The Only-Slightly-Cranky Waitress

Okay, okay, I hear you! :)

2012-02-01T10:54:00.001-08:00

I'll keep blogging! Would hate to disappoint ya'll! I do have some stories from the call center, but I also don't have real Internet access yet and tethering through my phone is a serious pain in the ass.

But, I do have a tidbit from the restaurant. CL fired somebody over a freaking voicemail last night.

The fate of my waitressing job.

2012-01-27T18:14:00.000-08:00

CL just put out next week's schedule, and for the third week in a row, she gave me no shifts. This amuses me, because it's obvious she just wants me to leave. But she doesn't want to fire me because she really has no grounds. My availability is limited, but I have the required three shifts per week I'm available. I haven't screwed anything up or had complaints. I haven't had conflicts with coworkers. And this is at an-will state, so she doesn't really have to have a reason, but I think she's hesitant to fire me without an actual reason because I've been there so long and 99% of my coworkers like me, although I can't stand most of their asses, and god knows most of the regular customers love me. So I'm curious how long she'll drag it out.

That said, I'm incredibly glad she hasn't scheduled me. I fucking hate that place. After the calm, happy call center, the restaurant is hell to the n-th degree. At my full-time job, I sit and answer the phone. And sometimes it's nerve-wracking, because there's no break between the calls sometimes and it gets a little overwhelming. Sometimes it's frustrating, because the 163-year-old man on the other end of the line doesn't understand "press the power button on your receiver". And sometimes I get pissed off, when a customer calls in saying that another agent promised them the world and I have to tell them there's no record of that and they can't get whatever they were promised.

But you know what? When that happens, I have a support system. When somebody is getting no signal from their satellite dish, and my normal steps don't fix it, I send them to the tech department and I don't have to think about it anymore. I get paid either way. When somebody is angry because they were told they didn't have to pay their entire bill to get their services restored, I apologize and explain our iron-clad business policies to them. I have a list of options for them, and if none suit them, and they're really angry, well, that's what supervisors are for. I get paid either way. I don't have to worry I'll have spent the last hour doing everything I can to please someone and end up with nothing for it. I don't have to be afraid I'll tell a customer no, I'm not able to do that, only to have a manager come along behind me and do that! If it's slow, I can do things between calls, like sudoku, reading, writing to-do lists, talking to the people next to me. I'm not required to look busy every moment of every shift. And they pay me a hell of a lot more than $4 per hour!

That's not to say that serving is all bad, and I do miss some of my coworkers and even some of the customers. And I know that a lot of my frustrations were due to the specific restaurant I was at. But fucking hell, I was just burnt out! And I didn't even realize the extent of my misery until I had something to compare it to.

So .... why am I not telling CL to stuff it up her Grand Canyon of a twat and running like hell? Well, I'm not quite back on my feet yet. Still scraping for money to cover some things, like gas to get to the new job. And while having no shifts is obviously not helping that, I like feeling like I have an option to get more money. I could pick up a shift or two if I really wanted to. But once I get to the point where I'm caught up on bills and maybe even have a little extra saved? The restaurant business can go fuck itself.

And what I'll regret most when that day comes is losing this blog!

People are CRAZY: FBI edition.

2012-01-20T19:27:00.000-08:00

I was concerned that my call center job wouldn't provide as much fodder for amusement. And, well, it kind of doesn't. I mean, there's just a special kind of crazy you get when dealing with peoples' food. And when dealing with people who deal with peoples' food. But rest assured, there be crazy fucker ev'rywhere.

So far, my favorite calls this week were .....

1) A hearing-impaired gentleman who talked kind of like Special Ed. And yes, I know I'm going to hell for enjoying that link so much. I was on the phone with Ed for about half an hour, and when I hung up all I could do was laugh. He called about an account in somebody else's name, but he was an authorized user on it. He asked how many receivers were on the account, and when I told him, he erupted into a tirade about sending a technician out because he wasn't going to be responsible. He started telling me how he and his brother got "jumped" by some of the other tenants and he had broken ribs. Then he was asking "what if they smash up those boxes and throw them in my entryway! Then what!" Then he asked if he'd get something if he got everyone in his complex to sign up with our company on their own. Somewhere in there, he claimed that his landlady was 1) in the loony bin, 2) in jail, and 3) sold the place.

With all that, it took a long time to figure out just what in the fuck was going on. Turns out his landlady had two accounts with us, but had the wiring run to five apartments per account. Which is totally illegal, by the way. I don't know how she got the technicians to set it up like that. Anyway, Ed said he had been paying this bill - with the charges for receivers in other apartments. So he wanted the other receivers turned off. Now, that would be simple enough .... except for the fact that we have a specific department that deals with situations like this, and somehow they already knew about it. The notes on both the accounts were very confusing, I don't know if Ed or Ed's Landlady had let the cat out of the back. But once those guys are involved? I can't do anything. Which is what I told Ed. Multiple times. Unfortunately, Ed had other ideas.

See, Ed thought his landlady had been collecting the monthly bill from everyone in the apartment complex, and pocketing the nine extra payments. Which, hey -- maybe she was, I don't know. What I do know is that I have no authority to send the local police out to Ed's building. Nor do I have the authority to send the friggin' FBI to investigate. Yes, Ed actually asked me to do that. And did not understand why I couldn't.

The next day, I had an interesting gentleman can in with a remote problem. The problem? He wanted two remotes to control television ..... one for when his hands were dirty, and one for when they were clean. Um, okay. So for the next 45 minutes, I attempted to walk him through the steps to program a second remote to his box. Should've been ten minutes tops, even with the new remote I ended up sending out. So where did the other 35 minutes go? Oh, into him periodically dropped the phone and screaming at his dogs, for one thing, and telling me over and over he had two German Shepherds and one was seven months old and I should never have to two dogs. And then there were the chunks of time where he was bitching about how he bought a house with a VA loan and now it's surrounded by drug dealers who are circling his house and the area is so terrible ..... and how the Mafia was going to kill him and he needed the FBI to come out.

Honestly, I was hoping for a hat trick. Unfortunately, on day three, nobody mentioned any government agencies. To me, at least .... someone else had a crazy guy screaming he was going to report us to the state attorney general because he didn't want to pay his $132 bill.

A plateful of vomit.

2012-01-14T14:57:00.000-08:00

I only worked one shift week before last, and I nearly walked out at the beginning of it. I'm just fucking sick to death of CL's bullshit!

I had arrived early to eat before my shift, and had already seen that CL was on one of her bloody stress kicks. Now, after my little breakdown last month, I have more sympathy for her anxiety issues. But that only extends so far, because this has been going on for fucking year and the bitch needs to go to the doctor and get a Valium pump or something.

Because I had seen her already freaking out and stomping around with smoke coming out from underneath her straw-like hair, I made extra certain that I finished my meal and was visibly working at absolute instant that clock hit 4:30. She was standing by the bar, talking to Junior and gesticulating wildly. I walked by her, in to the kitchen, and picked up some food bound for the bar. As I left the kitchen, though, something seemed to lodge in my throat. I tried to swallow past it, I tried to breathe, and I just couldn't. All that happened was I started to gag. Luckily Cali Girl was right there by the bar and I shoved the food off on her, choking and unable to speak. Then I rushed to the bathroom, clutching my mouth, running directly by CL and Junior.

