This guest post comes from "Just The Messenger" -- nothing like getting slapped down by the corporate monkeys!
I'm at the tail end of the move so will be working soon and hopefully have some bitches to write about myself!
I’ve been a server at a corporate chain for four years now. I’m pretty good at my job, mostly compliments, a complaint here and there, but for the most part, I’m a damn good employee. I don’t come in hung over or in a drugged out stupor and I’m always 10 minutes early (if not 15 minutes early… I have a fear of being late, what can I say?). I’m not the strongest server, but I get the job done and most people seem to like me and how I do things.
So when I went to my managers a couple of months ago to tell them I would be going to grad school and would need to cut my availability down to as few days as possible, I was a little nervous about the exchange but not altogether worried. And it went smoothly. My GM told me that because I had been with the company for so long and that I do what I’m supposed to do about ninety percent of the time (with a laugh), they had no problem working with me. But I had to stay on at a bare minimum of two nights a week or possibly go on a leave of absence. I told them that I would check my schedule, but I thought it was doable. I was to report to my scheduling manager (who has a habit of getting his hackles raised if you question him about ANYTHING). Okay. SM told me to just remind him in May. Okay. I could do that.
About a month later I get my review. Overall, it was glowing. I was told I needed to work on getting my running sidework completed (um, who doesn’t?), but the management team found me to have gotten better at my job over the past four years and that I am willing to go above and beyond when any of them ask me to do something. Afterward, I asked him if it would still be okay if I went down to two days a week. “Oh, yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem. It’ll be summer and we should be busy everyday.” “Cool, because I think Monday and Friday nights would work out well.” “Yeah, that’ll be okay.”
At the end of May, I messaged him to remind him about Monday AND Friday nights. AND. Not THROUGH, AND. (I kept the message and I checked. I know what I wrote.) Apparently literacy doesn’t run in his family because after I saw he had my availability down as Monday THROUGH Friday nights, I messaged him to remind him that I could only work two nights a week. I was going into work that morning, so I didn’t get his reply until after I came home crying, saying that we needed to talk about my availability.
At work that day, the GM and he took me into the office and SM stood off to the side, looking down at his shoes (about the only thing he’s good at). GM proceeded to tell me that they were under the impression that I would be available Monday THROUGH Friday nights and that I would let them know when I was available (um, I did…). Plus, they usually only cater to employees who are top-tier employees and I wasn’t a top-tier employee. Over the past four years, I have had numerous issues, oh, don’t get me wrong, you’re a decent employee, but I’ve been pretty mediocre over the years. At this point I looked at him and said, “Um, okay, I’m a little confused because just a month ago I got my review and it was really good.” GM kind of skimmed over this fact and said that they had issues with giving me Friday nights, since I’m not that strong of a server and I tend to get harried when pushed. First off, who doesn’t? There are three people in that restaurant who don’t get “harried” when pushed. And for three and a half years straight they never had an issue with me working weekend nights; it was only when I said I needed to go down to two nights a week did I see my night shifts disappearing. I asked, “Well, what do you suggest I do to improve?” GM replied, “Well, this is over the course of four years and what needs to be improved can’t be improved on with a limited availability.” Needless to say that at this point I felt broadsided (oh, and I think I should mention I have never been written up—one of the few employees who can say that) and said, “Since you don’t want to give me Friday nights, what about Thursdays?” “I don’t think that will work.” “What about Tuesdays then?” GM looks at SM and SM says, “Tuesdays should work.” (I should also mention that the only reason I settled on Mondays and Fridays was that my class lets out at 12:30, allowing me plenty of time to arrive at work. Tuesdays I get out at 3:30 and I’m quite far from work. I didn’t want Fridays because they’re “busy,” contrary to what they may have thought.)
After finishing up my last table, I went home and started to cry. Who, after four years and a complete about face, tells their employee that they were mediocre and goes back on everything that they had agreed to previously? After crying my guts out, I decided that since they already thought I was a mediocre employee, they’re going to get a mediocre employee. Ya know those stupid reward cards businesses are making their employees push? Not going to do that anymore. If I show up late on Tuesdays because of traffic? Not my fault, I told you what I could do and you initially agreed to it. I’m not going to kill myself to make it on time. You know those employees who you said were complaining about me (another thing I just heard about)? Not helping them out at all. If you don’t like me, fire me. And then I can collect unemployment.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Don't get my hopes up.
Tonight was super fun. And by that I mean ridiculously fucking slow. I think I had five tables, one of which was my mother and some other family members. One of the four other tables was seemed okay. They looked vaguely familiar, but then again so do 90% of our customers after three years.
It was a table of four: a twentyish girl with a very little baby, her friend, and a couple around the same age. I wasn't really expecting much from them; they had a slight white-trash vibe going for them. But you never know, so I was polite as always. But, sure enough, when I went to clean their table a few minutes after the left, I'd gotten screwed. One cash payer left his coins, the other left nothing, and the one credit card slip had a big angry zero slashed across it, and said “should read -->” on the front. Oh, the bitchy customer note. Fucking fabulous. In loopy, high-schooler looking script, it read:
“WE COME HERE ALL THE TIME AND NEVER HAD THIS MANY PROBLEMS. OUR FOOD DIDN'T COME OUT AS APPETIZERS AND MEALS. $MESSED UP OUR TABS LEFT WATER GLASSES EMPTY WE WILL NOT COME BACK IF THIS IS OUR SERVICE”
Oh, fuck you, fucking bitches. I assume the second sentence means they didn't think there was enough of a gap between their appetizers and dinners arriving. It was only a five minute gap, but with four people sharing, it didn't seem at all hurried. Silly me.
One water glass was empty for a few minutes while I was taking an order at another table; nevermind the fact that two of them were sucking down a soda each every five minutes and they never ran dry.
As far as the tabs being “$messed up”? Here's what happened. I printed out their three separate tickets and delivered them. When I came back they had two credit cards, and the only guy had set five dollars on top of his tab. I did a double-take on that, and saw that our computer had quite strangely rung in his food, and sent it to the kitchen … but then didn't charge him for it! It was a freaking $12 meal! Now I admit, if it had been a friend of mine, or even somebody who wasn't sneering at me, I might have let it slide. Then again, with Lapdog and HotPants working and having their respective panties in a twist over shit, maybe I wouldn't have.
Anyway, I made a big show of looking at his ticket and laughing and saying how weird, I'd never seen that before. He gave me that “shit, you caught me” look, and I said I'd be right back with the right copy. So I rang the item in again – and this time it did show up with the correct charge, took him his change, and then took care of the other two tickets. When I came back I realized I'd brought back the zero slip and the original slip for one cash payment, rather than the two separate slips. I said, “Oops, grabbed the wrong one, be right back!” and scooped the appropriate slip up off the counter and was back in literally five seconds. So to sum up: almost, but didn't, give them the wrong receipt for one payment, and fixed a computer error. That's “$MESSED UP OUR TABS”. So basically they're pissed off that I made their buddy actually pay for his food!
The last part about not coming back? Please, don't get my hopes up by making promises you won't keep. You're exactly the kind of bitches who do come back and bitch every time about stupid shit that didn't actually cause any problems.
It was a table of four: a twentyish girl with a very little baby, her friend, and a couple around the same age. I wasn't really expecting much from them; they had a slight white-trash vibe going for them. But you never know, so I was polite as always. But, sure enough, when I went to clean their table a few minutes after the left, I'd gotten screwed. One cash payer left his coins, the other left nothing, and the one credit card slip had a big angry zero slashed across it, and said “should read -->” on the front. Oh, the bitchy customer note. Fucking fabulous. In loopy, high-schooler looking script, it read:
“WE COME HERE ALL THE TIME AND NEVER HAD THIS MANY PROBLEMS. OUR FOOD DIDN'T COME OUT AS APPETIZERS AND MEALS. $MESSED UP OUR TABS LEFT WATER GLASSES EMPTY WE WILL NOT COME BACK IF THIS IS OUR SERVICE”
Oh, fuck you, fucking bitches. I assume the second sentence means they didn't think there was enough of a gap between their appetizers and dinners arriving. It was only a five minute gap, but with four people sharing, it didn't seem at all hurried. Silly me.
