Turns out I'm not leaving for my trip as early as I thought, so I do have some time to write!
Usually, I feel like karma smacks me upside the head. I manage to avoid a shitty tipping table, and my next table is even worse. I pick up a shift thinking I'll make lots of money, and it's the slowest Wednesday in history. Etc. Etc. Tonight, I feel like I finally got some good karma.
Lapdog was working, and for once he was in a decent mood. He actually sat and talked to me for almost an hour (no tables the whole time, it was a very slow night), about music and food and miscellaneous stuff. He didn't ride my ass to get off the clock, and he didn't give me shit when I made a mistake. It was almost like he was body snatched. He even locked the door ten minutes early! I never thought that would happen!
But the best part was when I pulled out a booth to clean behind it ... and found a twenty! And it's not like I could find who it really belonged to, so it's mine now!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
30 Day Song Challenge - day 19
A song from my favorite album. Well, that changes constantly. So I guess I'll do my favorite album right now. I think this song is really sexy.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Just what I freaking needed.
My desktop committed suicide, and I'm going out of town as a favor to a family member tomorrow. So, I'll see you guys in a week or so.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Guest post: Waitress, there is a goldfish in my beer!
Today's guest post comes from my favorite gift-card-giving-blogger, SkippyMom! If you'd like to join the guest post queue, please email your entry to slightlycranky at hotmail.com!
True story:
Way back in the day I was a waitress. It was a wonderful job with
flexibility for school [then family] and afforded me nice money on a
nightly basis.
One Thursday evening I was working the cocktail shift at our
restaurant which was located near a business park. Every evening M-F
we had our regulars. Folks that worked in the park that would stop for
a beer or three before heading home. This particular Thursday I had a
party of 10 regulars that came in to celebrate a co-workers birthday.
And these folks were hell bent on drinking this guy under the table.
They were a fun group of people I had waited on in various groups of
twos and threes, but never all 10 of them at once. They weren't
exactly running me into the ground, but they were drinking so much
that by the time I dropped off one round of drinks I was headed back
to the bar for another round.
Then one of the gentlemen sitting at the opposite end of the table
from the birthday boy stood up and followed me back to the bar where I
was ordering their drinks from the bartender. He asked if he could
please have the birthday boy's next draft beer order. I asked him why
as I didn't want him drugging the poor man [they were already plying
him with shooters, shots and beers - he was wasted and the night was
still young.] The man held up a plastic bag with water in it and
showed me a goldfish.
A live goldfish that he now wanted me to put in birthday boy's drink.
Um....No. I did hand him the beer tho' and wished him luck. And
wouldn't you know? Luck was on his side that night because he managed
to get that poor fish in the guy's drink and serve it too him. The
birthday boy took a few sips while the table broke down in hysterical
laughter. Then he noticed the fish and all of a sudden he starts
yelling,
"Waitress! OH WAITRESS! There is a goldfish in my beer! Oh waitress!"
As the rest of the restaurant went completely silent I ran over to
remove his glass and apologize but he wouldn't let me take his glass.
He thought it was great and he was going to drink that beer. Ohhhhkay
sir you are seriously inebriated. I convinced him to relinquish it,
grabbed him a new beer and managed to get the poor fish out the beer
and into a cup of tap water.
The best part of the night? My tip! Since it was a party of 10 I was
allowed to add 15% gratuity -to a $400 bill- $60.00! Cha-ching. That
was a lot of money for me at the time and I was so excited. Still, it
was to get better.
I always explained to my "auto grat" tables that the tip was included
so there wouldn't be any surprises. This table wasn't having it. They
insisted that I go back to the kitchen and find a bowl. A bowl?
Again...ohhhhkay? [Drunks, gotta love 'em] I retrieved the only thing
I could find - a huge pail we mixed greens in. I handed it over,
wished them a happy evening and proceeded to go and check on my other
tables.
Do you know what they did? They passed the pail around the table and
everyone was to throw in additional tip for me because I had "done
such a great job"! The total that came out of the pail?
$196. One hundred and ninety six dollars. I am not kidding. I still
remember the total to this day as I did try to argue and return some
of the money because, seriously, they were drunk and they didn't
realize how much it was until I pointed it out. They said nope, bid me
a good night and proceeded to pour themselves into various taxis lined
up out front to ferry them home to a sure to be had hangover the next
morning.
So for a few hours of serving drinks I made $256 and I got a goldfish
out of the deal! :D
And do you know? That little sucker lived for about six more months.
True story:
Way back in the day I was a waitress. It was a wonderful job with
flexibility for school [then family] and afforded me nice money on a
nightly basis.
One Thursday evening I was working the cocktail shift at our
restaurant which was located near a business park. Every evening M-F
we had our regulars. Folks that worked in the park that would stop for
a beer or three before heading home. This particular Thursday I had a
party of 10 regulars that came in to celebrate a co-workers birthday.
And these folks were hell bent on drinking this guy under the table.
They were a fun group of people I had waited on in various groups of
twos and threes, but never all 10 of them at once. They weren't
exactly running me into the ground, but they were drinking so much
that by the time I dropped off one round of drinks I was headed back
to the bar for another round.
Then one of the gentlemen sitting at the opposite end of the table
from the birthday boy stood up and followed me back to the bar where I
was ordering their drinks from the bartender. He asked if he could
please have the birthday boy's next draft beer order. I asked him why
as I didn't want him drugging the poor man [they were already plying
him with shooters, shots and beers - he was wasted and the night was
still young.] The man held up a plastic bag with water in it and
showed me a goldfish.
A live goldfish that he now wanted me to put in birthday boy's drink.
Um....No. I did hand him the beer tho' and wished him luck. And
wouldn't you know? Luck was on his side that night because he managed
to get that poor fish in the guy's drink and serve it too him. The
birthday boy took a few sips while the table broke down in hysterical
laughter. Then he noticed the fish and all of a sudden he starts
yelling,
"Waitress! OH WAITRESS! There is a goldfish in my beer! Oh waitress!"