Once in the bathroom I was able to clear whatever the fuck was in my throat, although not without time, coughing, and a little bit of puking. Another employee came in and saw me struggling to breathe, with my eyes watering like crazy, but I assured her I was okay, washed my hands, and walked back out on to the floor ... and right into the pissed-off path of CL. She proceeded to bitch me out -- in the dining room -- about the fact that I was in the bathroom when I "just clocked in" and how I had gotten sat and I should have gotten someone to watch my tables.

"I'm sorry, I was choking."

"Then ASK SOMEONE TO WATCH YOUR SECTION!" she screeched, pointing at the table I had been sat.
"I couldn't talk! Ask Cali Girl if you want, I was almost throwing up!"

Bitch didn't care. She continued to bitch at me about it. The table I got sat, by the way, were two regular customers who would have been totally fine had they been sitting there the entire five minutes I had been in the bathroom. They were not in the least upset. The only one bothered was CL. I was so fucking infuriated, my hands went to the back of my apron to untie it, and I don't know how in god's name I managed not to drop my apron at her feet and walk the fuck out.

Next time, I'll just go ahead and puke on somebody's food so I'm not "in the bathroom when you just clocked in!"

New and exciting adventures.

2012-01-13T20:30:00.000-08:00

So let's see, what's happened in the last month since I quit regularly posting .... had a mental breakdown, failed to be able to pay most of my bills, holidays, got a boyfriend, oh yeah, and embarked on an exciting adventure known as Not Waitressing. Or more accurately, Not Waitressing Full Time. Have no fear -- for the time being, I'm still a bitch for tips. Last night I had a fun shift, got stiffed on a $30 check -- although I expected that one because they were super fun people until it turned out I'd ordered the wrong variety of garlic steak for the bitch, and then they just turned fucking nasty. What I didn't expect was the people next to them, who ran up an $86 for the five of them, and left me $5. Fucking dicks. Oh well. Now that I have a 40 hour a week, hourly paying job, I'm much more able to blow off shit like that.

What's not so easy to blow off is how motherfucking stressful that place is! The call center is mellow. The most stressful day I've had there isn't a tenth as stressful as an average, smooth shift at the restaurant. The constant running around, the chaos of the kitchen, the never knowing what's going to happen in terms of business levels and money ... I knew that place made me miserable, but I didn't realize quite how miserable until I had something to compare it to. Now just having to go there makes me want to throw up. But, gots to pay the billz, riiiite?

My hourly job still involves the public, though, and as always .... they're idiots. I'm doing telephone customer service for a cable company, which is great because I can keep my voice in check even while rolling my eyes and making faces at the dumb bitches. Perfect example from yesterday:

Customer: "I don't have any television! I woke up this morning and there's nothing on my screen! I'm so sick of all the problems with you people!"
Me: "That's definitely frustrating, ma'am, and I'm going to find out what's going on for you. First of all, is your television currently on?"
Customer: "How am I supposed to know! There's nothing on the screen!"
Me: "*sneaking suspicion I'm dealing with a total fucking moron* Okay, let's look at your Cable Company receiver. What lights do you see?"
Customer: "Just one red one."
Me: "Thank you. Now, can you please press the power button on your receiver and tell me what changes?"
Customer: "*HEAVY SIGH* Okay." Immediately I heard a tv program come on. "Oh, it's fixed! What did you do! Thank you!"

Fucking moron. Of course, we also get angry people calling sometimes -- had a Southern guy rip me a new one the other day, swearing up one side and down the other while telling me I was sitting on my ass and that's why he didn't have tv. Let's review. I'm west of the Mississippi. He sent his money order, less than a week ago, to a processing center in Atlanta. Yeah, that's my fault. What the fuck ever. I still get paid the same despite him not being happy, which is awesome.

Happy New Year!

2011-12-31T19:13:00.001-08:00

Here's hoping 2012 is an awesome year for you all!

Happy whatever!

2011-12-25T14:16:00.001-08:00

Whatever your holiday of choice, I hope it was great!

Thank you.

2011-12-14T00:24:00.001-08:00

Just wanted to say I appreciate all your kind comments. I'm doing better, I'm not curled in the fetal position freaking out like most of last week, but still a bit .... fragile, I guess. I worked Saturday and Sunday, had to take anxiety meds mid-shift both days. Scheduled Wednesday through Sunday this week, let's see if I make it through!

Indefinite hiatus.

2011-12-07T12:40:00.000-08:00

Guys, I don't know when I'll be back. I'm a wreck. Monday night a friend had to come get me from work and take me to the ER because I could not fucking calm down.

So when I can go a day without having a complete meltdown, I'll be back to writing. But this has been going on for two weeks already so I don't know when that will be.

I wish you all well, and I'll be back when I can.

I haven't forgotten you.

2011-12-02T00:03:00.000-08:00

Things just aren't going so well and it's kind of hard to focus on writing when you're having a near-permanent panic attack. Junior actually cut me early tonight because I was shaking so bad and nearly throwing up from anxiety.

I'd be more touched if I thought it was because she gave a damn about me, rather than because she thought my customers would be offended or something. Like they could even tell, I CAN act you know.

Anyway.

As always, the height of professionalism.

2011-11-27T23:08:00.000-08:00

In one shift, CL did the following:

1) Yelled at two different employees in front of two sets of customers.
2) Sat next to customers talking trash about employees with Junior.
3) Stood in the kitchen screaming so loudly I could literally hear her on the other side of the restaurant. Which was half-full. And had football blaring out of every tv.
4) Did a jell-o shot with all the bar customers to celebrate her college football team winning a game.

Yes, she's still employed.

Amusement!

2011-11-27T13:41:00.000-08:00

I waited on a mom and her adult daughters last night. They were fun, having a girls' night out, and it was nice to see some smiling people for once. They had drinks and salads, and when their meals went out I skipped over to see if they needed anything else.

"Well," the mom said, "I didn't get hardly any potatoes! Is this a diet plate or something?" She sounded utterly disgusted.
I just started giggling, I couldn't help it. "Um, yes, actually. It's one of our Low Calorie items."
She blinked at me.
"'Is this a diet plate or something?'" one of her daughters mocked, and we all busted up laughing -- including the mom.

Oh, thank god for people who don't suck.

Resentment.

2011-11-23T16:27:00.000-08:00

I'm going through one of those phases where I can't stand to think of the restaurant once I leave. I know hilarious stuff has happened; I know I've had entry-worthy customers. But I'm just so full of anger and resentment toward the place, and CL, Junior, and Chrissy in particular, that I feel like my brain is just deleting those sectors as soon as I walk out the door. I can't really recall a single specific detail about any of my shifts last week. It's all just a blur of the same faces, the same events, the same actions, over and over. Utter boredom!

And in the "who gives a fuck" department ...

2011-11-19T03:09:00.000-08:00

Most of the time, Dolly drives me fucking crazy and I want to grab her by the face out of the bar and make my own drinks. So usually if a customer complained about her, I'd wonder if this will be the straw that gets her ass kicked out. But tonight's complaint was just .... oi.