One water glass was empty for a few minutes while I was taking an order at another table; nevermind the fact that two of them were sucking down a soda each every five minutes and they never ran dry.
As far as the tabs being “$messed up”? Here's what happened. I printed out their three separate tickets and delivered them. When I came back they had two credit cards, and the only guy had set five dollars on top of his tab. I did a double-take on that, and saw that our computer had quite strangely rung in his food, and sent it to the kitchen … but then didn't charge him for it! It was a freaking $12 meal! Now I admit, if it had been a friend of mine, or even somebody who wasn't sneering at me, I might have let it slide. Then again, with Lapdog and HotPants working and having their respective panties in a twist over shit, maybe I wouldn't have.
Anyway, I made a big show of looking at his ticket and laughing and saying how weird, I'd never seen that before. He gave me that “shit, you caught me” look, and I said I'd be right back with the right copy. So I rang the item in again – and this time it did show up with the correct charge, took him his change, and then took care of the other two tickets. When I came back I realized I'd brought back the zero slip and the original slip for one cash payment, rather than the two separate slips. I said, “Oops, grabbed the wrong one, be right back!” and scooped the appropriate slip up off the counter and was back in literally five seconds. So to sum up: almost, but didn't, give them the wrong receipt for one payment, and fixed a computer error. That's “$MESSED UP OUR TABS”. So basically they're pissed off that I made their buddy actually pay for his food!
The last part about not coming back? Please, don't get my hopes up by making promises you won't keep. You're exactly the kind of bitches who do come back and bitch every time about stupid shit that didn't actually cause any problems.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Control is key.
I've been lucky lately, and haven't had any truly horrendous children to contend with. I'm sure now that I've said that, my next shift will be nothing but screaming, puking monsters. Dammit.
Another server's table last night was a woman in Army fatigues, her three year old daughter, and grandma. They started out in a booth inside, but moved outside when the kid started screaming. I thought that was considerate of them – at that point nobody else was sitting on the patio. Of course, once you get one person out there, the patio stops being invisible and suddenly everyone wants to be there.
So it was about half an hour later that I approached the patio door with my arms completely full. It was one of those heavy loads that I knew I would be fine getting to the table, but if I got delayed for long it would start to hurt. But we were so slow, and there were no big tables in the way, so I figured I'd be fine. I'd forgotten the screamer on the patio.
Sure enough, I approached the patio door and the kid was sprawled on the ground just outside it, whimpering as if being tortured. Normally I'd just knock the door open with my hip and be on my way, but instead I had to stop and stand there. The table next to the door thought I needed help getting it open, and a woman in blue was getting up to help me.
“Oh, I'm okay. There just a little girl having a fit outside the door.” I said it in my most sympathetic tone of voice, not even showing my true irritation.
“She's been having a fit since they got here!” The woman watched as Army-mom berated her child, still blocking the doorway. Then she began re-arranging items on the patio. At first I couldn't figure out what she was doing. Then I figured out she was blocking it so her kid couldn't leave. There's a gap in the railing right where the door opens, I assume for fire safety purposes. So instead of, you know, controlling her child, Army mom began moving our large flowerpot to block the entrance. Then she moved our server cart.
That's what really pissed me off. That cart has condiments, napkins, water pitchers, etc. on it, and she just rolled it so it was halfway off the patio, wedged in the rocks, almost everything on it knocked over and in a mess. Oh, and it was partially blocking the door now too! So she could ignore her kid.
At that point the lady in blue let out a noise of disgust and started to ease the door open, hoping the woman would take a hint and move her goddamn kid. Eventually she did, and I gratefully dropped off the food in my arms before it splattered all over the floor. I'd been standing for at least a minute, probably almost two, while this woman let her child scream and re-arranged restaurant furniture.
Another server's table last night was a woman in Army fatigues, her three year old daughter, and grandma. They started out in a booth inside, but moved outside when the kid started screaming. I thought that was considerate of them – at that point nobody else was sitting on the patio. Of course, once you get one person out there, the patio stops being invisible and suddenly everyone wants to be there.
So it was about half an hour later that I approached the patio door with my arms completely full. It was one of those heavy loads that I knew I would be fine getting to the table, but if I got delayed for long it would start to hurt. But we were so slow, and there were no big tables in the way, so I figured I'd be fine. I'd forgotten the screamer on the patio.Sure enough, I approached the patio door and the kid was sprawled on the ground just outside it, whimpering as if being tortured. Normally I'd just knock the door open with my hip and be on my way, but instead I had to stop and stand there. The table next to the door thought I needed help getting it open, and a woman in blue was getting up to help me.
“Oh, I'm okay. There just a little girl having a fit outside the door.” I said it in my most sympathetic tone of voice, not even showing my true irritation.
“She's been having a fit since they got here!” The woman watched as Army-mom berated her child, still blocking the doorway. Then she began re-arranging items on the patio. At first I couldn't figure out what she was doing. Then I figured out she was blocking it so her kid couldn't leave. There's a gap in the railing right where the door opens, I assume for fire safety purposes. So instead of, you know, controlling her child, Army mom began moving our large flowerpot to block the entrance. Then she moved our server cart.
That's what really pissed me off. That cart has condiments, napkins, water pitchers, etc. on it, and she just rolled it so it was halfway off the patio, wedged in the rocks, almost everything on it knocked over and in a mess. Oh, and it was partially blocking the door now too! So she could ignore her kid.
At that point the lady in blue let out a noise of disgust and started to ease the door open, hoping the woman would take a hint and move her goddamn kid. Eventually she did, and I gratefully dropped off the food in my arms before it splattered all over the floor. I'd been standing for at least a minute, probably almost two, while this woman let her child scream and re-arranged restaurant furniture.
Friday, June 24, 2011
I apologize if I gave you the impression that I give a flea fiddling flying rat's fucking ass.
(I'm quite suddenly moving two towns away, so my response to comments will be .. uh ... non-existent. Also if I don't post as much as usual that'll be why. )
We play bingo once a week at my restaurant, and I'm the bingo bitch. So it falls to me to enforce the rules, hand out materials, play music, try to keep the crowd entertained, etc. And it never fails, somebody's gotta bitch about something.
“You're going too fast!”
“You're going too slow!”
“It's too loud!”
“I can't hear you!”
“This music sucks!”
“I want a winning card!”
“I don't want to listen to this, I just want to eat!”
“Your drink specials aren't very good!”
The most common complaints are the noise and the length of time. What people don't seem to understand is that I don't fucking care. I'm not going to turn it down just because one crusty old fuck doesn't like ZZ Top. Oh, I might turn it down to appease them … but then I start turning it back up bit by bit until it's louder than it was before. Why? Because fuck them, that's why. Especially the assholes who wait until I step away to do something, then come up and start twiddling knobs on my amplifier (one fucker even turned it totally off). Joke's on them – the volume is controlled through my laptop. And anybody who touches that is getting their fingers broken.
Then there are the people who bitch because we do breaks in between each game. Sometimes they're longer than I intended – people like to talk to me when I start walking around. I'm not going to tell them to shut up because people think they're at a damn bingo parlor.
If they complain I'm calling numbers too slowly, you can bet your ass I'll call them slower or find a reason to take a mid-game break.
You think the game's taking too long? Okay, our next bingo pattern will be 4/5 of a blackout.
One night a group of regulars was sitting next to me and heckling me constantly, we had a nice back-and-forth going the whole night. Most of the crowd though it was funny (especially when I announced “people are dumb” over the mic accidentally ….), but several other people starting whining about them “interrupting” the game. I told my friends, and guess what got worse?
This week, I had just announced that we'd be taking a three song break before the next round, and was going through drink specials when a man approached me. We were way ahead of schedule, because people had won the first two games very quickly, so I figured it would be a noise complaint.
