Big pimpin' in a small town.

The last two weeks have been very slow. I think it's because of tax time, and I'm hoping we'll bounce back up soon. We still have the same number of servers on the floor as always, which I understand needing to start out with. But Lapdog in particular has a phobia of cutting the floor. So I ran a four table section for three and a half utterly dead hours today. To make it even more joyful, one of those tables got incorporated into a big top – which another server had, because two of her tables were used as well. She gave me one of hers when it got sat later, but then her boyfriend and his parents came in and sat in one of my tables because hers was full, but wanted her to wait on them. So I basically had a three table section until Lapdog finally cut at almost nine o'clock.

The one table I had at my six-seater booth gave me reason to hope. Seven people, and they were all talking and laughing and seemed happy. Things were a bit of a mess trying to get their appetizer order; Mom tried to order the appetizers, but didn't really know what she was talking about. She ordered a total of four items, three of which fit into our appetizer sampler. Several of the kids (teenagers) who were calling out items had their flyer about the sampler open, so I tried to figure out if they were ordering the sampler or individual items. But Mom just did not understand what I was saying. Finally she said, “Just those three” but she'd ordered four. It got to the point where everyone else was talking at once trying to explain, and Dad was holding his head in exasperation. Then the oldest daughter finally asked me to come back, and when I did she ordered and Mom kept her mouth shut. That kind of thing just drives me nuts. It's bad enough when people want to order for everyone, but when they don't know what they're ordering it's just terrible.

Anyway, things went smoothly after that. They needed a lot of drink refills, but I thought I'd be compensated because their overall manner was just so happy and nice. Dad apologized for Mom's retarded moment, but I laughed it off. Then he told me that two guys who work for him were there, and he wanted to pay for both of their meals at well. I fucking hate it when people do that, because it's just a whole grey area over who's going to tip the other server, or in this case the other two servers.

My table finished before the other two, so I gathered up the other tickets and took them to the baller who was about to shell out $229 at my stupid little corporate restaurant. He said he would tip the other servers as well, and also said “and if they leave more, good for them!” I really thought I was going to do well on this table.

When they finally left, I retrieved the three separate books. For my coworkers, $7 each on tickets of $57 and $49. For me …. $11 on $123. Seriously, you jackass? I wait on you and your loud family hand and foot, I laugh and talk and joke with you, I orchestrate this pain in the ass display of your 'generosity', and you give me less than ten fucking percent? Why don't you take your promotion to K9 unit captain and shove it up your ass.

A very special guest post.

You've all read about my friend L, the only one of my coworkers to know about this blog. She saw a few days ago where I invited her to contribute, and she got right on it. So for your reading pleasure, L in her own words! I hope she'll be a regular contributer!

So, let me guess, you are a normal gal, that loves her family, likes to cook, has shopping dreams, and longs for highlights in your hair? Right? Well, either way, that's me. I had a great job, normal salary, with benefits, and an 8-5 schedule...but it was boring and I knew I could make cash instantly slinging drinks in coorporate America...so here I go!
I agree to a group interview, after all, in order to be a money maker in this shit job, I have to be an entertainer, so why not start off by entertaining my potential future peers?
I pass with flying colors, simply by sitting in a booth with my future manager in a one on one interview...I think he liked my boobs more than my words, but whatever...I got the job!
It seemed easy enough...work the shit bar shifts, clean up, collect cash...easy enough and brainless, I can do this!
Oh fuck! The "boob staring manager" didn't mention I was signing up for war against the towns bitchiest chics! Now I see why there are actual conferences titled "Women Working With Women"! Well, as nice as it sounds to attend such conference, we didn't. I learned about such conference 2 years after I left the whore house!
Seriously ladies....guys talk about construction sites, gross port-a-pottys, ect...but there is a concrete reason why said conferences even exist! Women are the devil!
So with that, I'd like to formally introduce myself...I'm L. I'm the bitch you want to like, but love to hate. I'm the girl that loves to flirt with the cooks so I have guaranteed entertainment everyday at work, but walks out the door without looking back. I live by the philosophy of 'keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer' and I'm sure the majority of my work 'friends' are close to me for that very said reason, but it's fine....I love it! I'm hard headed and out spoken, and not afraid to say it like it is! I take smoke breaks as often as I can, and try to sneak the hot cook into the cooler for a quick grope session whenever I can! I'll tell the manager how I see it, no matter what they might think. I'm still not sure if they love me or hate me...trust me, no one feels 'grey' about me! It's pure black and white!
I'm thrilled to be invited by the Slightly Cranky Waitress to share my stories...I hope you all enjoy my rants and raves! Cheers to being a strong enough person to endure the service industry! You all deserve a pat on the back! Stay tuned!
L