It was a busy night, and so a couple with their five year old daughter chose to sit at the bar instead of wait for a table. We're a family place so that isn't that uncommon. The little girl was adorable - you know, for crotchspawn -- and loved being up on a high stool where she could see everything. She was also dancing to some our ridiculously loud music.

Well, one of the songs that came on was LMFAO's "Sexy And I Know It". I kind of think it's a hilarious song, and the video is definitely .... interesting. Anyway, there's a part in the song where he says "wiggle" over and over. So the little girl had been bopping to this very catchy song, and when it got to the wiggle part, Dolly said something like "can you wiggle?" And she and this cute little kid started wiggling.

Now, anybody will a brain can probably picture this. Think how a five year old is going to wiggle -- that's what Dolly was doing right along with her, goofy and with a big grin on her face. The kid's parents were laughing, they absolutely loved it. The other bar guests were laughing. It was great .... until one of Cat-Eye's table called her over. They said it was inappropriate, that they had children with them who didn't need to see that kind of behavior, and they wanted to pay for their food -- which they weren't even going to wait for -- RIGHT NOW because they were leaving and would never be back.

You couldn't make this shit up.

Yet more bullshit.

2011-11-14T23:01:00.000-08:00

Work Wife and I are kind of on the outs now because she basically told me I deserved what I got on Friday because she heard about "the things" I was saying and they weren't cool. Now, I don't care if people say bad things about me as long as they're true. Am I temperamental, judgmental, crude, and often negative? Absofuckinglutely. Do I say negative things about veterans and active military, particularly on Veterans' Day? Absofuckinglutely not. And that's what somebody told Wife -- and maybe CL, for all I know. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Why do they make shit up?

Incidentally, I re-scheduled one of the interviews I had to cancel last week because of being so sick. So maybe I'll be able to escape soon.

Too angry to write.

2011-11-11T22:58:00.000-08:00

I want to, I've been trying to, but I'm so fucking pissed off I can't seem to coherently write the story. Basically, Chicken Little cost me about $150 tonight. She sent me home in the middle of my shift, on our busiest day of the year, because she didn't think I took very good care of a table that was kissing her ass (and never said one word about being unhappy to me, and tipped me VERY well) .... and because I had the balls to say I wanted to make money.

Thank you Cold Faerie!

2011-11-06T08:21:00.001-08:00

An illness is just what I needed with no money in my pocket!

Perhaps, more change.

2011-11-01T02:52:00.000-07:00

I have an interview at another restaurant Thursday, and a second one called to set one up today. I'm not sure I want to work at either; one is a more upscale chain, and one is .... well, hard to say too much without identifying it, but the atmosphere there is kind of on crack.

But I've got to either get the fuck out of the current hellhole, or severely scale back my time there. I may work two jobs for a few months (oh god kill me now) to try to put together the funds for another trip to England this summer; or I might attempt it and after a week end up in jail for lobotomizing some asshole with a ramekin. Time will tell.

Hilarity courtesy of megaphon!

2011-10-26T01:29:00.000-07:00

Haha, I love it!

http://animalstalkinginallcaps.tumblr.com/post/11890665598/more-water-to-table-seven-lisa-remember-to

btw, thanks everyone for your comments. I truly do read them all even when I'm too busy, tired, or pissed the fuck off to answer!

I hate change.

2011-10-26T01:23:00.000-07:00

There has been an ever-dwindling list of people that keeps me working at my current job. Seems like every few months, someone else leaves or is fired. Right now, the list of people keeping me there is pretty much Work Wife, Cali Girl, and Mistress J. And because one person, one very important person who made every shift I worked with him better, left, I have an absolute feeling of dread every time I go to work. I really don't know how much longer I can stand that place.

Goodbye, Pot Smoking Manager. Thank you for three-plus years of goofy sexist/racist/ageist jokes and obscure musical references. You kept me sane.

Wow, the commenters are on a roll!

2011-10-21T02:20:00.000-07:00

Just got this comment--anonymous of course--on an entry from June:

"WHITE TRASH WHORE!!!! You're going to call out hard working Mexican's for not tipping you for shitty service? You say you hate the job well we can tell. You probably ignore us thinking opening your legs up every night makes you better. No it makes you a WHORE. They're the ones who expect money for doing very little so that's what you must be doing. Go any place where Mexican's work and I can guarantee you'll see what real work is. You couldn't last a day in a real job. You need more money then get a real job or pick up more hours. Work two shifts and blame hard workers makes you a lousy all around person."

Have fun friends, because I'm too busy laughing to form a coherent take-down of this ignorant ass. When I'm done I'm going to go open my legs up to make myself better (what?).

A comment on comments, as Bitchy Waiter would say.

2011-10-19T23:48:00.000-07:00

On my "Well, I'm in a bad mood" I received the following comment -- anonymously, naturally:

"There is too much bad language n this blog-both by readers and the writer.

Is this how you are at work?"

Dear dipshit asswipe ignorant Anonymous,

Thanks for the laugh. Are you fucking kidding me? This is my fucking blog, bitch, and if I want to use foul fucking language every other goddamn word, then that's what I'll fucking do. Of course I'm not like that at work, I'd be out on my aching ass in an instant if I went around telling all the shitty customers what a bunch of motherfucking cocksmacking asshats they are! Jesus bloody motherfucking H. Christ, do you think I'm a fucking moron? If you're too fucking sensitive to handle my usually fairly restrained language, then piss the fuck off and read a different goddamn blog. Who the fuck asked you anyway? I'm a motherfucking adult, and if I want to talk shit, call my customers cocksuckers and cunts, then I will -- and you can kiss my fucking tits and piss off.

And if you actually took all this seriously, especially after the George Carlin reference at the end, then you really need to lighten the fuck up!

Zombie tiiiiiiired.....

2011-10-16T02:37:00.000-07:00

I have some stories saved up, but I've just been too damn tired to write them. Plus I've only been serving two shifts a week (thank you, HotPants, for not scheduling me everything I'm available. Jerk.), so not much blogfodder.

I am having an awesome time at the haunted house though! Well, okay, I've had a couple of nights that sucked and where I wanted to punch people. But tonight, for instance, was motherfucking amazing. I felt like I could climb the walls I was so hyper, and I had so much fun scaring, insulting, chasing, and twistedly hitting on customers. Nights like tonight are why I went back this year!

Although I did get mooned by jackass and have my ass grabbed by a dickhead. But I also had my tits repeatedly grabbed by a freaked-out chick who was trying to escape, so I guess that's a fair trade. Yeah, I'm straight, but not that straight.

TMI?

Thank you all!

2011-10-04T04:06:00.000-07:00

I was going to post a comment on the entry, but I wanted to make sure everyone saw this. Thank you all, so much, for your comments regarding the abusive old asshole (two entries down). I felt better about it knowing that you all thought it was out of line, and that Lapdog didn't respond appropriately! So thanks, everyone, for reading and being on my side. :)

Regulars!

2011-10-04T04:02:00.000-07:00

Well, it took freaking long enough, but I finally have some regulars who actually ask for me! One couple I'm ambivalent about -- they're not really good tippers and he always whines about the cost of the the shrimp pasta. But they're nice people, fun to talk to.

The others are excellent tippers, because she's a server as well. I randomly waited on them one day, and they just freaking loved me because I actually got their weird order right. It's not that weird, really -- it's just a little complicated. But ever since then, they've always requested me!