“I don't know if you're aware,” he said nastily, “but we have children and three songs is too long of a break!”
I gave him my sweetest smile. “Sorry! I'm supposed to keep the game going until around 11.”
“Well, it's too long! It needs to be shorter!”
I just smiled at him again and said “okay.” Then I got “distracted” and let two extra songs play before I went back to the game.
Because here's the thing: the volume and the pacing are part of my damn job. What these people don't understand is that I'm supposed to keep the music at a certain volume, otherwise everyone can hear everyone's else's conversations … not to mention the cooks yelling and slamming things around. I'm supposed to play upbeat, party-ish music to create atmosphere. I'm supposed to laugh and talk and joke with people.
Not to mention that we don't charge people to play the game – not a cent. We don't even require them to order anything, which I think is a mistake, but whatever. So I'm supposed to keep them in the place as long as I can, trying to get them to order more drinks, more appetizers, more dessert. We're a freaking business, and that's how we make money.
So when I'm already ahead of schedule and somebody wants me to go faster, or when the volume is perfect and somebody decides to bitch about it, I pretty much do the opposite. And I thoroughly enjoy it. Am I being a passive-aggressive little bitch with this behavior? Hell yes I am. But I take great joy in it, because it's basically the only time in that building that I can disregard a customer's request. See, I totally have management's backing on all of it! I even have the regional manager's approval. Someone once wrote a nasty email complaining that bingo starts too late and takes too long, and the regional manager pretty much wrote back, “Sorry, go somewhere else if you don't like it.”
I kind of wanted to hug him.
We play bingo once a week at my restaurant, and I'm the bingo bitch. So it falls to me to enforce the rules, hand out materials, play music, try to keep the crowd entertained, etc. And it never fails, somebody's gotta bitch about something.
“You're going too fast!”
“You're going too slow!”
“It's too loud!”
“I can't hear you!”
“This music sucks!”
“I want a winning card!”
“I don't want to listen to this, I just want to eat!”
“Your drink specials aren't very good!”
The most common complaints are the noise and the length of time. What people don't seem to understand is that I don't fucking care. I'm not going to turn it down just because one crusty old fuck doesn't like ZZ Top. Oh, I might turn it down to appease them … but then I start turning it back up bit by bit until it's louder than it was before. Why? Because fuck them, that's why. Especially the assholes who wait until I step away to do something, then come up and start twiddling knobs on my amplifier (one fucker even turned it totally off). Joke's on them – the volume is controlled through my laptop. And anybody who touches that is getting their fingers broken.
Then there are the people who bitch because we do breaks in between each game. Sometimes they're longer than I intended – people like to talk to me when I start walking around. I'm not going to tell them to shut up because people think they're at a damn bingo parlor.
If they complain I'm calling numbers too slowly, you can bet your ass I'll call them slower or find a reason to take a mid-game break.
You think the game's taking too long? Okay, our next bingo pattern will be 4/5 of a blackout.
One night a group of regulars was sitting next to me and heckling me constantly, we had a nice back-and-forth going the whole night. Most of the crowd though it was funny (especially when I announced “people are dumb” over the mic accidentally ….), but several other people starting whining about them “interrupting” the game. I told my friends, and guess what got worse?
This week, I had just announced that we'd be taking a three song break before the next round, and was going through drink specials when a man approached me. We were way ahead of schedule, because people had won the first two games very quickly, so I figured it would be a noise complaint.
“I don't know if you're aware,” he said nastily, “but we have children and three songs is too long of a break!”
I gave him my sweetest smile. “Sorry! I'm supposed to keep the game going until around 11.”
“Well, it's too long! It needs to be shorter!”
I just smiled at him again and said “okay.” Then I got “distracted” and let two extra songs play before I went back to the game.
Because here's the thing: the volume and the pacing are part of my damn job. What these people don't understand is that I'm supposed to keep the music at a certain volume, otherwise everyone can hear everyone's else's conversations … not to mention the cooks yelling and slamming things around. I'm supposed to play upbeat, party-ish music to create atmosphere. I'm supposed to laugh and talk and joke with people.
Not to mention that we don't charge people to play the game – not a cent. We don't even require them to order anything, which I think is a mistake, but whatever. So I'm supposed to keep them in the place as long as I can, trying to get them to order more drinks, more appetizers, more dessert. We're a freaking business, and that's how we make money.
So when I'm already ahead of schedule and somebody wants me to go faster, or when the volume is perfect and somebody decides to bitch about it, I pretty much do the opposite. And I thoroughly enjoy it. Am I being a passive-aggressive little bitch with this behavior? Hell yes I am. But I take great joy in it, because it's basically the only time in that building that I can disregard a customer's request. See, I totally have management's backing on all of it! I even have the regional manager's approval. Someone once wrote a nasty email complaining that bingo starts too late and takes too long, and the regional manager pretty much wrote back, “Sorry, go somewhere else if you don't like it.”
I kind of wanted to hug him.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
A message from the restaurant gods.
And I think that message is “Hahaha, FUCK YOU!”
I went in to work feeling happy and chipper. I'd had a few days off, I'd gotten a haircut, and I was feeling cuter than usual. I had a decent section, and we were relatively busy. We had a wait for about three hours, actually, and everybody else was pretty much drowning in money.
I left with 35 bucks, because I got $3 on $57, $2 on $42, $1 on $37, $0 on $22, $2 on $30 from a table that stayed three hours, and one other absolutely atrocious one I can't remember now. The rest of my tips were ten percent. Why? Who the fuck knows? It was just my turn it get fucked, I guess, because all the white trash, old, teenaged, Mexican, coupon-bearing crotch-spawn overloaded bitchy motherfuckers got put in my section.
(Sorry for the racism, ageism, and other -isms in the last sentence. I don't profile when it comes to anything but tips, but anybody who waits tables for five minutes will tell you that those are the groups most likely to fuck you over.)
I actually left in tears because I was so angry. I did not fuck up once the entire evening, not so much as a forgotten side of ranch, and for that I made $35 on $550 in sales? Which freaking loa did I piss off? Do I need to sacrifice a chicken or some shit?
I went in to work feeling happy and chipper. I'd had a few days off, I'd gotten a haircut, and I was feeling cuter than usual. I had a decent section, and we were relatively busy. We had a wait for about three hours, actually, and everybody else was pretty much drowning in money.
I left with 35 bucks, because I got $3 on $57, $2 on $42, $1 on $37, $0 on $22, $2 on $30 from a table that stayed three hours, and one other absolutely atrocious one I can't remember now. The rest of my tips were ten percent. Why? Who the fuck knows? It was just my turn it get fucked, I guess, because all the white trash, old, teenaged, Mexican, coupon-bearing crotch-spawn overloaded bitchy motherfuckers got put in my section.
(Sorry for the racism, ageism, and other -isms in the last sentence. I don't profile when it comes to anything but tips, but anybody who waits tables for five minutes will tell you that those are the groups most likely to fuck you over.)
I actually left in tears because I was so angry. I did not fuck up once the entire evening, not so much as a forgotten side of ranch, and for that I made $35 on $550 in sales? Which freaking loa did I piss off? Do I need to sacrifice a chicken or some shit?
Sunday, June 19, 2011
A little common sense goes a long, long way.
This is my 650th post! Holy shit, I really never do shut up!
We've lost another FNG, utterly through her own actions. I didn't think she'd last long anyway, because she just couldn't seem to wrap her little brain around the fact that we're not her other restaurant. She was also working at a pizza place, and every other word out of her mouth was something about how things were so much better there, or she just didn't understand why we didn't do THIS or THAT like at her other job, or how she just couldn't remember all our sides because at her other job they only have four. Wait, you mean different restaurants have different shit? No fucking way!
Anyway, on her last shift a few days ago, FNG was sat with two police officers at one of her booths. She approached the table, saw they were cops, and then walked right past them and said to the hostess, “I am not waiting on 52!”