As the rest of the restaurant went completely silent I ran over to
remove his glass and apologize but he wouldn't let me take his glass.
He thought it was great and he was going to drink that beer. Ohhhhkay
sir you are seriously inebriated. I convinced him to relinquish it,
grabbed him a new beer and managed to get the poor fish out the beer
and into a cup of tap water.
The best part of the night? My tip! Since it was a party of 10 I was
allowed to add 15% gratuity -to a $400 bill- $60.00! Cha-ching. That
was a lot of money for me at the time and I was so excited. Still, it
was to get better.
I always explained to my "auto grat" tables that the tip was included
so there wouldn't be any surprises. This table wasn't having it. They
insisted that I go back to the kitchen and find a bowl. A bowl?
Again...ohhhhkay? [Drunks, gotta love 'em] I retrieved the only thing
I could find - a huge pail we mixed greens in. I handed it over,
wished them a happy evening and proceeded to go and check on my other
tables.
Do you know what they did? They passed the pail around the table and
everyone was to throw in additional tip for me because I had "done
such a great job"! The total that came out of the pail?
$196. One hundred and ninety six dollars. I am not kidding. I still
remember the total to this day as I did try to argue and return some
of the money because, seriously, they were drunk and they didn't
realize how much it was until I pointed it out. They said nope, bid me
a good night and proceeded to pour themselves into various taxis lined
up out front to ferry them home to a sure to be had hangover the next
morning.
So for a few hours of serving drinks I made $256 and I got a goldfish
out of the deal! :D
And do you know? That little sucker lived for about six more months.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
It's okay, I don't have bills to pay.
 |
| OVERRRRRTIIIIIIIMMMMMME!!!! |
I guess it slipped my mind that people think lunch servers don't have bills to pay. What other explanation is there for $4 on $33 (after taking up a table THE ENTIRE GODDAMN SHIFT), $2 on $23, and my personal favorite, $5 on $54. This was my favorite because at first there were two people at the table, a woman of around 50 and a pouty girl of about 13. The woman told me "I might be expecting my niece and her son."
I was confused and asked if she wasn't sure if they were coming, so they were going to order, or what (thought politely). She said they were on the way, and I wisely didn't point out that means she was expecting them, not "might be." Said niece and niece's son came wandering up about there, so we continued on with the usual course of drinks and "are you ready to order." They said they were, and they almost were. The older woman ordered a salad; the girl ordered "a plain hamburger, just plain with nothing on it." Then came the niece and her son, who was about three and absolutely adorable in his Superman shirt.
He grew less and less adorable over the next few minutes as his mother asked him, repeatedly, if he wanted broccoli or carrots. He started at her blankly. She asked again, and he said, "chicken!" She told him he was getting chicken but did he want broccoli or carrots. He mumbled something about Superman. Broccoli or carrots? Big-eyed blank stare. Etc. Etc. Etc. I was almost ready to scream when he finally said broccoli. I got mom's ordered and escaped while I could.
Their food came, and they said everything was fine. When I checked back, the pouting teenager pointed at her plain burger and said, "I need cheese!" Um, then maybe you should have asked for a cheeseburger, snotface. I got her a couple of slices of cheese -- which I charged them for, because she should have asked for a cheeseburger, especially since I repeated the "plain hamburger" shit to her -- and she ripped them into shreds and didn't eat them.
They kept picking at their food and ignoring me for a while, then asked for boxes and the check. I took the older woman's card and returned it in a black book check presenter. "Have a good afternoon!"
"Um, haven't you got a pen?" She sneered at me, in that you are a server therefore you are insignificant tone.
"Oh yes, there's one in there." I gave her my sunniest smile. She opened the book, saw the pen, sniffed and looked away from me. A few minutes later, as I walked by to check on another table, that snotty bitch made a point of handing the book with the 9% tip in it. I hate it when they do that--because I have to say thank you, not knowing if their tip deserves a "thank you" or a "fuck you".
Oh, and they sat there another half an hour too.
30 Day Song Challenge - day 17
A song I hear often on the radio .... well, right now I'd like to rip Katy Perry's hair out because I keep hearing this one. Having watched the video now, I am highly amused by her tits shooting fireworks off a building.
I love my readers.
I get email notifications of comments. I'm at work reading them, and Yellowcat, you are cracking me up.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Seat yourselfers.
I have a weird sense of déja vu about this post, as if I've written about this before. Sorry for the repetition if I have.
One of my biggest pet peeves is when people just walk in and plop their asses down wherever the hell they want to in the restaurant. We do not have a sign saying "seat yourself". We do not have a stack of menus where customers can grab them. Upon entering the restaurant, customers are standing in a square lobby with tiled floor, distinctly different from the carpeted dining area. There are seats for when we're on a wait. In short, nothing about it implies that it's acceptable to park yourself wherever you feel appropriate. But of course, it happens all the time. Especially at the tables surrounding the bar -- because everybody knows that any table within ten feet of the bar must be up for grabs, right?
That happened twice last night, and man, I just love making those people feel like assholes!
The first was a couple in their early thirties, who casually walked through the lobby while the host was seating someone else. They settled down at one of our tables by the bar, and I just happened to be walking by and saw them. I scooted over and picked up two menus and two sets of silverware and rushed back to the table.
"Hi folks!" I said with a big smile. "I was just walking by and saw that the host didn't give you menus or silverware! I'm so sorry! I don't know why they didn't give you those!"
"Oh, we just sat ourselves." The lady said.
"Oh!" I gave them big, wide eyes.
"Is that not okay? Is it not open seating?"
"No, it's not." I said apologetically.
They looked at each other. "Do we need to move? Is it a problem?"
Since they seemed genuinely concerned, I quit fucking with them. "No, it's fine, nobody else is waiting. I think John can handle it, he'll be right with you. But he did just get two other tables so it might be a minute." I said, and gave them a big smile. They relaxed .... and then Rachel came over to wait on them, because it was actually her table. So they probably felt like jerks and assumed "John" couldn't handle it!