If I had more customers like these folks, I'd probably bitch a lot less!

Once again, people are assholes everywhere.

2011-10-02T10:19:00.000-07:00

Long-time readers will remember that last year I worked in a haunted house. I was bored and decided to do it again this year, and once again, I can safely say that people SUCK everywhere. We're only three days in and I'm already tired of the assholes! Here's a hint: if you go to a haunted house, don't hide around corners and jump out at the actors and scream. That's my job, fuckface. It just makes you look like a tool. Standing in the middle of a scene with your arms crossed refusing to move doesn't prove you're a big man -- it just proves you're a cocksmack. We haven't had any crazy violent bitches who had to be escorted out by security yet (I got punched in the face by one of those last year), at least.

At least at this job when they piss me off I can scream at them! It's a good time despite the jerkoffs that have to prove they're big tough guys. One girl was crying literally crying last night, I'm twisted enough to have enjoyed that!

(ETA: After SkippyMom's comment, I can see how that came across as a little more evil than I really meant it. I meant it's a kind of job pride - although yes, you do have to be a LITTLE evil to work in a haunt!)

Maybe I can talk them into making a restaurant scene next year so I can scream about tips and children making messes .....

Well, I'm in a bad mood.

2011-09-27T02:47:00.000-07:00

So this would be a good time to write up that story, huh? I've found it's difficult to write my blog posts when I'm in a good mood -- because the good moods are never caused by work!

So last night was kind of a shitty night anyway. People were just impatient. Not too long after first cuts, I had a table of an elderly couple and their son on the patio. I thought they'd be a great table, they were smiling and happy and ordered big expensive drinks.

I delivered their food and asked if they needed anything else, having already brought them extra napkins and sauces in anticipation. They seemed thrilled with their food and said it was great, so I thought I could nip into the bathroom because my bladder was about to rupture.

Well, I came out a couple minutes later and Porn Star stopped me. "Your dude on the patio threw his ribs at me and said they were burnt, the kitchen's making him new ones."
"Shit. Okay, does he need new sides?"
"No, he kept his sides."

I went into the kitchen and was greeted with a glare from Lapdog. Apparently burnt ribs are my fault, rather than the cooks'. He asked if the guy still had his sides, and I said yes, and hustled out to the patio with new ribs.

Well, surprise surprise, the guy didn't actually have his sides. I apologized for the mis-communication and said I'd be right back. Naturally, I got to the kitchen and they didn't have any fucking fries cooked. They hadn't even dropped them. So I got his cole slaw, and I ran back out to the patio. I figured he'd be annoyed, but holy shit.

I placed the cole slaw on the table. "They're just cooking fresh fries for you, sir, they'll be ready s--"
"WHY THE HELL WOULDN'T THEY BE READY NOW!" he sprayed spit all over me as he yelled.
I was flabbergasted. "They're making fresh ones, I thought you'd prefer that."
I can't really articulate what all he said next. It was a blur of half-finished sentences about half-cooked fries, burnt ribs, bullshit, and I don't even know what else. At one point he scooted his chair back and started to stand up, making fists, like he was going to get in my face! He culminated the whole rant by yelling "Take the damn ribs!" and shoving the plate into my stomach so hard I really thought I'd have a bruise. Then he threw a ramekin of barbecue sauce onto the plate, splashing me with it. I was literally stunned motionless and speechless. Then he ripped the plate out of my hands, yelling "Put my goddamn ribs down!"

I didn't say another word. I just stomped away, ripping open the patio door, saying probably loud enough for them to hear, "I do NOT get paid enough for this!" By the time I reached the manager's office, I was in tears.
"Lapdog, you have to go talk to this angry old asshole on the patio."
He blinked at me.
"He's swearing at me, throwing things at me, spitting on me -- I'm not fucking dealing with him anymore."
Lapdog heaved a huge sigh and got up. I explained what happened as we went to the front of the house. As he went out to the table, I could see the old man's wife had gotten up and was rubbing his back, soothing him.

Lapdog came back several minutes later, bitching and moaning about having to comp so much food -- he took forty dollars off of their bill! What the fuck ever! But at that point I decided I wasn't going to let them know he'd upset me, so I delivered their bill professionally -- not making eye contact with the old asshole -- and when they were ready I cashed them out. I guess the old lady felt bad because she left me ten bucks, which is ten bucks more than I was expecting!

I can let a lot of things roll right off my back; I have a pretty thick skin. But that old bastard just crossed the line. Swearing doesn't offend me on its own, but combined with spitting, throwing things, jamming plates into my abdomen, and acting as if you're going to physically confront me? Fuck that. Fuck it hard. And fuck Lapdog too for bowing and scraping to someone who talked to his employee that way!

Not a real entry.

2011-09-25T23:40:00.000-07:00

Someone was indeed a cockface, as I predicted. I wrote it down so I don't forget -- although this is one I don't think I will! -- because I've been mildly sick all week and don't have the energy to write it all out. But I haven't forgotten you! And as always, people suck.

I keep sitting down to write, honestly.

2011-09-21T01:49:00.000-07:00

But then I start pondering my job and it's so distasteful, I just give up. Usually bitching about things here is my release valve, but I've been so distracted and happy lately that honestly I haven't felt the need to bitch! Plus most of my shifts have just turned into a smear of unimportant, hectic details. I don't think I can remember one specific thing, positive or negative, from my last four shifts.

Don't worry, I'm sure somebody will be a raging cockface soon enough!

Not gonna happen.

2011-09-18T02:00:00.001-07:00

I waited on a charming old bat tonight.

“I want a salad before my dinner. Before. I want an iceberg salad. You have iceberg, don't you? If you don't Albertson's is right there!” she stabbed her wrinkly finger out the window at the grocery store in our shopping plaza. At first I started to laugh – then to choke when I realized the bitch was serious. I told her as mildly as possible that we did indeed have iceberg lettuce, and absolutely did not tell her to reel in her liver-spotted claw and go buy her fucking iceberg salad herself, Albertson's is right there.

He couldn't possibly be drunk!

2011-09-16T01:15:00.001-07:00

A couple of my favorite customers were in with a group of their friends the other night, but I wasn't taking tables so couldn't wait on them. Instead, they got stuck with Eager Beaver – who they think is an arrogant cock, but who they usually have fun with anyway. I went over to say hello and one of them asked me for a refill because Beaver was ignoring them. I figured he was busy and didn't think too much of it – he likes to take on more tables than he can handle.

“Thank you. He's walked right by us a bunch of times and never even came back to get her order,” she gestured at her friend. “He's acting really weird.”
After asking if her friend still wanted to order (no), I asked how he was acting weird. They told me he was saying things that didn't make sense, slurring his words, and squinting at them. They also said they'd seen him trip a couple of time.

The wheels in my head started turning. Beaver is always desperate to get off work and start pounding down the beers, and he'd been working a straight-through double shift. When I went to fetch another thing for his customers, I made sure to get close enough to him to sniff … and I'm pretty sure I smelled booze on his breath. I didn't want to accuse him of anything, but when I went back to his table I asked if they wanted to talk to the manager. I knew it wouldn't do much, since CL was the manager on duty, but I fetched her when they asked.