Yeah …. table 52 is right by the host stand. So naturally her vehemence caught their attention, and they were listening when she lowered her voice and went into a diatribe. Apparently, she fucking hates cops. She thinks they're all assholes, she refuses to wait on them, and she thinks this city's cops are particularly douchebaggy. She wishes they'd never come in, they make everyone uncomfortable. She then asked the hostess to never, ever seat her with goddamn cops again, and went off to find someone else to take the table.
The nice officers finished their lunch, waited on by Tiffany, and then requested to speak to the manager. It's probably lucky that CL wasn't there, she might have had a stroke. Instead, HotPants got the job of assuring the police that FNG would be talked to about her attitude and that they do not, in fact, make everyone uncomfortable.
Needless to say, FNG was suspended, code for fired on the next payday, immediately. You just can't talk that way about customers where they can hear you.
It doesn't help that insulting the police is a bit of a sore spot with CL anyway, due to a story I haven't shared yet. It's a little too specific, plus not entirely resolved, so I'm waiting for the fallout before I write it up. For now let's just say another employee lost their job because they pissed off a police officer. So for a second of her employees to do it again sent CL through the freaking roof. I didn't even see her until almost a week after it happened, and her face still turned a frightening shade of red while she talked about it.
We've lost another FNG, utterly through her own actions. I didn't think she'd last long anyway, because she just couldn't seem to wrap her little brain around the fact that we're not her other restaurant. She was also working at a pizza place, and every other word out of her mouth was something about how things were so much better there, or she just didn't understand why we didn't do THIS or THAT like at her other job, or how she just couldn't remember all our sides because at her other job they only have four. Wait, you mean different restaurants have different shit? No fucking way!
Anyway, on her last shift a few days ago, FNG was sat with two police officers at one of her booths. She approached the table, saw they were cops, and then walked right past them and said to the hostess, “I am not waiting on 52!”
Yeah …. table 52 is right by the host stand. So naturally her vehemence caught their attention, and they were listening when she lowered her voice and went into a diatribe. Apparently, she fucking hates cops. She thinks they're all assholes, she refuses to wait on them, and she thinks this city's cops are particularly douchebaggy. She wishes they'd never come in, they make everyone uncomfortable. She then asked the hostess to never, ever seat her with goddamn cops again, and went off to find someone else to take the table.
The nice officers finished their lunch, waited on by Tiffany, and then requested to speak to the manager. It's probably lucky that CL wasn't there, she might have had a stroke. Instead, HotPants got the job of assuring the police that FNG would be talked to about her attitude and that they do not, in fact, make everyone uncomfortable.
Needless to say, FNG was suspended, code for fired on the next payday, immediately. You just can't talk that way about customers where they can hear you.
It doesn't help that insulting the police is a bit of a sore spot with CL anyway, due to a story I haven't shared yet. It's a little too specific, plus not entirely resolved, so I'm waiting for the fallout before I write it up. For now let's just say another employee lost their job because they pissed off a police officer. So for a second of her employees to do it again sent CL through the freaking roof. I didn't even see her until almost a week after it happened, and her face still turned a frightening shade of red while she talked about it.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Don't shake your head at me, I'm not done.
Tonight was the night of the interrupting jerks. First table:
“Hi! How are y--”
“Well, your wine list isn't anything special, IS IT.”
Shortly after:
“We have chips and salsa--” I started.
“No.”
“-- on special for a dollar tonight.” I finished because fuck her, that's why.
Later:
“How is everythin--”
“Can't we get our bill.”
Next table:
“Hello, how are you? What can I get you to--”
“I'm waiting for two more people.”
“Okay, can I get you some tea or something while you're--”
“Water.”
All goddamn night. It's not like I was trying high-pressure sales tactics or something, most of the interruptions were during normal questions or just plain greetings. Did nobody learn manners growing up?
I always want to pull a "My Cousin Vinny" -- "Don't shake your head at me, I'm not done. Wait until you hear the whole thing."
“Hi! How are y--”
“Well, your wine list isn't anything special, IS IT.”
Shortly after:
“We have chips and salsa--” I started.
“No.”
“-- on special for a dollar tonight.” I finished because fuck her, that's why.
Later:
“How is everythin--”
“Can't we get our bill.”
Next table:
“Hello, how are you? What can I get you to--”
“I'm waiting for two more people.”
“Okay, can I get you some tea or something while you're--”
“Water.”
All goddamn night. It's not like I was trying high-pressure sales tactics or something, most of the interruptions were during normal questions or just plain greetings. Did nobody learn manners growing up?
I always want to pull a "My Cousin Vinny" -- "Don't shake your head at me, I'm not done. Wait until you hear the whole thing."
It doesn't work the way you think it does.
I'm getting really tired of CL's threats about adding more people to the floor. Every goddamn shift I work with her, I hear her bitching: “Come on, ten servers on the floor! This food (that's been up for five seconds) needs to be ran! Do we need to have more people on the floor? Come on!” and she throws her hands in the air and stomps away … rather than running the food she's soooooo worried about.
We'll be out of silverware after three extremely hectic hours, and she'll start screaming. “Come on guys! We need silverware! Come on ten servers on the floor! Why don't we have silverware!” Um, maybe because we've had a wait for two hours, everybody's section is packed, the kitchen in going down in flames so we're all running damage control, and if we were rolling silverware she'd be screaming about running food or refilling drinks or cleaning tables or any of the other million things that need to be done!
Because here's the thing she doesn't get: No matter how many servers are on, there are always going to be problems. She has this idea that the more people are on the floor (and so the fewer tables we all have), the better our customer service will be and the better we'll be about running food etc. Yeah, not so much. Here's what actually happens.
Everyone comes in to work and is immediately pissed off at their miniature sections. Because we have so few tables, we all spend more time trying to suck up to them, meaning more time at the table so less time doing all the other shit she's so freaked out about (well, except me and a few others who get our tips by doing our jobs well, rather than by trying to flirt with the middle-aged dads who come in with their families). So then we're still out of silverware after heavy rushes, food isn't always run the exact fucking instant it's ready, etc.
And then there's the fact that it doesn't matter how many servers are on, we can't change the laws of physics. Neither can the cooks. Food comes out at a certain rate, and when the food isn't coming out of the kitchen because the cooks are fucking up, or because it's just one of those periods where things are bottlenecked in back of house, pissy customers look around wondering where their food is. And what do they see? A freaking flood of people in restaurant uniforms, standing around talking to tables, or talking to each other, or walking in circles around the restaurant trying to find something to do. And since the average customer doesn't understand that we don't have futuristic replicators in the back to immediately create their food, they assume the delay is because the servers aren't doing their jobs. So much for the idea that more servers means better customer perception of service.
And then there's the fact that we all come in and know we're not going to make shit. Why should any of us hustle and bust our asses, why should we have any sense of urgency about filling ice or getting more creamer, when our income has been halved (if not more) by CL's stupid policies? If I were still making a hundred-plus bucks on a first cut Friday, I'd be a hell of a lot happier and a hell of a lot more likely to create that sense of “urgency” CL wants. But when I know I'll be lucky to make $80 on a second-cut shift, why should I do anything extra? Why should I roll silverware snappily? Why should I pace with energy around the restaurant, rather than listlessly wandering because there's nothing to do? Sure, sometimes there is, but the most commonly heard sentiment among the staff the last few months is “I'm so bored!”
I keep hoping the pendulum will swing back the other way. I keep hoping the labor costs will be too high and so they'll go back to scheduling in a sane way. I keep hoping …. but my hope is running out, and I don't think I can take it much longer. I should not be making a scant $300 a week working 40 fucking hours. Not while closing Sunday/Monday, working a second cut Thursday/Friday, and being a first cut on Saturday. Not in a restaurant as busy as mine usually is (the last month being an exception) – we're this chain's busiest restaurant in the fucking state! And we're in a town with a population of only about sixty thousand. This is fucking ridiculous.