Drunks are hilarious.

A charming group of young men came in early today and spent $209 at the bar. Later on they came back, totally wasted except for their designated driver. They drank another half bottle of Jager before leaving, and the entire time they were yelling to each other, throwing the f-word around constantly, and saying non-sensical things. Most amusing was how one of them called all the employees “baby doll.” The bartender and I could handle it. Pot Smoking Manager, not so much. He hid in the kitchen until they left after the fifth time he got called “baby doll.”

Stubborn.

Five people came through the restaurant door and started into the bar area. The woman in the lead was pointing at a booth in the corner of the area. Just because their attitude annoyed me, I stepped in front of them.

“Hello! How are you tonight?” I stepped up to foot of the stairs before they reached them and casually put one hand on my hip, which meant they couldn't get by me without encroaching on my personal space.

“Good.” Someone answered, but none of them made eye contact with me as they continued to crowd forward.

“How many tonight?” I politely gave an inch or two, mostly because I didn't want anyone stumbling off the stairs onto me.

“Oh, maybe five, maybe a whole bunch.”

“Okay,” I said. “Should we set up a large table or--”

“We're just going to sit there.” One bossy bitch burst past me and sat down at a high round table (that seats four people comfortably).

I gave up at that point. You would think that when a restaurant employee stands in front of you, physically blocking your path and questioning you, it might be a signal that this is not a seat yourself joint. Oh wait,I forgot you own the place because one of your group is a bar fly.

Ah, vindication!

We had a pre-shift meeting today, during which CL whipped out three months' worth of survey results. The company finally pulled their head out of their ass and changed our surveys to a new company that doesn't, well, suck. The way questions are stated is a lot less leading, the scoring system isn't weighted against us from the start, and it's generally much better.

Still, I was nervous as soon as she brought them out. The last time we were getting survey results regularly, she was flipping the fuck out all the time. To my surprise, though, she was glowing with pride. Apparently, our scores over three months left the rest of the district in the freaking dust. That doesn't surprise me, now that we have a better system. For all the flaws in the restaurant, we generally do a good job of taking care of our customers.

The sheets she had were a print-out of the 68 positive comments we'd gotten in the last three months. Actually, it's the comments attached to surveys where people rated their overall satisfaction greater than “satisfied.” So there could be other positive comments about certain things, just paired with slightly lower ratings.

Anyway, 68 in three months? That's freaking awesome. And apparently we only had 10 negative comments in the same time period! But like I said, that doesn't really surprise me. I said I wished I could see all of the comments (the print-out was screwy and the comments were chopped off) because there were 5-7 with my name on them. CL said, her tone a mix of pride and surprise, “I know! You're all over it!”

Thanks for the confidence.

Guest post: From the other side of the table.

This guest post comes to us from an anonymous reader. If you have a story for a guest post, please email me at slightlycranky at hotmail.com. L, I'm looking at you, because I know you have as many stories as I do! :)

I recently went out with a group of friends on a Saturday night and it turned out to be quite a few more of us than expected.  After calling around we managed to find a place that could seat us all and we went there.