The second couple weren't nearly as nice about it. They'd snuggled their presumptuous asses into one of our six-seater booths in the middle of the dinner rush. Again, it wasn't my table, but I just had to have a word with them. Again, I said I was walking by and saw they didn't have menus, and apologized that "the host didn't give them to you."
"No, they didn't," the man grumbled, totally not taking the hint.
"I am so sorry! They're supposed to give menus and silverware to everyone when they seat them!"
"Hmpf." The woman said.
So I continued twisting the screws. "I'm really sorry. I'm going to have to have a talk with them, someone is going to be in trouble!"
At that they finally looked at each other and she said, "Well, they probably didn't give us menus because we sat ourselves."
"Ohhhhhhh." I said in fake surprise, looking over my shoulder at the completely full lobby.
"Isn't it seat yourself?" she snipped.
"No," I said slowly and with my best worried look. "I'm going to have to go ask the hosts if this table was reserved for someone." I took a step away, looked up at the lobby, and then looked back at them, biting my lip. Now, it just so happened that I knew that we had two very large parties, and that's why the lobby was full. But I certainly wasn't going to tell them that. Instead, I stepped back very close to the table and said, "You know what, nevermind. There aren't that many people waiting." I looked over my shoulder again. "It'll be okay." I said in my uncertain voice, then smiled at them and walked away.
Jerks.
One of my biggest pet peeves is when people just walk in and plop their asses down wherever the hell they want to in the restaurant. We do not have a sign saying "seat yourself". We do not have a stack of menus where customers can grab them. Upon entering the restaurant, customers are standing in a square lobby with tiled floor, distinctly different from the carpeted dining area. There are seats for when we're on a wait. In short, nothing about it implies that it's acceptable to park yourself wherever you feel appropriate. But of course, it happens all the time. Especially at the tables surrounding the bar -- because everybody knows that any table within ten feet of the bar must be up for grabs, right?
That happened twice last night, and man, I just love making those people feel like assholes!
The first was a couple in their early thirties, who casually walked through the lobby while the host was seating someone else. They settled down at one of our tables by the bar, and I just happened to be walking by and saw them. I scooted over and picked up two menus and two sets of silverware and rushed back to the table.
"Hi folks!" I said with a big smile. "I was just walking by and saw that the host didn't give you menus or silverware! I'm so sorry! I don't know why they didn't give you those!"
"Oh, we just sat ourselves." The lady said.
"Oh!" I gave them big, wide eyes.
"Is that not okay? Is it not open seating?"
"No, it's not." I said apologetically.
They looked at each other. "Do we need to move? Is it a problem?"
Since they seemed genuinely concerned, I quit fucking with them. "No, it's fine, nobody else is waiting. I think John can handle it, he'll be right with you. But he did just get two other tables so it might be a minute." I said, and gave them a big smile. They relaxed .... and then Rachel came over to wait on them, because it was actually her table. So they probably felt like jerks and assumed "John" couldn't handle it!
The second couple weren't nearly as nice about it. They'd snuggled their presumptuous asses into one of our six-seater booths in the middle of the dinner rush. Again, it wasn't my table, but I just had to have a word with them. Again, I said I was walking by and saw they didn't have menus, and apologized that "the host didn't give them to you."
"No, they didn't," the man grumbled, totally not taking the hint.
"I am so sorry! They're supposed to give menus and silverware to everyone when they seat them!"
"Hmpf." The woman said.
So I continued twisting the screws. "I'm really sorry. I'm going to have to have a talk with them, someone is going to be in trouble!"
At that they finally looked at each other and she said, "Well, they probably didn't give us menus because we sat ourselves."
"Ohhhhhhh." I said in fake surprise, looking over my shoulder at the completely full lobby.
"Isn't it seat yourself?" she snipped.
"No," I said slowly and with my best worried look. "I'm going to have to go ask the hosts if this table was reserved for someone." I took a step away, looked up at the lobby, and then looked back at them, biting my lip. Now, it just so happened that I knew that we had two very large parties, and that's why the lobby was full. But I certainly wasn't going to tell them that. Instead, I stepped back very close to the table and said, "You know what, nevermind. There aren't that many people waiting." I looked over my shoulder again. "It'll be okay." I said in my uncertain voice, then smiled at them and walked away.
Jerks.
30 Day Song Challenge - day 16
A song I used to love and now hate. Huh. That's kind of a hard one. I can't think of any I actually hate now! But this one comes pretty close, just too damn sappy!
Monday, March 21, 2011
Guest post: Your boss isn't always an asshole.
This year's first guest post comes from Jake, who proves that sometimes the boss doesn't deserve an icepick to the kneecap. Thanks, Jake! If you'd like to be a guest blogger, please e-mail your story or a link to it to slightlycranky at hotmail.com.
Alright, so I thought I would share a little something with you guys.
Today (or a few days ago rather…just go with it!) made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
So we had a wedding on August 1st where I work and I was the reception host. You know, the guy that is responsible for anything that goes wrong and has to deal with obsessed Nazi brides!? Yup, that’s me. I love being the reception host. One, because I like to make things happen. Two, because I can make things happen. And three, because I love to order people around like sheep.
Yes well, that last one is true, but they are my workers and I command them. A conductor for his orchestra if you will.
Anyway, I don’t think that the wedding went over very well. The DJ didn’t start on time, they didn’t follow the correct order, everything was late….Just a whole bunch of shit that throws everyone and everything off. Not much of it was our fault, or controllable by me personally, but yea…it just didn’t start well.
Anyway, the following Monday after the wedding the Bride’s parents left me an envelope in my mail box. Inside it was $120, meant entirely for me, for what they said was “an excellent job well done.”