We'll be out of silverware after three extremely hectic hours, and she'll start screaming. “Come on guys! We need silverware! Come on ten servers on the floor! Why don't we have silverware!” Um, maybe because we've had a wait for two hours, everybody's section is packed, the kitchen in going down in flames so we're all running damage control, and if we were rolling silverware she'd be screaming about running food or refilling drinks or cleaning tables or any of the other million things that need to be done!
Because here's the thing she doesn't get: No matter how many servers are on, there are always going to be problems. She has this idea that the more people are on the floor (and so the fewer tables we all have), the better our customer service will be and the better we'll be about running food etc. Yeah, not so much. Here's what actually happens.
Everyone comes in to work and is immediately pissed off at their miniature sections. Because we have so few tables, we all spend more time trying to suck up to them, meaning more time at the table so less time doing all the other shit she's so freaked out about (well, except me and a few others who get our tips by doing our jobs well, rather than by trying to flirt with the middle-aged dads who come in with their families). So then we're still out of silverware after heavy rushes, food isn't always run the exact fucking instant it's ready, etc.
And then there's the fact that it doesn't matter how many servers are on, we can't change the laws of physics. Neither can the cooks. Food comes out at a certain rate, and when the food isn't coming out of the kitchen because the cooks are fucking up, or because it's just one of those periods where things are bottlenecked in back of house, pissy customers look around wondering where their food is. And what do they see? A freaking flood of people in restaurant uniforms, standing around talking to tables, or talking to each other, or walking in circles around the restaurant trying to find something to do. And since the average customer doesn't understand that we don't have futuristic replicators in the back to immediately create their food, they assume the delay is because the servers aren't doing their jobs. So much for the idea that more servers means better customer perception of service.
And then there's the fact that we all come in and know we're not going to make shit. Why should any of us hustle and bust our asses, why should we have any sense of urgency about filling ice or getting more creamer, when our income has been halved (if not more) by CL's stupid policies? If I were still making a hundred-plus bucks on a first cut Friday, I'd be a hell of a lot happier and a hell of a lot more likely to create that sense of “urgency” CL wants. But when I know I'll be lucky to make $80 on a second-cut shift, why should I do anything extra? Why should I roll silverware snappily? Why should I pace with energy around the restaurant, rather than listlessly wandering because there's nothing to do? Sure, sometimes there is, but the most commonly heard sentiment among the staff the last few months is “I'm so bored!”
I keep hoping the pendulum will swing back the other way. I keep hoping the labor costs will be too high and so they'll go back to scheduling in a sane way. I keep hoping …. but my hope is running out, and I don't think I can take it much longer. I should not be making a scant $300 a week working 40 fucking hours. Not while closing Sunday/Monday, working a second cut Thursday/Friday, and being a first cut on Saturday. Not in a restaurant as busy as mine usually is (the last month being an exception) – we're this chain's busiest restaurant in the fucking state! And we're in a town with a population of only about sixty thousand. This is fucking ridiculous.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Look, the bitch is back!
Last entry's stick-up-the-ass bitch was back tonight, thankfully not in my section. But, because I'm a team player – and because if the managers are prepared for whining bastards like that they're less likely to blow up when the inevitable complaint comes – as soon as I spotted her, I went to CL.
“Remember the lady I had last night, who I forgot her appetizer and then she complained about everything else and was freaking out?”
“Uh-huh.” CL didn't seem to really be paying attention.
“Well, she's in seat one at table 12. Just wanted to let you know because I'm sure she'll find something else to freak about.”
At that CL's head swiveled around and she started paying attention. She even thanked me.
And boy, was I right. I later heard Tiffany in a high state of stress, giving CL the laundry list of things the woman was complaining about. CL was very calm about it, but the way CL had been acting all night, I bet if I hadn't warned her it would've been a totally different scene.
Yeah, I'm cool like that.
“Remember the lady I had last night, who I forgot her appetizer and then she complained about everything else and was freaking out?”
“Uh-huh.” CL didn't seem to really be paying attention.
“Well, she's in seat one at table 12. Just wanted to let you know because I'm sure she'll find something else to freak about.”
At that CL's head swiveled around and she started paying attention. She even thanked me.
And boy, was I right. I later heard Tiffany in a high state of stress, giving CL the laundry list of things the woman was complaining about. CL was very calm about it, but the way CL had been acting all night, I bet if I hadn't warned her it would've been a totally different scene.
Yeah, I'm cool like that.
Monday, June 13, 2011
One nutty bitch spoils the bunch.
My schedule's been screwed up lately (thank you LAPDOG), so I worked a Wednesday this week. I. Fucking. Hate. Wednesdays. The shift always starts out with some kind of fucked up chaos, no matter what. Today's wasn't anything specific, and by six I had tables only in my own section again. And honestly they were treating me fairly well, $10 and $12 tips for the most part.
But of course, one person always has to be different.
My last table of the night was a woman who looked like she had a stick up her ass, and her son. They ordered boneless wings as an appetizer. The kid ordered a rack of ribs with extra fries instead of cole slaw, and the mother ordered a chicken tender and rib basket with ranch instead of honey mustard.
Unfortunately, they were one of three tables I was sat at one time, which is how I ended up making a mistake. The people next to them also had an appetizer, and I got my brain wires crossed and thought I'd rung in the uptight bitch's appetizer.
I saw the Bug taking their food to the table, saw the woman give her an earful, and then Bug walked back to the kitchen. I met her halfway and asked what was wrong.
“She didn't get her appetizer before her meal, she said he did not get double fries, and she says this,” Bug shook the basket at me, “isn't enough.”
“Oh, fuck.” I rushed out to the table. “Ma'am, I'm so sorry I forgot to ring in your appetizer, that was entirely my fault. I'm going to get the manager involved to fix the rest, right away. Do you still want the boneless wings?”
“Well of course.” she snarled. I wanted to punch her. I fucking apologized, alright? It's not the end of the world. Especially since the kid did have his double fries, and she got the standard meal portion. “And don't you have some silverware!”
I stomped to the host stand for two silverware, wondering why the hell the hosts were seating people without the stuff, then went in search of Lapdog. I started by telling him I'd forgotten the appetizer and had already apologized, and apparently that made him go deaf with rage because he just couldn't understand what I was saying about the rest of it.
Once I finally explained to him that the woman was complaining about her son's portion of fries, and her overall portion of food, he asked if I was sure she'd ordered the smaller meal. I told him – twice – that I'd repeated the order to her, and he finally started talking to the cooks and expo, so I thought the situation would be resolved fairly quickly.
As I was delivering drinks to another table, Lapdog passed me with the woman's food – which he'd doubled the portion of despite it being normal to begin with – and immediately came back looking even more pissed. I rushed back to the kitchen to find him scooping fries out of the basket and hollering. I hadn't mentioned that she was supposed to have ranch instead of honey mustard, because stupid me, I was dealing with my other tables and maybe thought that might be info the expo would've given him while they were discussing the order. So now the bitch was flipping out because some vile, disgusting, terrible honey mustard touched her plate, and Lapdog was even more pissed at me. I told him the information was on the original ticket and he started snarling about how he didn't have it, nobody uses the special order tickets in situations like this, he's tired of putting out fires, yada yada yada.
Then Chicken Little chose to come out of the office for the first time all night, and she started flipping her lid! She was pacing up and down the kitchen, yelling “I just don't get it! Why are we having these kinds of problems with ten servers on! Maybe we need to have 15! I'll do it! I'll tell my boss my staff can't do their jobs! Maybe then we'll get things done!”
I opened my mouth, closed it, and waited until she had thundered out of the kitchen before saying loudly enough for Lapdog to hear, “It doesn't matter how many servers we have on, people are still going to forget things sometimes.”
Thank god they cut the floor, and I was first off, because I was so fucking frazzled and irritated I don't think I could've handled anything else.
But of course, one person always has to be different.
My last table of the night was a woman who looked like she had a stick up her ass, and her son. They ordered boneless wings as an appetizer. The kid ordered a rack of ribs with extra fries instead of cole slaw, and the mother ordered a chicken tender and rib basket with ranch instead of honey mustard.