I ended up sitting opposite a newer person to the group who was diabetic.  Each time the waitress brought drinks and refills this person would ask the waitress if this was definitely diet because otherwise she could end up in hospital due to the diabetes.  Each time the waitress assured her it was.  Even after this, whilst the waitress was still in earshot, she would push the glass over to her boyfriend and ask him to taste it saying "I just can't take the risk..." (Now as it turns out this place uses a system for the drinks - Diet comes in a specific glass type with the product name on it and normal comes in a straight glass with no markings.  It was an obvious system.)  We tried pointing out to her the type of glasses and that it showed they had a system to avoid such mistakes but this only resulted in louder protestations.  When we got to the time for dessert... she ordered what must have been the most sugary dessert on the menu. 

Whilst I appreciate that its risky for her I really didn't like that this was going on.  Firstly we were seated next to the host stand.  The rest of the servers most have overheard this conversation more than once during the evening. Secondly there was no attempt to be polite and respectful to the waitress and be quiet about it or wait until she was out of earshot.  Thirdly this continued even though we pointed out the system they used.  Fourthly (and this one might get me into trouble since I don't know too much about managing diabetes) she ordered the most sugary dessert on the menu which must have been far more loaded than a few sodas. 

I know a couple of us were feeling a bit awkward about the whole thing by the time we ended the meal.  I know I certainly was being over the top nice to the waitress and constantly thanking her to make up for this persons actions (and I wonder if it was almost to the point of being too OTT about it).  I certainly made sure we added a bit more tip to the bill thank usual to make up for this persons actions.  The manager thanked us for being such a nice group to deal with as we were leaving but it still felt very awkward.   

I do dislike eating with people that make too much of a fuss and I have dealt with eating out with food allergies before (thankfully not life threatening consequences though).  A polite one time mention is all it usually takes unless you get a change of server.  Am I being over sensitive to the persons actions? 

Pull your head out of your ass and maybe you'll hear me.

A mother and daughter sat down at one of my booths, with a third menu on the table with them. I took their drink order, and then politely asked, “Would you like some chips and salsa while you're waiting for your third person to arrive?”

The mother rolled her fucking eyes at me and responded, “NO, we're WAITING for someone ELSE.”

Fuck you, bitch. Excuse me for attempting to get some food in your bitchy face at a restaurant.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 30!

My favorite song this time a year ago: always, always a-ha.

Rednecks never fail.

I should know better than to get my hopes up when waiting on a redneck with a faint odor of chew about him, but tonight I got snowed. This man and his family came in for dinner; his wife was a bit bitchy, his daughter seemed like a typical snotty teen, but he was jovial and funny. He asked for toast instead of vegetables with his steak, and I had a total blonde moment and said we didn't have any. We've had garlic breadsticks for, like, a year now. We laughed together over my silliness, and I went to put their order in.

When his steak came out, there were no toppings at all on his baked potato. I didn't deliver their food, so it wasn't until I checked on them that I found this out. I apologized and joked about the manager being on expo, now I had a reason to give him a hard time. I then asked if redneck wanted another beer. His response was “maybe you can make the manager feel guilty so it's free!”

Now normally I don't find that kind of thing funny. At all. And normally I'd immediately know my tip was going to be non-existent. But then he laughed and said, “but I want one either way.” I actually liked this guy, so I did talk to Pot Smoking Manager and he comped the guy's beer. When I told the guy that, he high-fived me, and then I said something else that made him laugh and he gave me a fist bump. Even his wife was smiling by now.

So in the end, it was actually kind of a slap in the face to get a $2 “tip” on their $45 ticket.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 29

A song from my childhood. I thought this song was just awesome as a kid. Then I got old enough to know what it was about and realized it's kind of horrible.

Saw that one coming.