Total Shocker. Apparently they did like the wedding overall. Typically, no one ever leaves extra gratuity, as 18% is already included on the bill. I just stared at it for the longest time, amazed. I’ve gotten extra tips before, but nothing nearly as much as this at one time. They obviously had no problem paying their tab if they gave me extra.
So there I was, sitting there with it in my hands, in my office. I originally decided I was going to split it among my co-manager and servers that were there that night. I figured I’d give them a bit and keep a lump sum for myself…afterall, I did go through all the stress of setting it up and making sure everything went (albeit not well) ok.
During the wedding, the DJ announced that I apparently deserved a round of applaus for making everything run well. I always hate when they do that. It’s nice to be recognized for hard work, but there are several other people behind the scenes that made things happen and I feel bad when they applaud just for me. I was in their position before. For a long time actually. There was often a time when someone else was applauded for the work that I had done.
I decided that I would distribute the money evenly between all the people that worked that day. 12 ways. $10 each. It was the best feeling in the world when I gave the money away. Each of the cooks was surprised that anyone would do such a thing. Most people would just keep it and not say anything about it. I definitley could have used the money, but after it was all said and done, it was such a great feeling. I am amazed that a simple $10 can make people feel so appreciated.
Times is hard. $10 can buy two packs of cigarettes or 4 gallons of gas. A little something extra can help everyone out.
Have you ever been emptying out your pockets at the end of the day and found some money in your pockets or wallet that you didn’t know was there? It’s like you’ve struck gold!
Anyway, I love that I could give a little something special to those I really appreciate. There have been a lot of people through the position that I’m in and I just don’t want to be another asshole that everyone hates.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Thanks for nothing.
I haven't made much the last couple of weeks, but that's largely been a result of slow business. St. Patrick's Day night was particularly bad -- we're just not the place people go for their green beer. Most of the tips have been average -- I haven't had a stellar one in a while. But of course, there are always the people who have to be utter douchebags.
The first, it was no surprise to get no tip. A couple, barely 21; he was your typical jock type. She was average looking (not a slam, I'm average looking), but trying really hard to look like a hot chick. She was so thin her cheekbones were jutting through her skin and her eyes were bulging. She was tanned an unnatural orange-ish color, and her hair was bleached nearly white, then carefully styled to look like it was casually loose and messy. She was wearing way too much dark eyeliner and mascara, and her lipstick was a completely wrong shade for her skin. And she had the attitude you would expect to go along with all this -- she sent a Long Island back because "it doesn't taste anything like a Long Island!" I don't know where you've been drinking, little girl, but that is a fucking Long Island. I replaced it with her requested double screwdriver, and the rest of their meal was smooth (well, his meal, she wasn't eating. Surprise!). His card paid, but the handwriting on the slip looked distinctly feminine, and I was totally unsurprised to receive exactly nothing for a tip.
At the same time I had an average family of five. Three teenaged daughters, driving their two parents crazy. Typical for my restaurant. The mother did most of the talking, but they were all polite and nice enough. Their food came out quickly, they told me everything as great. One of the girls dropped her cell phone under the table and crawled underneath to retrieve it, complaining about how dark it was. Yes, under the table. But instead of pointing out we don't light the gum-riddled underside of tables, I offered my cell phone with the flashlight app to help her out. Mom thought that was sweet. They didn't have dessert; the girl with the phone hadn't eaten any of her $13 meal and asked for a box. When I came back with the box, the dad handed me $90 and said they didn't need change. Their bill was $86.45. Fuck. You. I got a bit of satisfaction from throwing away the daughter's uneaten, forgotten meal.
Then there were the $5 on $65 people -- and they got a free steak because they complained about it after eating it. And tonight's $7 on $76 for absolutely waiting on four people hand and foot for two hours during the dinner rush. I could go on but it just gets depressing.
 |
| Yeah, kind of like this. |
At the same time I had an average family of five. Three teenaged daughters, driving their two parents crazy. Typical for my restaurant. The mother did most of the talking, but they were all polite and nice enough. Their food came out quickly, they told me everything as great. One of the girls dropped her cell phone under the table and crawled underneath to retrieve it, complaining about how dark it was. Yes, under the table. But instead of pointing out we don't light the gum-riddled underside of tables, I offered my cell phone with the flashlight app to help her out. Mom thought that was sweet. They didn't have dessert; the girl with the phone hadn't eaten any of her $13 meal and asked for a box. When I came back with the box, the dad handed me $90 and said they didn't need change. Their bill was $86.45. Fuck. You. I got a bit of satisfaction from throwing away the daughter's uneaten, forgotten meal.
Then there were the $5 on $65 people -- and they got a free steak because they complained about it after eating it. And tonight's $7 on $76 for absolutely waiting on four people hand and foot for two hours during the dinner rush. I could go on but it just gets depressing.
30 Day Song Challenge - day 14
A song nobody would expect me to love. Hmm.
I should hate this song. No matter what Scott Weiland says, it sounds like it's advocating date rape.
I should hate this song. No matter what Scott Weiland says, it sounds like it's advocating date rape.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Tattletales.
I'm getting really sick of the back-stabby tatteltaling going on. We're not in kindergarden anymore, people.
One of the new girls, who I'm pretty sure is going to piss me off frequently enough to write about so I'm going to call her Tiffany, went running to CL last night claiming that another server, who's a trainer, hadn't rolled any silverware. Totally a bitch move even if it had been true -- which it technically was, but only because she had a trainee to be her sidework bitch. Even more ridiculous, Tiffany didn't do her own sidework! She told the other closer "you have to sign me out, I have to go on a liquor run!" and the other coworker stupidly signed her, thinking it was a liquor run for the store. Nope. And Tiffany hadn't cleaned her section at all. Fucking new guys.
Then there's all sorts of little piddly crap -- "So-and-so didn't offer a specific drink to their table!" kind of crap. Again, FNGs for the most part.