Unfortunately, they were one of three tables I was sat at one time, which is how I ended up making a mistake. The people next to them also had an appetizer, and I got my brain wires crossed and thought I'd rung in the uptight bitch's appetizer.
I saw the Bug taking their food to the table, saw the woman give her an earful, and then Bug walked back to the kitchen. I met her halfway and asked what was wrong.
“She didn't get her appetizer before her meal, she said he did not get double fries, and she says this,” Bug shook the basket at me, “isn't enough.”
“Oh, fuck.” I rushed out to the table. “Ma'am, I'm so sorry I forgot to ring in your appetizer, that was entirely my fault. I'm going to get the manager involved to fix the rest, right away. Do you still want the boneless wings?”
“Well of course.” she snarled. I wanted to punch her. I fucking apologized, alright? It's not the end of the world. Especially since the kid did have his double fries, and she got the standard meal portion. “And don't you have some silverware!”
I stomped to the host stand for two silverware, wondering why the hell the hosts were seating people without the stuff, then went in search of Lapdog. I started by telling him I'd forgotten the appetizer and had already apologized, and apparently that made him go deaf with rage because he just couldn't understand what I was saying about the rest of it.
Once I finally explained to him that the woman was complaining about her son's portion of fries, and her overall portion of food, he asked if I was sure she'd ordered the smaller meal. I told him – twice – that I'd repeated the order to her, and he finally started talking to the cooks and expo, so I thought the situation would be resolved fairly quickly.
As I was delivering drinks to another table, Lapdog passed me with the woman's food – which he'd doubled the portion of despite it being normal to begin with – and immediately came back looking even more pissed. I rushed back to the kitchen to find him scooping fries out of the basket and hollering. I hadn't mentioned that she was supposed to have ranch instead of honey mustard, because stupid me, I was dealing with my other tables and maybe thought that might be info the expo would've given him while they were discussing the order. So now the bitch was flipping out because some vile, disgusting, terrible honey mustard touched her plate, and Lapdog was even more pissed at me. I told him the information was on the original ticket and he started snarling about how he didn't have it, nobody uses the special order tickets in situations like this, he's tired of putting out fires, yada yada yada.
Then Chicken Little chose to come out of the office for the first time all night, and she started flipping her lid! She was pacing up and down the kitchen, yelling “I just don't get it! Why are we having these kinds of problems with ten servers on! Maybe we need to have 15! I'll do it! I'll tell my boss my staff can't do their jobs! Maybe then we'll get things done!”
I opened my mouth, closed it, and waited until she had thundered out of the kitchen before saying loudly enough for Lapdog to hear, “It doesn't matter how many servers we have on, people are still going to forget things sometimes.”
Thank god they cut the floor, and I was first off, because I was so fucking frazzled and irritated I don't think I could've handled anything else.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
That was subtle.
I waited on a woman by herself today, who immediately rubbed me the wrong way. And I don't mean in the way that every customer rubs me the wrong way, either. I dislike dealing with the general public, but I really dislike being talked to like I'm a piece of dirt by some snotty woman with a Delta Burke hairdo and extra-thick eyeliner.
But I was polite, and got her the medium well ribeye she ordered. She wanted extra butter for her potato, she needed more tea every five minutes even though her glass was ¾ full, etc. Every time I passed her table it was some bullshit request, but she at least assured me that her meal was good. So I wasn't expecting a tip, but I wasn't expecting any drama either.
When she had finished every last bite except for a stem of broccoli, she pushed her plate to the side. I approached and opened my mouth to ask her about dessert, but she had other plans.
“How much is that ribeye?” she demanded.
“Uhh.” I blinked, not used to getting that question after the entire thing is gone. “It's $16.99, ma'am.”
“HUH!” She snorted. “Well! I'm not paying for it! That wasn't even a ribeye!”
Oh, Jesus H. Christ on a goddamn pineapple, I thought. “We only have ribeyes and sirloins here, ma'am, and I can assure you that was in fact a ribeye.” I thought I was quite polite.
“No, it wasn't! It didn't have a bone in it, ribeyes have bones in them!”
“Some do,” I agreed, “but some don't.” I didn't bother explaining the difference between a ribeye and a Delmonico to this particular steak expert.
“Whatever! That was the worst steak I've ever had, and I'm not paying for it! I don't expect to have a bill!” She glared at me through her smudged eyeliner and mascara.
“Why don't I get the manager for you,” I suggested through clenched teeth, not waiting for her response before I turned on my heel and left.
Lapdog went to deal with the charming witch, and while he did comp her steak (I assume just to shut her the fuck up), he did not comp her drink, salad, or the extra toppings she put on her steak, potato, and vegetables. So the bitch did get a bill. I just hope I don't get her the next time she comes back – because the whiners who get something free always come back – and claims her chicken breast was actually a wing.
But I was polite, and got her the medium well ribeye she ordered. She wanted extra butter for her potato, she needed more tea every five minutes even though her glass was ¾ full, etc. Every time I passed her table it was some bullshit request, but she at least assured me that her meal was good. So I wasn't expecting a tip, but I wasn't expecting any drama either.
When she had finished every last bite except for a stem of broccoli, she pushed her plate to the side. I approached and opened my mouth to ask her about dessert, but she had other plans.
“How much is that ribeye?” she demanded.
“Uhh.” I blinked, not used to getting that question after the entire thing is gone. “It's $16.99, ma'am.”
“HUH!” She snorted. “Well! I'm not paying for it! That wasn't even a ribeye!”
Oh, Jesus H. Christ on a goddamn pineapple, I thought. “We only have ribeyes and sirloins here, ma'am, and I can assure you that was in fact a ribeye.” I thought I was quite polite.
“No, it wasn't! It didn't have a bone in it, ribeyes have bones in them!”
“Some do,” I agreed, “but some don't.” I didn't bother explaining the difference between a ribeye and a Delmonico to this particular steak expert.
“Whatever! That was the worst steak I've ever had, and I'm not paying for it! I don't expect to have a bill!” She glared at me through her smudged eyeliner and mascara.
“Why don't I get the manager for you,” I suggested through clenched teeth, not waiting for her response before I turned on my heel and left.
Lapdog went to deal with the charming witch, and while he did comp her steak (I assume just to shut her the fuck up), he did not comp her drink, salad, or the extra toppings she put on her steak, potato, and vegetables. So the bitch did get a bill. I just hope I don't get her the next time she comes back – because the whiners who get something free always come back – and claims her chicken breast was actually a wing.
Friday, June 10, 2011
The height of professionalism.
When I arrived at work today, I thought it might be a good day. Then I found out that Pot Smoking Manager was at the end of his shift, and CL was working the evening shift. That was bad enough, but then she came out of the office … and her face was all pink, her hair was crazy, and her eyes were all red.
All night she kept vanishing into the office. Then she'd come back out, her face tear-stained, and yell at us about stupid nit-picky shit. One of the last people scheduled to came in arrived in hysterical tears (later found out her boyfriend had just dumped her), and CL sent her home … then later was bitching about how unfair it was that she “has employees showing up in tears when I want to go home and cry!”
I eventually found out that she was all upset because some guy from an online dating service that she'd been emailing, calling, and texting wasn't answering her for a couple of days. A guy she's never even met. For Christ's sake.
All night she kept vanishing into the office. Then she'd come back out, her face tear-stained, and yell at us about stupid nit-picky shit. One of the last people scheduled to came in arrived in hysterical tears (later found out her boyfriend had just dumped her), and CL sent her home … then later was bitching about how unfair it was that she “has employees showing up in tears when I want to go home and cry!”
I eventually found out that she was all upset because some guy from an online dating service that she'd been emailing, calling, and texting wasn't answering her for a couple of days. A guy she's never even met. For Christ's sake.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth.