We have flavored teas at my restaurant; they're all the rage now, after all. We have two types of raspberry tea: the pre-mixed kind that comes out of the soda fountain, or fresh brewed tea mixed with a syrup. The second kind costs about twenty cents more, but I get a sales point for it (and they're still all up our asses about that). So I always give people the option, knowing most people will choose the freshly brewed tea.

So when the father at my table of four asked for raspberry tea, I gave him the two options. He stared at me for the moment, then told me as if I were stupid, “whichever costs less.”

His children ordered steaks, and they had some salads. As soon I finished ringing up their sixty dollar order, I knew he wasn't going to be happy with the total, and that I would suffer for his family's extravagance. My only bad tip of the night: $5 on $61. Screw you, cheapass. If you can't afford to take your whole family out for dinner, then DON'T.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 28

This is a weird one. A song that makes me feel guilty. Uhhhh …. wtf. Wait, I know. I feel like a horrible person for laughing at this.

Life after Rehab.

The first night, it was eerie. Nobody's ringing curses bounced off the ceiling of the kitchen. Nobody was hurling ramekins of ranch at anyone. Nobody was charging back and forth, knocking people out of her way. Nobody screamed at me when she expo'd my order wrong. Nobody got kicked in the kneecap. Instead, Benedict Manager was on expo. She was quiet, effective, polite, and pleasant to work with.

Since then, they've had anybody they could get their hands on running expo. I hope the next person they hire is worth training. I don't think I can handle another Idiot Expo, for example. Honestly, I'm hoping they'll have a woman who expos occasionally now do it more often, because she doesn't fuck up, she doesn't scream, the cooks listen to her because she's dating one of them, and she used to serve so she doesn't freak out on us when we make mistakes.

Of course, every other regular expo we've had in the past has been the exact opposite of her, so I probably shouldn't get my hopes up.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 27

I never got the hang of the guitar, but I'd love to be able to play this song.

So sick of FNGs.

Since we've had so many people get fired or quit, we are absolutely awash in fucking new guys. And sometimes I don't mind. They've all learned I'm one of the people to ask about how to ring things in and how to find stuff, because I've been there for a depressingly long time. And I admit I'm narcissistic enough to enjoy being needed. But goddamn, it's such a hassle! Half of them can't carry more than two plates, so we're making extra trips to tables because they have a soup, a salad, and a pasta. They don't know where to find hot chocolate or flavored hot tea. They run food to wrong tables. They forget what their section is and don't greet guests which causes all the managers to flip the fuck out.

And I know it's a learning process, and I know they'll get better. It's just at a fever pitch now. We currently have 35 servers, and only 14 of them have been there more than six months. Maybe 20 have been there more than three months. It's ridiculous. And don't even get me started on the host situation, Lapdog has got to stop making his host hiring decisions based on age (under 21), body size (10 and smaller), and oh yeah, gender. Seriously, all our hosts are skinny, young girls, 95% of which have no brains between all of them.

The cooks are even worse; for a while we had a respectable ratio of English-to-Spanish speaking cooks. It was a high enough percentage that we'd always have at least one cook who spoke full English and could take care of special requests. Now there are nights, especially after the cuts, when none of the cooks really speak English. Sometimes it's so bad that if you put no peppers on one dish, add bacon on another, and extra sauce on another …. every item will come out normal, no special modifiers. It's absolutely fucking maddening.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 26

A song I can play on an instrument … well, I can play the clarinet part of this!

This is why I get managers involved.

I think Lapdog is faster.

A lot of my fellow servers are very hesitant to tell a manager when there's a problem with a table, whatever the problem may be. Almost everyone is afraid to tell Lapdog when something is wrong, because the man is ridiculously volatile. He can go from zero to bitch faster than any PMS-ing broad I know. A lot of people are scared to go to CL with problems because she'll sometimes be fine and other times, well, there's a reason I call her Chicken Little. HotPants is just plain annoying to take a problem to, because he hates talking to customers so he'll stall and stall, hoping they'll leave or someone else will fix it or something. And some of my coworkers even are scared to go to Pot Smoking Manager, which I don't understand. Even people he doesn't like, he never says a cross word to when they make a mistake.