Her response? “Oh, he's been here all day, he couldn't be drunk!” She also threw a couple of dessert coupons at them. And that was the end of that. Can you even imagine the shit that would rain down on me if a customer accused me of being drunk?

Back to work ....

2011-09-12T23:26:00.000-07:00

Well, the giant scary wedding cake is done, and I have to resume my usual slaving for tips. Felt weird going back in to work after being gone so long, but apparently I didn't miss much. Oh, except the Anti-Me got fired .... apparently she told a customer we serve organic locally grown beef. Very strange.

P.S. If anybody is curious and wants pictures of said cake, email me at slightlycranky at hotmail.com. It's a little too distinctive to just post out in the open, not many of this type of cake come up on a google search - and not to brag or anything, but none of them have the kind of detail of mine. :)

Vacation, baby!

2011-09-08T09:42:00.000-07:00

Not that I'm going anywhere, but at least I'm not working. Well, at the hellhole, anyway. Took time off to make a giant scary wedding cake. I do have a few stories to write up, but I'm trying to just forget that place isn't a smoking crater in the ground yet. Stay tuned!

Courtesy of Regretsy.

2011-09-06T02:34:00.000-07:00

This post with the explanation is here, but basically Regretsy's Great And Terrible Webmaster asked for people to send her "facts" to confuse idiots with. This one might be my favorite.

Floating along.

2011-09-05T02:24:00.000-07:00

My workplace really can ruin almost any good mood. I've continued to start my work days happy and grinning, and then the bastards just grind me down over the course of the evening. The $3 tip on $44 for 2.5 hours of serving someone was a personal favorite. Then there was the table who refused to tell me anything was wrong and instead stopped every other server walking by. And CL's latest retarded lecture (apparently, I go to the bathroom too much).

But for once .... it's just not keeping me down! Yeah, I'll get irritated and grumbly, but after about five minutes I've got a smile on my face again. Great for me .... not so great for blogging! Without the irritable sarcasm what have I left?

Never a dull moment.

2011-09-02T02:12:00.000-07:00

I had plenty of customers that would usually have irritated me, tonight. Nothing fazed me though, and my tips were pretty damned good; amazing what six inches will do. Yeah, I just said that.

We did have a pretty spectacular scene toward the end of the night, though. This big guy got up and then dropped to the floor like he'd been pole-axed. He lay there for a while and said he'd be fine, that his blood sugar was low, then finally got up, headed to the bathroom -- and freaking passed out, dropped to the floor, and shit himself.

The paramedics were called and he was taken to the hospital. I happened to be walking by early on when he was just laying on the floor, and his wife assured me he was fine. "He took his insulin and then the food took too long to get here," she said. Uhhh .... why would you do that before even getting your food?

(ETA: A couple of people in the comments have said that's not correct and many diabetics inject before meals. So now I kind of feel like an asshole and have changed the post a bit.)

Fuck me, I'm tired.

2011-08-29T00:47:00.000-07:00

I picked up a temp job, so today was my eighth day in a row of work. And I have another 14 ahead of me. I'll post when I can, but most nights I can hardly see straight to get home.

Finally, a complaint about the right person.

2011-08-28T12:57:00.003-07:00

CL's boss came in today, and spent the entire day following her around the restaurant, watching. We were all mystified. But after he left, CL started running her mouth to everybody who would listen. Turns out that a customer had the audacity to write to corporate and complain because they witnessed her standing at the end of the bar slamming things around, yelling, and swearing.

How dare they.

This is not an allergy attack.

2011-08-26T04:33:00.001-07:00

(Managed to tether Internet through my phone, hooray! Have some negativity! ;) )

Tonight at work I was standing on a bench, wrestling with the retarded fucking excuse for blinds that our store has, when Nick interrupted me.

“Do the fajitas have mushrooms in them?”
I looked down and saw him and his table staring expectantly up at me. “Nope, no mushrooms.”
The biker-looking guy at the table promptly snapped, “I just ate two of them!” He then reached across the table and started stabbing at the fajita veggies, searching for mushrooms. His wife just sat there staring at Nick.
“Well, they're not supposed to have mushrooms.” I said pleasantly.
“Should I get HotPants?” Nick asked. I looked at him quizzically. “They said she's allergic.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Yeah, get HotPants.”

From then on, it was just a fucking circus. The couple insisted that there had been mushrooms in the fajitas – yet conveniently, they had already eaten all of them. The woman made a big show of holding her head in her hands as if upset, running to the bathroom with her hand clapped over her mouth, pacing up and down the aisle nervously, and even retching in the bathroom – with the stall door open – a few times. Meanwhile Nick is worried, HotPants is digging out the customer injury forms, and I'm laughing my ass off at the woman's over-acting.

It was just stupid on so many levels. First of all, if you're “deathly allergic” to something, you don't just forget that. Anybody who actually has a severe, life-threatening allergy to a common ingredient fucking asks if it's in every item. Even if it's stupid. If she were really allergic to mushrooms, she'd be asking if the fucking lemonade came in to contact with mushrooms – let alone sauteéd vegetables! Secondly, when you have an allergy like that, you carry an epipen and you whip it out to be ready for use at a moment's notice. Thirdly, severe allergies manifest as swelling, hives, closing air ways, etc. This chick had no visible symptoms and could obviously breathe just fine.

But of course, the real clincher came when I heard her tell HotPants, “I don't think we should have to pay. It's not fair to us.”

Allergy my ass.

Lack of Internet.

2011-08-26T00:54:00.001-07:00

Had a power surge or something on Tuesday and it apparently fried my modem. I can post from my phone like now, but it takes forever.

And I'd probably just write something redundant and negative anyway. ;)

Your uppance will come.

2011-08-22T22:37:00.000-07:00

One of the more annoying FNGs is … well … she's a go-go dancer. And not the classy kind, the naked-but-for-boots kind. I would have no problem for that if she weren't also a raging bitch. The first sign of this was when she approached one of the hostesses and asked what she was eating.
“It's chicken alfredo.”
Go-Go Girl poked the hostess in the stomach and said, “That's going to make you fat.” and then walked away. This was the first day she'd ever worked with that particular hostess. I pretty much just try to avoid her because I mostly want to slap her skinny ass to the ground.

I don't know what I did to my knee a few days ago, but it's been hurting like a sonofabitch. I've spent three days limping around the restaurant, calling every morning to request a section close to the kitchen, and basically trying not to cry every time I took a step. So imagine my irritation when I arrived at work tonight to find that I had the hardest section to work, and the one the absolute farthest from the kitchen: the goddamn motherfucking evil bitch patio. And unfortunately for me, I came in the last of everyone so I couldn't get any other station. I was irritated at CL for putting me out there, but I was even more annoyed when I found out that originally, Go-Go Girl had the patio.

The same hostess who I mentioned earlier told me that Go-Go Girl went to CL and said, “I don't want the patio. It's too far to walk. I'm not doing it.” And CL, having not worked with me the last few days and not knowing about my knee, decided to give the whiny little bitch my section just outside the kitchen door. Go-Go Girl, however, had worked with me and knew all about my sore knee.

I'm not going to be stalking her every move to get revenge or anything, but at some point she's going to need something. And when she does, I'm going to remember that because of her selfish bitchy little ass, I spent tonight in knee-crunching agony.