(Posted stuff yesterday in backwards order, so I re-did it. I just don't like my top post to be not a "real" post. I'm strange that way. :) )
I was saddled with a table of seven today that had been standing around the bar in everybody's way for about half an hour. They'd all gotten their drinks at the bar, and paid for them there, naturally, so that cut about thirty bucks of their tab with me. Most of them were fine, friendly enough and unremarkable. But one of the woman was just a pain in the ass from the start. Just generally irritating and indecisive. But what chapped my ass was when I brought her extra plate (because of course instead of choosing her own meal and making a decision, she decided to “just share”).
“That plate is pretty warm,” I warned her as I set it on the table in front of her.
Of course, she promptly reached out and set both hands on the plate just because it was there. “OW!” she screeched, then glared at me. “You didn't tell me it was hot!”
Stupid bitch. Maybe you should have another drink.
I was saddled with a table of seven today that had been standing around the bar in everybody's way for about half an hour. They'd all gotten their drinks at the bar, and paid for them there, naturally, so that cut about thirty bucks of their tab with me. Most of them were fine, friendly enough and unremarkable. But one of the woman was just a pain in the ass from the start. Just generally irritating and indecisive. But what chapped my ass was when I brought her extra plate (because of course instead of choosing her own meal and making a decision, she decided to “just share”).
“That plate is pretty warm,” I warned her as I set it on the table in front of her.
Of course, she promptly reached out and set both hands on the plate just because it was there. “OW!” she screeched, then glared at me. “You didn't tell me it was hot!”
Stupid bitch. Maybe you should have another drink.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
What did you just call me?
I used the bathroom in the middle of the rush last night (not that I was busy, with my measly four tables), and was highly irritated to find that both stalls were had an empty roll of paper and the soap was out. I stomped out and found Lapdog dropping some dishes in the GU.
“Can I get your keys? Whoever had bathrooms today …..” I took a breath, not wanting to go into a diatribe. “... whoever had bathrooms must have been busy.”
“Yeah,” he snapped, “just like you guys are so busy now and that's why I'm cleaning your tables.”
I spread my hands innocently. “Hey, they're not my tables.”
He handed me his keys as he stalked past me to the sink. “We all run the same floor, there's no 'yours' and 'mine.'” he growled.
Oh, what the fuck ever. I thought, but I in the spirit of teamwork I just said, “That's very true.”
“Yeah, so why don't you go clean some tables?”
“I'd love to, but right now I'm busy doing somebody's daytime sidework.” I snapped, shaking his keys at him as I turned on my heel.
His laugh followed me past the cooks' line. “I know. Thank you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
“Can I get your keys? Whoever had bathrooms today …..” I took a breath, not wanting to go into a diatribe. “... whoever had bathrooms must have been busy.”
“Yeah,” he snapped, “just like you guys are so busy now and that's why I'm cleaning your tables.”
I spread my hands innocently. “Hey, they're not my tables.”
He handed me his keys as he stalked past me to the sink. “We all run the same floor, there's no 'yours' and 'mine.'” he growled.
Oh, what the fuck ever. I thought, but I in the spirit of teamwork I just said, “That's very true.”
“Yeah, so why don't you go clean some tables?”
“I'd love to, but right now I'm busy doing somebody's daytime sidework.” I snapped, shaking his keys at him as I turned on my heel.
His laugh followed me past the cooks' line. “I know. Thank you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
Sunday, June 5, 2011
I feel dumber just listening.
Many things about my job make me want to scream, but lately our music is getting on my nerves more and more. Between the front and back of house radios, I think I hear Katy Perry every five minutes. I know every word to that stupid Firework song, and that even more idiotic California Gurls song.
Every fifth song is Michael Jackson, which would be fine if it weren't Billy Jean most of the time.
There's some weird song about “I'd jump in front of a train for ya” that I know all the words to but don't know who sings it, despite it being stuck in my head non-stop.
But by far the worst is Ke$ha. Her songs makes me feel stupider just by hearing them, and they are on all the fucking time. I feel like I need to scrub my brain, because I know all the words to at least five of her songs. And I think the thing that pisses me off the most is that every one of her songs has one part that's really catchy and possibly cool, and then the rest of the song just sucks so hard! But I fall for it every time, bopping my head and getting into the song for a few seconds before I realize exactly which talentless skank I'm being forced to listen to yet again and I want to puke.
And that's not even addressing the fact that we're supposed to be a family restaurant, and I don't think a song about brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack is exactly child-friendly.
Every fifth song is Michael Jackson, which would be fine if it weren't Billy Jean most of the time.
There's some weird song about “I'd jump in front of a train for ya” that I know all the words to but don't know who sings it, despite it being stuck in my head non-stop.
But by far the worst is Ke$ha. Her songs makes me feel stupider just by hearing them, and they are on all the fucking time. I feel like I need to scrub my brain, because I know all the words to at least five of her songs. And I think the thing that pisses me off the most is that every one of her songs has one part that's really catchy and possibly cool, and then the rest of the song just sucks so hard! But I fall for it every time, bopping my head and getting into the song for a few seconds before I realize exactly which talentless skank I'm being forced to listen to yet again and I want to puke.
And that's not even addressing the fact that we're supposed to be a family restaurant, and I don't think a song about brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack is exactly child-friendly.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Guest post: Every cloud has a silver lining I suppose.... also this why I don't do favors
Another story from our friend DMT, who should start a blog because I know he's got a million more! :) As usual, to join the guest post queue email me at slightlycranky at hotmail.com.
This had to be one of my worst days its a given that nearly everyday you'll serve one
major asshole in addition to the run-of-the-mill minor ones you come across but this day
was a record breaker 4 full on Grade A wankers complete with strops, lies and verbal
abuse.
Firstly I was clearing tables when customer A opened some electronic device he bought
somewhere else and threw the packaging on the floor I picked up the packaging and
approached the table
Me - Excuse me sir but you cant throw litter on the....
Customer A - Fuck off!
Shortly afterwards Customer B came in, bought a coffee, sat down with it, and took out
a Big Mac and Fries.
Me - Sorry sir but you cant bring food in from the outside and eat it here, if a manger were to see it we'd get into trouble
Customer B - Do I look like I care?
Me - Sorry, but you have to put that away, if you want I can give you a take away cup for your coffee so you can take it to a public table.
He called me something under his breath and put the food away.
Then I had customer C she was one of those people who acts polite and charming to get what
they then turn on you the moment you cant accommodate them
Customer C - I'd like a salad
Me - I'm sorry but we don't do salad as a meal
Customer C - But I just saw someone get a salad
Me - That was just a side salad to go with her sandwich it's only a few mixed leaves and a few cherry tomatoes we don't have the ingredients to make proper salad as a meal
Customer C - Can you just give me an extra large helping of side salad please?
Me - Okay but this is a once off, just dont tell anyone I did this for you or I'll get into trouble
(I gave her a dinner plate of mixed leaves cherry tomatoes and cucumber with French dressing)
Customer C - Do you not have any bread
Me - I can give you a portion of bread but it will cost X amount
Customer C - Thats ridiculous you cant honestly expect someone to eat a salad without bread!
Me - I'm sorry but bread only comes free with soup I've just given you a meal sized salad for the price of a side salad (which is pittance - but I didn't say that) I cant give out a free portion of bread I'll have to charge you if you want it
Customer C - I guess I'll just have to go with out then wont I ?
Yeah way to act like a spoiled ten year old brat
And Finally I had Customer D she was one of the infamous lying complainers, the ones who build
mountains out of molehills to get free stuff and blow everything out of proportion to get you into
even more trouble when they complain to your boss. She ordered a low fat latte, I was getting
mixed orders so I prepared a jug full of whole milk and a jug full of low fat. While I was grinding
the coffee I got mixed up and took the jug of whole milk, low fat milk isn't watery like skimmed
milk so it looks pretty much identical to whole milk, and steamed it. I handed Customer E her
coffee and she asked me was it low fat and of course I answered yes, she told me it wasn't
because I had taken the jug of whole milk, I apologized for my mistake and made her a fresh
low fat latte.