I'm the other way around, if there's any hint of a problem, I go right to whichever manager I can find. I've gotten screwed enough to know to cover my ass with managerial notification.

So tonight, I didn't hesitate to get Lapdog when I had a problem with a table. To begin with, they'd sat themselves. And not even in the bar area, in a corner booth. So I rushed up with usual “I'm so sorry you didn't get menus, I don't know why the host sat you without them.”

I knew they were going to be trouble as soon as they started talking. They proceeded to tell me that they sat themselves, because everyone was “engaged in conversation” and they waited for a second and nobody paid attention to them so they just walked by and sat down. I just said okay, because we had two hostesses on duty and even if they were both away from the door, they weren't “engaged in conversation.” So clearly these two jerks had just decided to plop their asses down wherever they wanted.

But my “okay” wasn't enough for them; they continued carping on about this supposed mistreatment. I just gave them a vague smile and said I'd be back with menus and silverware. When I came back, I asked what they'd like to drink. They said they weren't ready yet, so I went to the back to look for Lapdog to tell him about these sunshiny folks. One of my friends, Mistress J, said she recognized them and that every time they come in they do nothing but bitch, which is pretty much what I was expecting anyway. I conveyed all that to Lapdog, who said he'd stop by while I was running another table's credit card. He laughed when I told him they'd sat themselves in a big hurry but didn't know what they wanted to drink.

He came back thirty seconds later, smirking, and said they were ready to order. I wasn't surprised. Then he said they'd asked him if he worked there. I just shook my head. I took their drink order (water and a Sprite, tough choices), but of course they didn't know what they wanted for dinner. I absolutely smothered them with attention; I was not going to give them a chance to say I'd neglected them in any way. They finally ordered, mumbling the entire time and then looking at me like I was stupid when I couldn't hear them.

Another server delivered their food while I was taking an order a couple of tables down; I rang that order in and then went back to check on the jerks. She'd chopped up everything on her plate, and his plate seemed like he'd taken a few bites, so I asked how everything was. They stared at me. I smiled.

“We haven't tried it yet,” she finally said, giving me her best glare. Whatever.
The guy stabbed his (extra well done) steak and said, “Don't this come with tortillas or something?”
With a fucking steak? Really? I politely said I could get him something else if he'd like.
“Well! I'm not trying to pay extra.”
I blinked. “Tortillas was 99 cents for four if you'd like some.”
They looked at each other and he said no. Okay. I told Lapdog about this, too, since the guy was still listlessly stabbing his charcoal briquette. Apparently when he asked how things were, the guy was all “do you really want to know?” “Yes.” “*stare* Everything is good.”

They continued to stare at me like I was stupid as I checked on them regularly. They acted like I was insane when I offered them boxes. I gave them their check, picked up a credit card next door, walked to the computer in the back …. and Lapdog told me they were up front looking for me to pay. Seriously? In no hurry, I ran my credit card, took it back to the two very kind ladies next to the jerks, and then went next door.

“Are you ready for me to take this?” I smiled and gestured at the crumpled-up wad of bills. He stared at me and finally nodded. “Okay, I'll be right back with your change.”
“I don't need change. But I'm taking this.” He held up his receipt, folded so the corporate survey was in my face, and stomped off.

I laughed after he got out the door. You do that, jackass. You take that receipt and go the survey and complain to corporate about … who knows what. I'm sure they'll find something. I know they were pissed we didn't give them any actual reason to complain – Lapdog was at the table three times in addition to my frequent stops. But it they write a nasty note to corporate about some imaginary mistreatment, I'll have managerial proof that they're just grasping liars.

Sometimes, managers come in handy.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 25

Today is a song that makes me laugh. I love this one.

Striiiiiike!

(An old one I don't think I ever got around to posting.)