But the queen of squealing is definitely Rehab. She doesn't even try to be subtle about it at all. She steps away from the expo line in the middle of rushes to tell CL stupid shit like "PurpleGirl scooped ice with a glass instead of the scoop!" and "Accent Girl put liquid in glasses before ice!" The other night, surrounded by servers, when we had been on a wait for an hour and were all absolutely slammed, she was tattling that "person after person just kept scraping ice out of the bottom! None of them got more!" Well, no we didn't, you stupid nosy bitch, since the bin wasn't actually empty, only low, and we were fucking busy.
Then she complains that we aren't bringing to straw hotpads back quick enough. Then we're getting in her way to get dressings. Then we're in trouble for asking her for dressings! She's always telling the manager on duty that this person or that person isn't running food. If something is rung in wrong -- even something that doesn't require management attention, like "no tomato" on a burger -- you can be damned sure Rehab is going to yell and scream about it and tell the managers how people, and specific people, are "fucking up" all the time.
One of the little rules we have is that our specially priced happy hour appetizers aren't allowed to be taken to go. If someone orders a to go appetizer, we're supposed to charge them full price. However, that has never been enforced when a table orders something to go. It happens all the time: people eat, then order a cheap appetizer to take with them. Nobody ever charges those customers full price.
Well, today Rehab suddenly decided that wasn't okay. One server (who's actually supposedly friends with Rehab) rang in a to go app for a table. Right in front of the server, and without talking to her first, Rehab hollers to the manager, "Lapdog! T. ordered a happy hour appetizer to go, and she's not allowed to do that!" It turned in to a whole huge thing because Lapdog misunderstood and jumped T's shit about it, T was pissed at Rehab, Rehab was smirking at how smart she was to be telling on everybody .... every night I work with this woman, I wonder why they keep such a disruptive, bitchy person around!
One of the new girls, who I'm pretty sure is going to piss me off frequently enough to write about so I'm going to call her Tiffany, went running to CL last night claiming that another server, who's a trainer, hadn't rolled any silverware. Totally a bitch move even if it had been true -- which it technically was, but only because she had a trainee to be her sidework bitch. Even more ridiculous, Tiffany didn't do her own sidework! She told the other closer "you have to sign me out, I have to go on a liquor run!" and the other coworker stupidly signed her, thinking it was a liquor run for the store. Nope. And Tiffany hadn't cleaned her section at all. Fucking new guys.
Then there's all sorts of little piddly crap -- "So-and-so didn't offer a specific drink to their table!" kind of crap. Again, FNGs for the most part.
But the queen of squealing is definitely Rehab. She doesn't even try to be subtle about it at all. She steps away from the expo line in the middle of rushes to tell CL stupid shit like "PurpleGirl scooped ice with a glass instead of the scoop!" and "Accent Girl put liquid in glasses before ice!" The other night, surrounded by servers, when we had been on a wait for an hour and were all absolutely slammed, she was tattling that "person after person just kept scraping ice out of the bottom! None of them got more!" Well, no we didn't, you stupid nosy bitch, since the bin wasn't actually empty, only low, and we were fucking busy.
Then she complains that we aren't bringing to straw hotpads back quick enough. Then we're getting in her way to get dressings. Then we're in trouble for asking her for dressings! She's always telling the manager on duty that this person or that person isn't running food. If something is rung in wrong -- even something that doesn't require management attention, like "no tomato" on a burger -- you can be damned sure Rehab is going to yell and scream about it and tell the managers how people, and specific people, are "fucking up" all the time.
One of the little rules we have is that our specially priced happy hour appetizers aren't allowed to be taken to go. If someone orders a to go appetizer, we're supposed to charge them full price. However, that has never been enforced when a table orders something to go. It happens all the time: people eat, then order a cheap appetizer to take with them. Nobody ever charges those customers full price.
Well, today Rehab suddenly decided that wasn't okay. One server (who's actually supposedly friends with Rehab) rang in a to go app for a table. Right in front of the server, and without talking to her first, Rehab hollers to the manager, "Lapdog! T. ordered a happy hour appetizer to go, and she's not allowed to do that!" It turned in to a whole huge thing because Lapdog misunderstood and jumped T's shit about it, T was pissed at Rehab, Rehab was smirking at how smart she was to be telling on everybody .... every night I work with this woman, I wonder why they keep such a disruptive, bitchy person around!
30 Day Song Challenge - day 13
A guilty pleasure song ... hmm. Okay, I love to blast this one in my grannymobile and show how very uncool I am!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Thank you for telling me how to do my job.
I get so fucking sick of people acting like they know what I'm doing better than I do! Granted there are some people who come in to the restaurant knowing what they want; maybe they're regulars, and always get the same thing. But I get so tired of people just talking over me when I'm trying to get the details of their order. For instance, when someone orders a steak and immediately tells me they want a baked potato, then without even half a second for me to speak says, "aren't you going to ask how I want that cooked?" Well, maybe, if you'd shut up, you dumb bitch.
Today I was hosting and all freaking day people were demanding to sit at specific tables. One woman stomped in and said, "Chris's section is over here, right?" over her shoulder as she continued on her merry way. Too bad for her Chris wasn't working today! Then there were the fun people who when I took a second to see if a specific table was open -- you know, because it's my job to seat people in a rotating fashion -- act like I'm too dumb and say, "how about a booth over there?" No, how about a booth over there, now that I've taken three seconds to ensure it's clean?
And then you have the people who think their car needs to be part of their dining experience. One couple demanded to be sat at the booth by the window right in front of their truck -- the one next to it just wouldn't do. Of course, that guy also asked me and the other host if we were strippers as he walked out the door so he's clearly just special.
Today I was hosting and all freaking day people were demanding to sit at specific tables. One woman stomped in and said, "Chris's section is over here, right?" over her shoulder as she continued on her merry way. Too bad for her Chris wasn't working today! Then there were the fun people who when I took a second to see if a specific table was open -- you know, because it's my job to seat people in a rotating fashion -- act like I'm too dumb and say, "how about a booth over there?" No, how about a booth over there, now that I've taken three seconds to ensure it's clean?