After getting her coffee she then started to tell me that what I did was irresponsible
and that if she had of drank the whole fat latte I would have left her hospitalized. At this point I
started to get pissed off because I had made an honest mistake and apologized I hadn't intentionally
made her coffee wrong just to be a dickhead but she was acting like I had and was making up a ton
of bullshit to make me look bad in front of the other customers. I have a degree in biology (dont you
just love recessions?) so I know for a fact that if she was allergic to full fat milk she'd also be allergic
to low fat as well. I just said "I'm very sorry didn't realize you had such a serious allergy; in a cafe
there is a high chance of cross contamination of whole and low fat milk due to interchanging of jugs,
thermometers, and steamer wands and mistakes can happen, in future you should let the employees
know before hand so they can clean all the equipment thoroughly before making your coffee" That
shut her her up and she left but came back to pour herself a jug of milk. The guy behind her decided
to rip the piss, he followed her to a table, and at the top of his voice offered to call her an ambulance
because there was whole milk in the jug. Her daughter was like "what the hell are you talking about?"
and the man said "well your mother told us she had a deadly allergy to whole milk!" Customer E went
scarlet it was just priceless
This had to be one of my worst days its a given that nearly everyday you'll serve one
major asshole in addition to the run-of-the-mill minor ones you come across but this day
was a record breaker 4 full on Grade A wankers complete with strops, lies and verbal
abuse.
Firstly I was clearing tables when customer A opened some electronic device he bought
somewhere else and threw the packaging on the floor I picked up the packaging and
approached the table
Me - Excuse me sir but you cant throw litter on the....
Customer A - Fuck off!
Shortly afterwards Customer B came in, bought a coffee, sat down with it, and took out
a Big Mac and Fries.
Me - Sorry sir but you cant bring food in from the outside and eat it here, if a manger were to see it we'd get into trouble
Customer B - Do I look like I care?
Me - Sorry, but you have to put that away, if you want I can give you a take away cup for your coffee so you can take it to a public table.
He called me something under his breath and put the food away.
Then I had customer C she was one of those people who acts polite and charming to get what
they then turn on you the moment you cant accommodate them
Customer C - I'd like a salad
Me - I'm sorry but we don't do salad as a meal
Customer C - But I just saw someone get a salad
Me - That was just a side salad to go with her sandwich it's only a few mixed leaves and a few cherry tomatoes we don't have the ingredients to make proper salad as a meal
Customer C - Can you just give me an extra large helping of side salad please?
Me - Okay but this is a once off, just dont tell anyone I did this for you or I'll get into trouble
(I gave her a dinner plate of mixed leaves cherry tomatoes and cucumber with French dressing)
Customer C - Do you not have any bread
Me - I can give you a portion of bread but it will cost X amount
Customer C - Thats ridiculous you cant honestly expect someone to eat a salad without bread!
Me - I'm sorry but bread only comes free with soup I've just given you a meal sized salad for the price of a side salad (which is pittance - but I didn't say that) I cant give out a free portion of bread I'll have to charge you if you want it
Customer C - I guess I'll just have to go with out then wont I ?
Yeah way to act like a spoiled ten year old brat
And Finally I had Customer D she was one of the infamous lying complainers, the ones who build
mountains out of molehills to get free stuff and blow everything out of proportion to get you into
even more trouble when they complain to your boss. She ordered a low fat latte, I was getting
mixed orders so I prepared a jug full of whole milk and a jug full of low fat. While I was grinding
the coffee I got mixed up and took the jug of whole milk, low fat milk isn't watery like skimmed
milk so it looks pretty much identical to whole milk, and steamed it. I handed Customer E her
coffee and she asked me was it low fat and of course I answered yes, she told me it wasn't
because I had taken the jug of whole milk, I apologized for my mistake and made her a fresh
low fat latte.
After getting her coffee she then started to tell me that what I did was irresponsible
and that if she had of drank the whole fat latte I would have left her hospitalized. At this point I
started to get pissed off because I had made an honest mistake and apologized I hadn't intentionally
made her coffee wrong just to be a dickhead but she was acting like I had and was making up a ton
of bullshit to make me look bad in front of the other customers. I have a degree in biology (dont you
just love recessions?) so I know for a fact that if she was allergic to full fat milk she'd also be allergic
to low fat as well. I just said "I'm very sorry didn't realize you had such a serious allergy; in a cafe
there is a high chance of cross contamination of whole and low fat milk due to interchanging of jugs,
thermometers, and steamer wands and mistakes can happen, in future you should let the employees
know before hand so they can clean all the equipment thoroughly before making your coffee" That
shut her her up and she left but came back to pour herself a jug of milk. The guy behind her decided
to rip the piss, he followed her to a table, and at the top of his voice offered to call her an ambulance
because there was whole milk in the jug. Her daughter was like "what the hell are you talking about?"
and the man said "well your mother told us she had a deadly allergy to whole milk!" Customer E went
scarlet it was just priceless
Friday, June 3, 2011
I've only known you for months.
I was getting something from the dry storage today, and one of the cooks was as well. I've worked with him for months, since at least September, and it's not like we haven't talked. He turned to ask me if I knew where something was, and just fell utterly silent in the middle of his sentence for a moment.
“You have pretty eyes,” he said out of the blue.
“Thanks,” I said, since that's actually the only compliment I can graciously accept.
“Do you know where (mumble mumble) is?” he asked, still staring at my eyes.
“Where what is?”
He turned and looked at the shelves for a moment, then reached for whatever he was looking for – and missed it the first time because he'd turned back to stare at me again. “You have really pretty eyes.”
I'm telling you this not to brag or anything, but because I get such a kick out of this happening. It's always somebody who I've known for months! It's not like these are strangers who've never seen me before. It's people I've had long conversations with, and have had eye contact with for months, and suddenly they're just struck dumb and are fascinated by something that never changes. More proof that people are unobservant!
There's another thing makes me laugh outright. I was working in the back with Kate, one of the pairs of sisters, who's a relatively new hire. We were talking about a book series we both read, and absolutely out of the blue she says, “I'm really glad we're getting along. I thought you were such a bitch at first.”
I literally laughed out loud. “Everybody says that!”
I don't think she believed me, but it's true. I've lost count of the number of people who've told me exactly that, including my former roommate and some of my best friends! It happened at my old restaurant, and my old retail job, too. The first few times it hurt my feelings, and now I just laugh because really? What the fuck!
Then again, I did 'greet' our new expo by walking up, looking at the woman training him, and saying, “Who's the fresh meat?” Maybe I should knock that kind of shit off.
Nah.
“You have pretty eyes,” he said out of the blue.
“Thanks,” I said, since that's actually the only compliment I can graciously accept.
“Do you know where (mumble mumble) is?” he asked, still staring at my eyes.
“Where what is?”
He turned and looked at the shelves for a moment, then reached for whatever he was looking for – and missed it the first time because he'd turned back to stare at me again. “You have really pretty eyes.”
I'm telling you this not to brag or anything, but because I get such a kick out of this happening. It's always somebody who I've known for months! It's not like these are strangers who've never seen me before. It's people I've had long conversations with, and have had eye contact with for months, and suddenly they're just struck dumb and are fascinated by something that never changes. More proof that people are unobservant!
There's another thing makes me laugh outright. I was working in the back with Kate, one of the pairs of sisters, who's a relatively new hire. We were talking about a book series we both read, and absolutely out of the blue she says, “I'm really glad we're getting along. I thought you were such a bitch at first.”
I literally laughed out loud. “Everybody says that!”
I don't think she believed me, but it's true. I've lost count of the number of people who've told me exactly that, including my former roommate and some of my best friends! It happened at my old restaurant, and my old retail job, too. The first few times it hurt my feelings, and now I just laugh because really? What the fuck!
Then again, I did 'greet' our new expo by walking up, looking at the woman training him, and saying, “Who's the fresh meat?” Maybe I should knock that kind of shit off.
Nah.
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