When we first switched to glass tumblers a year ago, I knew that they'd get broken constantly. It's just the kind of shit that happens in a restaurant, right? It still sort of blows my mind that corporate is willing to pay the constant replacement costs.

Some of the more spectacular incidents have involved entire racks of those damn glasses crashing to the floor. The first and funniest, though, was when Bitter Divorced Man lost his grip on a rack. It crashed to the floor with a resounding tinkle, throwing glass in every direction. Every last glass in the rack broke … except one. BDM picked up that single whole glass and looked at it. Then he shrugged and dropped it, watching it shatter on the floor with a blank face with the rest before walking away.

(He came back and cleaned it up, but the effect was fucking awesome.)

Guest post: From Joe Sixtop

Joe sent me two short guest posts, so I've combined them into one. If you'd like to be added to the guest post queue, please send me an e-mail at slightlycranky at hotmail.com

 Several years ago I got a job at Friday's. It sucked and I hated it so after a couple of weeks I just stopped showing up. For several days afterward I'd get voicemails saying stuff like, "Joe? Are ya coming in today? You're scheduled!". The reasons it sucked are too many to mention here, but high on the list was that it was my first gig to require employees to refer to customers as guests. "Treat everyone like an honored guest in your home!", was the counsel of management. If you go to my shitty apartment you'll probably be offered some refreshments but they won't be Potstickers or Andre the Peachlifters and you're not going to be charged money! Longtime readers (both of them) of TAS probably think I like being pretentious and they're right. So since we're not supposed to call them customers and I think it's lame to call them guests, I call them clients.

If you work in the restaurant industry there's a real good chance that you're at least an occasional reefer consumer and an even better chance that you like to knock back adult beverages. You're probably unhappy with America's drug laws, especially how alcohol is pretty much legal and marijuana is not. You might have made the argument to someone about how much tax money could go into federal and state treasuries if the shit was roughly as legal as beer is, and you had a good point.
     Fuck that, though. Look how much money the alcohol industry spends buying politicians to cockblock any competing intoxicants. Look how much tax money comes from legal alcohol. Look how financially hurting America and its cities and states are. Think how fucked they'd be if every server that favored cannabis legalization quit buying alcohol. Ha Ha Ha! I think you see what I'm getting at.
     Please talk this idea over with your coworkers at the after-hours bar y'all go to for late nite happy hour after your shifts are over. Feel free to invite anyone who wants to participate, not just restaurant folks. If we get enough people and start by springtime, you and your friends will be purchasing Party Joint Menthol Light 100's by Philip Morris at Walgreens and woofing down hookahfuls of Humboldt Heaven along with your Miller Lites at the after-hours bar before Thanksgiving.
If this thing gets going there's a chance you'll make just a little less money for awhile, especially if you're a bartender, but if you're anything like me you'll more than make up for it in savings from all the alcohol you won't be buying, especially the way you drink; at bars, prodigiously, tipping 50%. Plus you'll get out of your rut and experience life sober and without hangovers for a change. Who knows? You might like it.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 24

I don't think about my funeral; it's depressing. But there's one song I like for it, even though I'm really not religious.



(Sound quality isn't great, but there aren't many options on Youtube for the song.)

Tears from a stone.

Sometimes I feel like trying to make tips is impossible for me. I feel like I give off a “don't tip me! Really!” vibe or something. It gets extremely annoying when my coworkers are walking with $100 on the same night I barely make $40. And it's truly not because I'm a bad server, goddamn it! I'm not talking about the nights I do poorly because I'm sucking at my job for one reason or another. I'm talking about overall, about nights when I'm at my cheerful perky perfect best.

So what the fuck? Is it like when people won't give homeless people money because they think they'll buy booze, only they think if they tip me I'll just buy baby-flavored doughnuts and get even fatter? Do I smell funny? Did someone curse me? I don't fucking get it.