And then you have the people who think their car needs to be part of their dining experience. One couple demanded to be sat at the booth by the window right in front of their truck -- the one next to it just wouldn't do. Of course, that guy also asked me and the other host if we were strippers as he walked out the door so he's clearly just special.
Glutton for punishment.
Tomorrow was supposed to be my day off. Then we developed a critical shortage of hosts, and CL sent out a panicked message asking for help. I probably would have ignored it, except this week's hours go toward the check I'll get on rent day. So I picked up a host shift tomorrow morning, and Friday morning.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Time for guest posts!
I closed tonight and made $42. We were busyish, but they were all big tables -- and my section couldn't accommodate them. So even though we had lots of people coming in the door, I think I had about six tables. My sales were all of $300, just plain pathetic. Last Monday I made $37, I'm hoping tomorrow will be better than that at least. It's so frustrating to sit in an empty restaurant, knowing there's nothing I can do to earn more money. It was also terribly boring -- didn't even have any stupid customers!
So, in lieu of a story, tonight I'm sending out the call for guest posts! It can be a story already published on your blog, or a brand-new story. Or, if you don't have a blog but would like to send in a story, that's okay too! Go ahead and submit your story, and tell me if you want me to use your name or list you as an anonymous writer. You can also send in more than one
I'll post a story every week for as long as I get submissions. If you have a story you'd like me to feature, please email me at slightlycranky at hotmail.com!
So, in lieu of a story, tonight I'm sending out the call for guest posts! It can be a story already published on your blog, or a brand-new story. Or, if you don't have a blog but would like to send in a story, that's okay too! Go ahead and submit your story, and tell me if you want me to use your name or list you as an anonymous writer. You can also send in more than one
I'll post a story every week for as long as I get submissions. If you have a story you'd like me to feature, please email me at slightlycranky at hotmail.com!
30 Day Song Challenge - day 10
A song that makes me fall asleep .. well, none really make me fall asleep, but this has been on my sleeping playlists for long enough that it's pretty much part of my bedtime ritual.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Those who jack tables deserve what they get.
As she came in, I was greeting another table, and I went to get their drinks to get the newly completed five-top time with the menus. But when I came back out of the kitchen, Native was at the table doing her eager beaver suck-up routine and taking their order! At first I thought that Chicken Little had sent her to the table -- CL was on the edge of panic all night and was micro-managing shit, she'd already sent two other people to two of my tables thinking I needed help. But when I asked if she'd sent Native to the table, she said no.
I watched Native for a minute; she took ages to take their order, frantically nodding with her weird beehive hair-do flopping, laughing way too loudly, and generally being obnoxious. When she came back in to the kitchen, I asked if she was transferring the table to me.
"What?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"They were there before cut and I'd been waiting on them for twenty minutes, so I didn't know if CL had sent you to take their order for me or what," I bluffed.
She started stammering and finally said, "Oh, I guess I can, yeah. Someone told me to take it because they hadn't been waited on."
When they all had full drinks in front of them? Riiiiiight. But I just smiled sweetly and said, "Oh, it's no big deal. You've already got their order, so you keep them. I'll go ahead and transfer their drinks to you!"
I could have insisted on taking them, but really I just wanted to make her feel like an asshole. I also could have told her that those particular bitches come in every Friday, drink fucktons of soda, and share two appetizers. I could have told her that Basset Woman would glare balefully at her the entire time, until she came to the table, when she'd suddenly become invisible. I could have told her they'd want separate checks, and that they camp out for ages. I could have told her they consistently tip 5% on a bill of about $20.
But I didn't.
30 Day Song Challenge - day 9
I know that the idea of this 'song challenge' is to post one every day, but I hate to have my top post be .... 'fluff'. That's why I'm only posting on days I have an actual story too.
Today's song is supposed to be something I can dance to. I'm not sure if 'you' means me personally or people in general, but I can't really dance so I'm pretending it's people in general!
Today's song is supposed to be something I can dance to. I'm not sure if 'you' means me personally or people in general, but I can't really dance so I'm pretending it's people in general!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
That's not a flag.
My last table tonight should actually have gone to my closing coworker. I had taken two tables, then she got one; then while I was in the bathroom, a three came in. She greeted them and got their drinks, then sat another table (two middle-aged regulars) and informed me she was taking the second table! I tried to point out that they should be mine, but both tables could hear me so I gave up.
And it's no wonder she didn't want the table of three. They were late teens/early twenties, two girls and a guy. The guy looks slobby and had big bushy hair. Both the girls were in oversized hoodies and stocking caps. Yeah, they were gangsta. The real bitch at the table also had a hoop piercing in the center of her bottom lip. That's never a good sign -- in my book it's an official Bad Omen.
They took forever to decide what they wanted; when they finally ordered, the guy ordered a beer. Well, I got their food in, but I forgot the beer. I was sitting at a table on the other side of the bar, where I could see them and monitor their drink levels and still see in to the kitchen for their food. When it came out I took it to them right away, got them the two things they asked for, and then got the beer Lip Piercing reminded me I forgot about. I apologized, and the guy said "it's okay." Lip Piercing stared at me as if I were dog shit, including staring obviously at my gut. I mentally shrugged, asked how things were, and started cleaning my section -- which was on the other side of a waist-height rail from them, so I was always in eyesight and earshot.
When they were done, I got their boxes and gave them a check with three subtotals. Lip Piercing still wouldn't speak, but I just figured she was a bitch. (The guy, who was the only one I'd made any mistakes on his order, said please and thank you every time he spoke to me. the entire meal.) For the next five minutes they carefully added everything up, whispering to each other and giving me furtive glances. When Lip Piercing finally spoke to me on one of my trips by, I was completely unsurprised when she said, "Um, it took you until we got our food to get his beer!" and thrust the ticket at me. My gut feeling was that they didn't have enough money to pay for their bill. As politely as I could, I said I'd get the manager. So I took the three dollar beer off an returned the ticket.