Yes, I should burn in hell.

2011-08-22T02:08:00.000-07:00

The kitchen's been over-cooking steaks 99% of the time the last couple of weeks. And 99% of that 99% of the time, it goes like this:

“This is medium, it was supposed to be rare!”
“I'm so sorry, I'll have them cook you a new one right away.” I say in my best chipper waitress voice, whisking the offending plate.
“Thank you.”

But not this time. This time it was …
“This streak is medium, it was supposed to be rare!”
“I'm so sorry, I'll have them cook you a new one right away.” I reached for the plate and began to pick it up.
“What?” The woman grabbed the edges of the plate and slammed it back down on the table. “You're just going to take my whole dinner?” she asked with a sneer.
I blinked at her. “I like to make sure you get fresh new sides in this situation, ma'am. But I'll leave it if you'd like.”

She didn't answer, just glared at me and started stabbing at her potatoes with a knife. She muttered under her breath every time I was at the table for the rest of their meal. Whatever.

A very special rant.

2011-08-20T22:50:00.000-07:00

I first heard about Fiverr.com through Regretsy. One of the more awesome fiverr gigs is this guy, who I happily gave $5 to swear and rant. I think I love him.

Wait .. I … but …. what?

2011-08-18T01:54:00.000-07:00

Tonight was hell. Hell. My section was like a goddamn daycare. Children everywhere. Cranky customers bitching about things that weren't my fault. Not even worth writing about except for the fact that all of them were piled on me at once. I was ready to cry. I'd agreed to close for my Work Wife, but after dealing with rude assholes all night I just wanted to walk out the side door and never come back.

Then I felt like I got a lucky break: a couple in their late twenties with a smaller but polite child. They made eye contact, they said please and thank you. They ordered drinks and an appetizer, and answered all my questions. After taking their order I went back to the kitchen and said, “Finally! A table that doesn't suck!”

You see where this is going, right?

The 'nice' people got their food as I was taking an order at a rather more obnoxious, large table full of small children. I got a drink refill for someone, entered the big table's simple order, and went over to the nice people.

“How is you dinner so far?”
The man, who had both elbows on his table and was stabbing at his food, glowered up at me. “I need to see the manager.”
I smiled and said right away, having no idea what could be wrong. I guessed maybe there was something about the food that had pissed him off so much he didn't want to tell me, so I didn't particularly worry when I sent PSM to the table.

Five minutes later, PSM came back. “He's upset because he says you rolled your eyes in disgust at him.”
I think my mouth literally fell open. “I did not!”
“Well, he says you did.” PSM shrugged. “Maybe you didn't realize it, you did it just now.”
“But I knew I was doing it! And there was no reason I would have, they didn't do anything to irritate me or anything!”

PSM said not to worry too much about it, but I was so stressed out from the whole night's ridiculous idiocy that after he walked away I started to crack. Someone asked if I was okay and I burst into tears and a tirade about how much people piss me off. I ran through everything I could think of – was my contact lens bothering me? No. Did I look up to think when they asked me a question? No, they didn't ask me any questions. Did they say or do anything to irritate me that I might have rolled my eyes at? No. I was out of ideas.

But after I calmed down, I made a round of my tables, and then went to the 'nice' people. I had carefully planned what I was going to say; I know better than to deny something like that. I also waited until Kelly was at the next table and would hear the whole thing, which I was glad of later.
“Sir, my manager said you saw me roll my eyes at you and I just wanted to let you know it wasn't intentional.”
“Whatever.” the guy snapped and threw his fork down. “I don't even want to talk about it.”
“Well, I apologize.” I started to back up. “It wasn't directed at you.”
“You know what, I saw you do it twice, so--” he started flipping his hand at me to go away, so I did. A few minutes later, I saw PSM at the table again, with the guy clearly bitching about something new.

Turns out, the guy was complaining again because I apologized. According to him it was rude and “nervy”. Are you fucking kidding me? Who the fuck complains about an apology? Oh, wait – somebody who works in the restaurant business and knows exactly what to say to get free shit.

People and their goddamn bread!

2011-08-18T01:53:00.000-07:00

(Fell asleep before I posted this last night. Fuck me, I hate double shifts.)

I don't know how people who work at restaurants with complimentary bread handle it. We don't do that, and people already piss me off! We do have garlic breadsticks we serve with our pasta dishes, and people can order them with other things if they'd like. Invariably, when someone asks for a breadstick, I have to clarify first that they aren't free, fuckers. This isn't an Italian restaurant. You're not family when you're here, either.

If they agree to pay the sixty cents (big money), I then have to go to the kitchen, ring it in, and then wait for the cooks to toast it and send it out. Occasionally, during the dinner rush, they'll have some pre-made for a pasta dish that isn't ready, so we can use that. More often, though, I go back out to my section with a soda refill or napkins or more ranch or more ice or a third extra plate or extra croutons or drained cole slaw or whatever the fuck people want, and Mr. Bread Stick Orderer will stop me, demanding to know where the bread stick is he ordered one minute ago. When I politely explain it's being toasted, half the people understand and half get a snitty fucking attitude with me.

Once again: Not an Italian restaurant. We don't keep an oven full of these things ready at all times because guess what? We have five items out of our 100 item menu that come with a bread stick. How many do you think we really go through? Oh, but wait, you're special so let me just go change the way the restaurant works just for you.

Guess again, Beaver.

2011-08-14T19:26:00.000-07:00

I walked into work pissed off today. Actually, I woke up that way, and it just didn't get better. Then I arrived at work at my scheduled time of 5:30. I didn't expect my section to be full; things rarely get moving that early. But, since I was already in a bad moon, I naturally walked in to a nearly full section. I had two booths and three tables. Booth 11 was empty, booth 12 had five people in it who hadn't gotten their food yet. Tables 20 and 21 were sat with a table of eight, who had waters but no real drinks and hadn't ordered yet. Critical info. Table 22 was pulled together with table 23, which was in Eager Beaver's section, for another big table.

Eager Beaver's section wasn't full, but he also had tables in the section in another section; he was taking orders at 22 and 23. I was already irritated at the whole situation, but I waited for him to come down to aisle so I could “ask” if I could take the big top at 20 and 21. When he broke away from that table he turned and stopped at table 12, and at the same time the table I was going to ask if I could take flagged me down and asked to order. They'd been sitting for at least five minutes, because despite his greed and rudeness, Beaver really can't handle many tables and he frequently over-extends himself.

So I smiled and introduced myself, found out of they needed separate checks (yes) and began taking orders. Halfway through, Beaver bounded up while I was asking one of the guests about his side dishes.
“I got ya!” Beaver cut me off, holding his notepad at the ready, clearly giving me a dismissal.
I shook my head at him and continued talking to the now-confused customer. Beaver's face clouded up and he looked like he wanted to punch me. He stood there for a minute and then stalked off, muttering and swearing under his breath.

He continued to give me dirty looks and bitch behind my back all night. He also tried take table 12 when it got re-sat, until he turned around and I was standing there watching him. I could tell from his expression he was hoping he could get their order before I realized what he was up to.