I've decided upon a couple of tactics to combat this. The first is to just try to make myself stand out a little more. Corporate, of course, likes to specify every fucking thing down to the color of our undergarments (no, I'm not kidding). But the things they don't specify, I am going to fucking exploit, bitches! I wrote before about putting special buttons on my work shirt for that exact reason. They don't tell us how many bracelets we can wear, either.

And the things they specify that CL isn't a hardass about, I'm also going to exploit. For example, our earrings are supposed to be less than an inch long and no bigger than a quarter. Every once in a while CL goes through a phase where she decides to be all hardass about it, but for now I'm wearing my funky earrings. I'm also wearing my necklaces, rings, and bracelets more. I have a fuckton of jewelry that I haven't been wearing, so I might as well start again.

Eventually I'm going to make another cover to put on my serving book. My printer's dead, so I'll have to make up an image file and take it to Walgreens to print or something. I stopped because I felt like it was juvenile to have pictures of my favorite band on my book, but fuck that. Or maybe I'll put baby pictures of my cousins so people will assume they're my kids! Ha!

The other thing I'm doing seems almost contradictory. I've decided to stop being so fucking cheerful. I'm obviously not going to walk around showing my grumpy colors to everyone, either. I'm going to basically try to be calm and polite, because I think when I was cheery and perky people could tell it was fake. Not always; sometimes I really was in a cheerleader mood. But most of the time it was my waitress persona I'd slid in to thinking that's how I needed to be. So I'm trying to be more natural, relaxed.

I'm also considering starting to wear makeup again. Sigh. I hate wearing makeup. I forget it's there and smudge the crap out of it. I'm allergic to everything so my eyes itch nonstop, which makes mascara a real bitch. If I do decide to do the makeup thing again, I am so dyeing my eyelashes instead of fucking with mascara. I think I do get slightly better tips when I wear the crap, but god it's just such a hassle!

So far these things seem to be working. Here's hoping it wasn't just a temporary upswing, because I don't know what to do otherwise.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 23

This one was pretty much impossible for me: a song I want played at my wedding. I have no plans to get married, I think marriage is an unrealistic holdover from old times and has no particular use or interest to me. So I decided to just choose a romantic song. This was the first song that really struck me as romantic, when I was about 12.

Oh dear god no.

Since we started having late night activities about a year ago, I've done my best to avoid them (except for bingo, but I don't wait tables during it). Trivia drives me to distraction, although I've never figured out why. Karaoke makes me want to stab knives into my ears so I don't have to hear the noise. So basically I only work those shifts if I am ridiculously strapped for cash, because it's never worth the time and aggravation.

But lucky, lucky me, CL has decided to make some changes to the late night lineup. At first I thought I was still safe: trivia and karaoke were merely being flip-flopped. And then I found out we're going to have karaoke two nights a week. Fuck my life.

30 Day Song Challenge - day 20

It's harder to come up with a song I listen to when I'm sad, because when I'm truly sad I tend to not listen to anything at all.

Oh, hell yes!

I suddenly was motivated to attach my little corporate monkey pins to my nametag – after all, I threw a hissy fit until I got my five year pin at year six, and then I wore it once because it's such a pain in the ass to put the damned things on and off my collar all the time. Not that I have that many. Somehow in my six years working for this company, I've never gotten one of their pins for “fun” or “teamwork” or anything. I have my year, three year, and five year pins, and a little bat I won in a Halloween contest. That last one I couldn't find, and I had a vague memory of it being in the inner pocket of one of my many (many, many, many) purses. So I started going through them.

I did find the bat pin. I also found a Chinese food receipt from 2007, a “get out of sidework” card from a contest I won, a key I have no idea what it belongs to, a handful of change, and a hair accessory I'd been missing. But most exciting was when I reached into the pocket of the first purse I pulled out. I almost didn't even search that one because I was fairly sure the pin wouldn't be in there. Thank good I did, though: I found forty freaking dollars! That's just been sitting in my spare room since August!