For another ten minutes, I casually walked by checking other things every two minutes. They continued dissecting the bill, whispering and talking. The guy finally got his card out and had it sitting in front of him, but Lip Piercing had a death grip on the bill. On my four trip by the table, nothing had changed; I made eye contact with Lip Piercing, who stared at me blankly. Then as I continued by, she raised the bill up in the air -- now holding a credit card too -- and waved it slowly back and forth over her head, sneering at me!
I about lost it. It had been a slow night, and I knew that I wasn't going to make as much as I needed. I was already aggravated, and this little bitch was making me want to grip her by her lip ring and drag her out of the restaurant. I may be a fat waitress, but I am not beneath the contempt of some grunge-wannabe snotsack. But somehow I swallowed my bile, and didn't snap at her, "Put it on the edge of the table, I'm not a fucking mind reader." Instead I just took the two cards -- the guy said thank you -- and ran them -- and the guy said thank you again.
They sat there another ten minutes or so, and after they left I was unsurprised to see that the guy left me 10% -- which I deserved for forgetting his beer -- on his $12 ticket, and Lip Piercing, who paid for $30 of the bill, left me ... uh, zero. She also took her receipt, which has the district manager's direct phone number and email address. I'm hoping she's just a receipt-keeper, rather than someone who's going to write to the DM and get me in trouble for forgetting a beer!
I made $45 on a seven hour closing shift. Fucking slow nights.
And it's no wonder she didn't want the table of three. They were late teens/early twenties, two girls and a guy. The guy looks slobby and had big bushy hair. Both the girls were in oversized hoodies and stocking caps. Yeah, they were gangsta. The real bitch at the table also had a hoop piercing in the center of her bottom lip. That's never a good sign -- in my book it's an official Bad Omen.
They took forever to decide what they wanted; when they finally ordered, the guy ordered a beer. Well, I got their food in, but I forgot the beer. I was sitting at a table on the other side of the bar, where I could see them and monitor their drink levels and still see in to the kitchen for their food. When it came out I took it to them right away, got them the two things they asked for, and then got the beer Lip Piercing reminded me I forgot about. I apologized, and the guy said "it's okay." Lip Piercing stared at me as if I were dog shit, including staring obviously at my gut. I mentally shrugged, asked how things were, and started cleaning my section -- which was on the other side of a waist-height rail from them, so I was always in eyesight and earshot.
When they were done, I got their boxes and gave them a check with three subtotals. Lip Piercing still wouldn't speak, but I just figured she was a bitch. (The guy, who was the only one I'd made any mistakes on his order, said please and thank you every time he spoke to me. the entire meal.) For the next five minutes they carefully added everything up, whispering to each other and giving me furtive glances. When Lip Piercing finally spoke to me on one of my trips by, I was completely unsurprised when she said, "Um, it took you until we got our food to get his beer!" and thrust the ticket at me. My gut feeling was that they didn't have enough money to pay for their bill. As politely as I could, I said I'd get the manager. So I took the three dollar beer off an returned the ticket.
For another ten minutes, I casually walked by checking other things every two minutes. They continued dissecting the bill, whispering and talking. The guy finally got his card out and had it sitting in front of him, but Lip Piercing had a death grip on the bill. On my four trip by the table, nothing had changed; I made eye contact with Lip Piercing, who stared at me blankly. Then as I continued by, she raised the bill up in the air -- now holding a credit card too -- and waved it slowly back and forth over her head, sneering at me!
I about lost it. It had been a slow night, and I knew that I wasn't going to make as much as I needed. I was already aggravated, and this little bitch was making me want to grip her by her lip ring and drag her out of the restaurant. I may be a fat waitress, but I am not beneath the contempt of some grunge-wannabe snotsack. But somehow I swallowed my bile, and didn't snap at her, "Put it on the edge of the table, I'm not a fucking mind reader." Instead I just took the two cards -- the guy said thank you -- and ran them -- and the guy said thank you again.
They sat there another ten minutes or so, and after they left I was unsurprised to see that the guy left me 10% -- which I deserved for forgetting his beer -- on his $12 ticket, and Lip Piercing, who paid for $30 of the bill, left me ... uh, zero. She also took her receipt, which has the district manager's direct phone number and email address. I'm hoping she's just a receipt-keeper, rather than someone who's going to write to the DM and get me in trouble for forgetting a beer!
I made $45 on a seven hour closing shift. Fucking slow nights.
30 Day Song Challenge - day 8
I have hundreds and hundreds of choices for this one: a song you know all the words to. How to choose one?
Monday, March 7, 2011
Ranch bomb.
A few days ago, Pot Smoking Manager was trying to help Rehab expo, because she was absolutely buried. He was pulling salads and fried items from the far side of the window and pushing them down the window so she could grab things without having to walk back and forth. Rehab started yelling at him, telling him to get out of her way, he was fucking her system up. She continued yelling that she was looking for things where they were supposed to be, she couldn't expo like this, and that he needed to quit trying to do her fucking job. Eventually PSM just quit trying to help and walked away from the crazy woman. Now PSM might be the sort of junior manager, but still, why is she allowed to talk to any manager that way?
But she's now progressed to using salad dressing as a weapon. Our only guy server on Wednesday made her angry -- didn't respond quickly enough to her screaming for a runner, or something -- and Rehab turned around with a ramekin full of ranch and threw it down at his feet like a bomb, splattering him, the kitchen, the counters, and other servers with ranch. Wait, that's not new -- I ended up with ranch all over my hair one day when she did that to me!
She swears at the cooks, swears at the servers, swears at the managers, screams and yells loudly enough the customers can hear her, gets angry when we ask her for the things we're supposed to ask her for .... why is she still employed, again?
30 Day Song Challenge - day 7
A song that reminds me of a certain event .... the first Eric Clapton concert I went to, he played this. I remember it mostly because my (probably stoned0 cousin was flopping around, dancing like a spazz!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Oh man, that's some crap.