I did sort-of apologize to him later, because it was kind of a bitch move to just take a table he considered his without asking. But really? He was going to keep 4/5 of my section? It would be one thing if they table had already ordered, but general common courtesy is if no food order has been placed, the incoming server gets the table. And then any lingering guilt was dispelled when one of the hostesses told me that Beaver had switched our sections! When those four tables got sat, and the first few members of the big parties arrived and started taking up tables, Beaver looked around and my nice empty section was sitting there waiting to be filled, with me fifteen minutes away. So Beaver got out a dry erase marker and swapped our fucking sections …. and then hung out at the host stand seating every table he could in his new section.

I really do not like him. I think I've mentioned that before.

What are those flaps on the sides of your head?

2011-08-14T00:40:00.003-07:00

Oh yeah. They're ears. They're for listening. But I know that's much too difficult. It's much easier, when asked how many people in your party, to just say, “Oh, we're going to sit in the bar.” Then, when told explicitly that the bar is not a fucking seat yourself area, of course you're going to keep gossiping with your friends, literally pushing past the server attempting to seat you.

And, of course, you'll sit somewhere that won't accommodate the number of people you have meeting you, so you'll have to dirty up more tables and inconvenience another server by moving an hour later. At which point you'll camp out with your six waters with lemon.

Dumb Question Of The Day Award

2011-08-12T00:53:00.000-07:00

I've often thought about making a "dumb question of the day feature". The problem is that so often, it's the same stupid questions repeated over and over:

Do you have a bathroom?
Do you have lemons?
Do you have napkins?
What's the difference between boneless and bone-in wings?
Do margaritas get free refills?
Etc.

Today's was fairly benign, but it just really makes me wonder: do people ever stop to think before the open their mouths? Twice tonight I was asked the following: "What's strawberry iced tea?"

Scamming.

2011-08-11T00:26:00.001-07:00

Eager Beaver seems to always be rolling in cash.. He drives 20+ miles to work …. in a Hummer. He goes out drinking and runs up huge bar tabs. He's always bragging about how much he makes and waving his cash around. Some of it might be the fact that he's a blatant table thief, especially when it comes to the patio – if it's not assigned to only one person, then every time a table gets sat out there he is right the fuck on it. I don't like him, so I've kind of bitchily figured he's been stealing. But in the last couple of weeks several other people have told me they suspect he's stealing as well.

I wish I had proof. But all I have is other peoples' unsubstantiated word. AA said she's pretty sure she's seen him double-charge people when they're fighting over the ticket – if one person approaches him away from the table hands him cash, and another does the same with a card, he'll pocket the cash and run the credit card. Cat-Eyes thinks he's cheating on his upselling scores by always ringing in drinks that count, regardless of what the people ordered. If they were the same price that wouldn't be an issue, but if that's what he's doing, he's over-charging customers.

I think he's playing every stealing server's favorite game, and playing with soda counts. Corporate thinks they've stymied that with the new computer system, but …. not so much. I don't want to go into too many specifics, but I can think of at least two ways to very easily pocket money off of cash tickets. I don't know that Eager Beaver's been around long enough to have figured out those tricks, though.

And of course, the managers aren't always very careful with their cards, so there's the possibility he's applying discounts to cash tickets for his own benefit. I've noticed that PSM has been a lot more tight-fisted with his card when Eager Beaver is around, but he's never liked him. I don't think Lapdog does either; HotPants I'm not sure of. CL loves him, of course.

If he is stealing, I'm sure it's a combination of all of the above. If he can comp one meal a shift, senior discount another couple, pocket the cash from four or five sodas, over-charge people who tip on percentage, steal three or four tables from other people, and really luck out and have people who double-pay …. well, it all adds up. Someone might eventually catch him if he keeps it up, but I'm hoping I'll “stumble” across some evidence sooner rather than later. I really don't like him.

Suddenly obnoxious.

2011-08-08T04:19:00.001-07:00

There are a couple of regulars, Julie and Lenny, who I've written about before. They've been coming in for ten years now, but lately their visits have been less frequent. The other day, I found out why: it seems that Julie told Chrissy that “they” (meaning she) didn't want to come in anymore because Cali Girl – who never even waits on them, being a bartender – laughs too loudly.

Prime assholery.

2011-08-07T00:22:00.001-07:00

This last week, the restaurant has just been awash in fuckfaces. And it's not just me, all my coworkers are saying the same thing. It's just instance after instance of stupid shit. Mine have mostly been in the form of shitty attitudes and equally shitty tips, but some of my coworkers have had some hilarious bullshit. Here are just a few examples.

AA, for instance, had a table that was giving their kid sips of their sangrias. She didn't say anything to them about that, figuring it was their choice. At the end of the meal they asked her for to-go cups, and she smilingly agreed and said she'd bring them full fresh sodas to-go.

“No!” The woman snapped. “We just want the cups!”
AA thought that was strange, so she covertly watched them …. and sure enough, the woman poured their sangrias into the to-go cups! AA went to get Lapdog right away, and he promptly confiscated the cups and told them that was illegal. Naturally, AA got stiffed.

The next day AA approached a new table and said. “What would you like to drink?”
“What's that supposed to mean?” They snapped at her.

Another server, K, was having a super friendly chat with her table. They'd been bonding over kids; the table had ordered a lot of stuff and had a big tab. She thought for sure she was going to get a big fat tip.

“Where did you get that hair clip? It's adorable!” her customer asked.
K touched her metallic flower clip. “Oh, I got it at Wal-Mart!”
The woman's face darkened and she began to scowl. ”Wal-Mart? You shop at Wal-Mart?”
Taken aback, K just sort of nodded.
“I can't believe you support that evil corporation! I can't believe you give them your money!” The woman slapped her credit card down and shoved it at K with a glare. No tip.

Barbie was serving a table of normal-seeming folks, but when they left, she discovered that instead of a tip, they had left her a note on a beverage napkin. It read: “THE 'MUSIC' WAS TOO LOUD ALSO THE 'MUSIC' IS NOT MUSIC BUT ANNOYING NOISE”.
If you're so bothered by Top 40 music, why the fuck would you go to a ChilirobinTGIlbackabee's kind of place?

Meanwhile, I went to greet what appeared to be a table of five. I was confused at first as to why one person was standing, without a chair to sit on. Thinking the hostesses were just being idiots, I quickly said I'd go get one.

“Oh, no,” the smarmy-looking father said. “We're not eating. We're just waiting here until another table opens.”
I tried, but I don't think I really managed to control my sarcasm. “So … you're just hanging out? Until another table opens?”
“Yes, we'll have five waters. With lemon.”
I looked at the lobby, where people are supposed to wait for a table. Then I looked back at them. Then I walked away because I didn't think I could control myself.

I told Lapdog not to advertise at the Asshole Convention next year.

Over and over, people disappoint me.

2011-08-06T02:29:00.001-07:00

Every once in a while, I get it in my head that I should try harder. I should try to really connect with my guests. I should do everything I can to make their dining experience better. Tonight was one of those nights.

My first table was a young family, dad, five year old daughter, and pregnant mom. They threw out one of those random comments about her pregnancy that let me know they're attention whores – you know, instead of just saying she'd have a plain cheeseburger it had to be she'd have a plain cheeseburger because “the spicy one” would upset the baby. And because I was in the mood I was in, I took the bait. I asked when she was due, clucked my tongue sympathetically when she complained of her morning sickness, and was smiley and friendly with the five-year-old. My coworkers who witnessed this were shocked, especially when I went about my business in the kitchen with nary a mention of annoying crotchspawn.