The funny thing is that I remember very clearly when that cash went missing. I remember going to the bank and thinking I'd lost money, and then deciding I must've spent it somewhere without realizing it.

30 Day Song Challenge – day 21

Today's is a song I listen to when I'm happy. There's an awful lot of those, I could pretty much pick any song in my music library. What to choose, what to choose.

Guest Post: I'm a mother, I squeezed a little turd out of my cunt so I'm entitled to act like both!

Today's guest post is from DMT. Ah, mothers. If you'd like to be added to the guest post queue, please send me an e-mail at slightlycranky at hotmail.com

A woman came sat down and started chatting with a friend while her son ran loose
in the cafe (probably wired on coke and sweets) until he threw up. She continued to chat
away ignoring the fact that the contents of his stomach were all over the floor while we
mopped it up and then left without buying anything or so much as an apology

She came in again later at the tail end of the lunch time rush, the place was blitzed nearly
every table needed clearing because everyone left at once and we were low on cups and
plates. She was rude to me at the till while I took and prepared her order, I was already pissed
off at her for earlier but the way she spoke to me with contempt as if I were a lower life form
and the fact that she was a cheap bitch ordering one tea and a hot water so she and her friend
could share the same tea bag and only pay for one tea had me at boiling point

She then stood around the corner at the cutlery tray (where I couldn't see her) for five minutes
while I was serving more customers before storming down to me demanding "Is it possible to
get some CLEAN spoons?" I couldn't have cared any less about her by then and said without
turning my attention from my current customer "My coworker (who was working her ass off btw)
is washing a load in the dish room they'll be out soon" She stomped away and waited to attack
her when she came. She grabbed a hand full of spoons off her and ranted "Gimme some of
those before you set them down this place is a filthy kip as usual" (bullshit it was our first time
serving her we'd never seen her before). That was a big mistake because that woman on the dish
is close to retirement age and takes no shit from anyone she said "If its always filthy why do you come
here, and just so you know we don't keep a filthy cafe customers make it filthy some put dirty spoons
in with the clean ones and others let their kids run around puking all over the place" The bitch was
left gobsmacked, by the looks of it it was the first time anyone gave her a dose of her own medicine
and it didnt taste too good!

30 Day Song Challenge – day 20

A song I listen to when I'm angry …. I've listened to this song when I'm angry for years and years. But Youtube won't let me embed anything, so if you want to listen to “Disarm” by Smashing Pumpkins you'll have to click it.

Took long enough!

Just got the word that Rehab's been fired! w00t! Only took months of her screaming and swearing at everyone, bitching out a manager, throwing ranch bombs and people, and freaking kicking someone. Nice.

A kneecap over the line.

I miss my computer! Gaaaah!
A couple of nights ago, my "Work Wife" rang in a burger that normally comes with fried onions. Well, somehow we were out of onions. Which I think just meant the lazy cooks didn't want to chop more. Anyway, WW ordered the burger with "no fried onion sub onion ring" - our onion rings are pre-battered so we still had those.
Well, Rehab sent the burger out with rings instead of fries. WW brought it back and Rehab totally lost her shit. Started screaming, saying WW was wrong, it was her fault, and "I'm not fucking fixing it!" Then she told WW to get out of "her" kitchen.
I ended up getting some of her tables' drinks because of that; it's bullshit any of us are afraid to do part of our jobs because of this bitch. But it gets worse. The next time WW did go into the kitchen, Rehab said to the person next to her, "watch this!" And she fucking mule-kicked WW right in the knee.
HotPants told her to leave after that, but I bet you that'll be her only "punishment."

Still alive and kicking!

But also still without my primary computer. Bugger.

My first night back at work after my trip, I started the night out with a great tip - $9 on $40 from two very low-maintenance customers. The next was $6 on $30. The next was ... 10 fucking cents on $56. Still don't know what I did to piss them off.

Hopefully I'll have my machine up and running again soon and will be back to regular posting!