does in school, looking pissed off. When he saw me approaching, with the damn tea pitcher, he started rattling the ice at me. I about poured the entire pitcher on the asshole. From that point on, I was absolutely fucking obnoxious with the tea refills--I made sure to come by with the tea every two minutes. He didn't drink anything until the end of the meal, at which point he slurped down another entire glass and rattled the ice at me.
As I came by way too frequently with the iced tea, I noticed she was fiddling with his fingers. I didn't think much of it until I was clearing their plates and saw a cuticle stick on the table. A few minutes later, I was walking by and heard a distinctive snapping noise. My head swiveled a
round slowly, like I was in a horror movie and didn't want to see. She was trimming his nails. Seriously? In a goddamn restaurant? Who the hell does that?They sat there until thirty minutes after close, his headphones in, her manicuring tools out. When they finally left, I was pleasantly surprised to find there were no fingernails on the table. I'd like to think they were just polite, but after the rest of their behavior I doubt it. They were probably afraid I'd do voodoo or something with them.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Portrait of Dallas.
This chick is aggravating me more and more, so I wanted to give you a better picture of her. She's about five foot even, with skin so white it's translucent. This was magnified when she dyed her hair a hideous, unnatural shade of red--unevenly, at that, so big patches of her hair are still brown. Then she put her hair in those little scalp-tight, cornrow braids where you can see the scalp in between the braids. Something about that hairstyle just grosses me out anyway--I don't like being able to see peoples' oily scalps.She has three tattoos; now I've got nothing against tattoos, I got my first one last week. But having an ex-girlfriend's name as a big, scrawling, cursive tramp-stamp? Okay, anyone can make a mistake and get a stupid tattoo. But then she's also got a different girl's name tattooed on her hand. And her own name on her arm. I've never understood that. Why would you get your own name tattooed on you? Do these people frequently forget who they are or something?
She yells at people across the restaurant when they're talking to customers; she interrupts and just yells over peoples' conversations. Everybody is "homeslice" or "homegirl"; and she never shuts the hell up about her "baby daddy". Speaking of which, she had to have DNA tests to find out which of the two brothers she slept with was the kid's dad. She slept with the second one to get back at the first for not calling her.
I've never met anyone so loud and obnoxious--or with less sense. Tonight, for example, she was giving someone grief. That someone told her to respect her elders. "What elders?" she hollered in her best ghetto accent. (Does Texas even have ghettos? I don't know.)
I snorted and pointed out that almost everybody who works there is older than her, which is when she crossed the line. "Yeah, and ya'll are still just waitresses, so fuck ya'll!" She flounced away then and the rest of us stood there in somewhat shock. You just don't say that kind of shit to people! Not in that judgmental tone, because that is a soft spot for most of us, I think. Is anyone not a little defensive to that whole "when are you going to get a real job" crap?
Now that I think about it, that one comment pretty much sums up her personality.
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