To understand how that title sounds, you need to watch this hilarious video.
Tonight had the potential to be a great night. I had a four table section with two booths; a lot of my friends were working; and Lapdog was in a great mood. Of course, everything went to hell. The kitchen was dragging behind, and Rehab was fucking up constantly. She was also screaming non-stop. At one point she screamed, "Fuck you all! I'm fucking done!" and stomped away untying her apron!
Where my night really went downhill, though, was when my two tables got pushed together for an eight top. To anyone out there in a book club: Friday night in a restaurant is not the appropriate place to meet. The bitches sat there, taking up half my section, for three fucking hours. They tipped me a grand total of $10. And the best part was that they all had separate tickets, and they paid one ... by one ... by one .. by one. Except for one loud-mouthed bitch, who just kept talking and talking through all of this. She kept her ticket right by her drink for the next hour and a half as they chatted away, merrily wasting my time and costing me money. Finally, at 9:30, they all got up and filed out. Want to guess who didn't leave any money for her ticket?
Fucking bitches.
I ended up leaving with a whole $30 tonight for seven hours of work. Fucking hell. I think I lost money somewhere, but have no idea when or how. I left the restaurant in tears.
Tonight had the potential to be a great night. I had a four table section with two booths; a lot of my friends were working; and Lapdog was in a great mood. Of course, everything went to hell. The kitchen was dragging behind, and Rehab was fucking up constantly. She was also screaming non-stop. At one point she screamed, "Fuck you all! I'm fucking done!" and stomped away untying her apron!
Where my night really went downhill, though, was when my two tables got pushed together for an eight top. To anyone out there in a book club: Friday night in a restaurant is not the appropriate place to meet. The bitches sat there, taking up half my section, for three fucking hours. They tipped me a grand total of $10. And the best part was that they all had separate tickets, and they paid one ... by one ... by one .. by one. Except for one loud-mouthed bitch, who just kept talking and talking through all of this. She kept her ticket right by her drink for the next hour and a half as they chatted away, merrily wasting my time and costing me money. Finally, at 9:30, they all got up and filed out. Want to guess who didn't leave any money for her ticket?
Fucking bitches.
I ended up leaving with a whole $30 tonight for seven hours of work. Fucking hell. I think I lost money somewhere, but have no idea when or how. I left the restaurant in tears.
30 Day Song Challenge - day 6
I hope you all appreciate my restraint. I could have made just about every one of these 30 songs a-ha, or a-ha related. Instead, I'm going with my second choices!
Day 6 is a song that reminds me of somewhere. Several years ago I saw The Cure with my cousins at an outdoor amphitheater, and if I close my eyes I'm back in that moment.
The full song/video is here -- no embedding allowed on that one, and couldn't find another full one.
Day 6 is a song that reminds me of somewhere. Several years ago I saw The Cure with my cousins at an outdoor amphitheater, and if I close my eyes I'm back in that moment.
The full song/video is here -- no embedding allowed on that one, and couldn't find another full one.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Bye bye, Dallas.
Yep, Dallas got fired. Or maybe she quit before they could fire her, but either way she's gone. She has been giving all her shifts away, not showing up for shifts, and suddenly had to run off to Texas because someone supposedly died (not sure if that's true or not, considering she'd been talking for weeks about how she wanted to go home). But probably a bigger problem was that she refused to come to the meetings she was supposed to as both a trainer and someone whose upsell percentage was too long. She flat-out told Lapdog that she wasn't coming to them and he'd have to fire her. Smart choice for a woman with a three year old and another on the way, huh?
Less fun is that a friend of mine is "suspended" -- which means fired. They always "suspend" people until their last paycheck comes in, then terminate them. I haven't found out why yet, but it just makes me more nervous. One by one, the people who've been there there longest are being axed. There are only five servers more senior than me, now.
Less fun is that a friend of mine is "suspended" -- which means fired. They always "suspend" people until their last paycheck comes in, then terminate them. I haven't found out why yet, but it just makes me more nervous. One by one, the people who've been there there longest are being axed. There are only five servers more senior than me, now.
30 Day Song Challenge - day 5
Day 5 is a song that reminds me of someone. This song always makes me think of my grandpa, who used to put me on his lap and let me 'drive' his big red pickup truck across the dirt roads home. (sniffle)
And anything Alan Jackson makes me think of my dad - we saw him in concert a few years ago and it was one of the best days of my life.
And anything Alan Jackson makes me think of my dad - we saw him in concert a few years ago and it was one of the best days of my life.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Less flaming assholery.
Tonight's customers were largely inoffensive, and thank god for that. If I'd had to go through a fifth day of dickery I might have absolutely lost it! Tonight's only fuckfaced dickwad was the guy who stiffed me on a $55. He didn't believe that I'd brought him the right margarita because it wasn't the exact same color as the picture in the menu.
Thankfully the rest of my tables didn't suck quite so much. I still made a lot less than the other closer -- she rakes in $20 tips constantly, and I really can't figure out why there's such a difference. I really feel like I just give off a "don't worry, you don't have to tip me!" vibe.
In other news, I found out that one of the other servers is engaged to Native's brother. So I asked her if Native is, well, native. She laughed and said "No, she's just kinda weird."
Thankfully the rest of my tables didn't suck quite so much. I still made a lot less than the other closer -- she rakes in $20 tips constantly, and I really can't figure out why there's such a difference. I really feel like I just give off a "don't worry, you don't have to tip me!" vibe.
In other news, I found out that one of the other servers is engaged to Native's brother. So I asked her if Native is, well, native. She laughed and said "No, she's just kinda weird."
30 Day Song Challenge - day 4
Today is a song that makes me sad. There actually aren't many of those -- at least not that always make me sad. But this one makes me cry, and I honestly have no idea why. It didn't always; I must associate it with something miserable in the back of my mind now though!
For one with lyrics ...
For one with lyrics ...
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