While family #1 was eating, family #2 sat down. Mom, dad, and a kid. After I fetched their drinks, the mother asked me if we had a half-sized portion of one of our pastas. I hate that question. If we had a half-sized portion of anything, it'd be printed on the fucking menu. So I said no. Then I retracted that, because I remembered that I was trying to go above and beyond – “You know what, I can make it happen.” She just sort of looked at me. “I know computer tricks.” I said with a smile.

And I do. I order it for dinner all the time. So away to the computer I went and got the uppity bitch her half-sized, half-priced meal. I also chatted with their kid; I continued to talk to Pregnant Lady.

I got a whopping 10% …. combined.

Logic? Cannot be.

2011-08-02T03:47:00.001-07:00

I was shocked to walk in to work last week and see there were only seven people on the floor on a Monday night. I figured somebody had to have called in sick, or a lot of people requested the day off or something – because that's the level of scheduling we used to operate at, back when I actually used to make enough money to pay my bills. But when I came in a few days later it had happened again. And again. And again. Friday I had four tables, which is an improvement over the three table sections they've been handing out on weekends. Last night I had a six table section for the first time since … shit, almost a year, since last November.

Miraculously, it seems as if cold hard logic has finally busted through CL's over-staffing panic. I think it came about in the form of an area manager bitch-slap over labor hours, but whatever the cause, I just hope it stays this way.

I don't fucking do my job.

2011-08-01T01:40:00.001-07:00

I like to swear as much as the next person. In fact, I fucking love to fucking swear. But the next time I hear Bug say the f word, I might lose it. Because it always seems to be used in the same way: “I don't fucking (insert part of her job here).”

“I don't fucking get ice.”
“I don't fucking run hot food.”
“I don't fucking answer the phone.”
“I don't fucking take tables on the patio.”
“I don't fucking close.”
“I don't fucking do the bathrooms.”
“I don't fucking put my hair up.”
Etc.

And of course, because she's a 26-year-old stick insect who gets wasted every night despite having three kids – i.e., she's who CL wishes she was – she gets away with whatever the fuck she wants. Tonight CL flipped out at me about how there were dirty tables, food to run, ice to get, blah blah blah – things I'd been doing. Bug, who was also cut already was doing her sidework and ignoring everyone panicking around her. Not a word was said to her. Grrr.

Anyway, because I've learned to take what little bits of satisfaction I can, I was amused when she pulled another “I don't fucking” that actually hurts her. We have a wing special one night a week: 5 for $2 or 10 for $4. Apparently, Bug finds this too confusing because the last time I worked with her on that day of the week, I heard her flat-out lie and tell someone that the regular wings were a better deal.

I asked why later, and was told “I don't fucking do that. I don't fucking mess around with this 'two dollar' 'four dollar' bullshit. They can get the fucking regular wings. It's the same fucking thing.”

I just said okay and left it at that. The regular order of wings is 10 wings, and one upsell point. So if she wants to screw herself out of upsell points on every other table by not ringing in two orders of five instead, that's just fine with me. Shifts are based on upsell percentages, after all.

The things I do for food quality.

2011-07-31T01:25:00.001-07:00

One of our cooks, I'll call him Floyd, is sometimes a perfectly pleasant man, and other times he gets a raging fucking attitude. Tonight was one of those nights. Somehow we ended up with an extra order of boneless wings, which then sat in the window for close to an hour. In that time we got busy, and because Floyd was pissed he tried to send out the old wings to a customer.

The Auctioneer was on expo, and he surprised me by refusing to send them. After five minutes of arguing about it, Floyd still wouldn't drop new wings, and Auctioneer still wouldn't send them out. PSM finally rolled into the kitchen and tried to take the middle ground … but re-saucing them. They were still fucking nasty, and I knew we'd have pissed off customers if they went out. They were already on fifteen minutes, but when PSM pushed them across the window to Auctioneer, he and I looked at each other and actually had a moment of mutual understanding and disgust.

I finished washing my hands, then picked up the plate of wings in question. Checking to make sure that Floyd wasn't watching, I gave one an experimental poke. Hard as a rock. It wasn't even my table, and I was pissed. For fuck's sake, in the time Floyd had spent arguing and being a jackass, he could have made new wings! And for PSM to try to pretty up those nasty dried up pieces of crap? Ridiculous. I started for the edge of the kitchen, and right before I made it to the door ….. oh, whoops. Wings everywhere. Bleu cheese on my jeans and the wall. What a shame.

Floyd wasn't happy, but it was an accident, right? What's he going to say. The customer was fine – and his server got a fat tip – because I made sure to go out to the table smeared with hot sauce and dressing to profusely apologize for my butterfingers.

Mexican Munchkin Bomb

2011-07-30T00:39:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I was absolutely thrilled to have a table of eight. With four kids. And I'm sorry to engage in stereotyping, but they were Mexican so add that all together and I was sure I was getting screwed. They were very friendly, happy people, and they ran up an absolutely enormous bill. Lots and lots and lots of alcohol. Their bill was $260 bucks, and only $60 of that was food!

Of course that was over the course of three hours. Three hours during which they took up half of my section, ordering more and more drinks. Three hours during which the four children were absolutely unsupervised. They were crossing the restaurant, hollering back and forth, running in front of servers, trying to get into the kitchen, and one little girl of about three thought it was hilarious to block the aisle and just grin at me. Through all of this the adults were clustered at one end of the table, laughing and talking, completely oblivious.

Other tables were muttering and giving them dirty looks, and of course taking their irritation out on their servers. Especially me, since naturally it's my fault I got sat with them, right? Basically it was an absolutely shit night – my other tables were unhappy and tipping poorly because of it, and the cause of the unhappiness stayed for three fucking hours and left me a little under ten percent. I guess I should be grateful for that ten percent. And I wasn't too irritated about it, I was fairly philosophical about things evening out.

When I really got pissed off was tonight. You see, they came back …. with a friend of theirs, George, who's one of our cooks. Four of them plus the littlest child sat at the bar for an hour – by which I mean the adults sat and the little girl wandered around unsupervised, even going outside at one point – and tipped the two bartenders $40. Each.

Then they moved out to the patio when more of them arrived, and spent another two hours …. and tipped their server $80. $160 in tips they spent tonight. Motherfucking fucker. Why couldn't George have been with them last night?

Valium. Please. I'm begging you.

2011-07-29T04:35:00.001-07:00

I was closing out a ticket tonight, and CL was sitting at the bar doing nothing, like she likes to do. In a perfectly pleasant tone of voice, she chided me, “You have a lot of dirty tables, young lady!”

Despite being irritated at her patronizing me (she's younger than my mother, she should just shitcan the 'young lady' crap), I held my tongue. I looked around. “32 just left, I'm working on 28.”

“What about 31, I bussed that ten minutes ago!”

No, she didn't. She stacked the plates up and walked away. “Isn't that clean?” I peered over and could see that some genius had stood the dessert menu up in front of the salt shaker that signifies a dirty table. “Oh.”

“You'd better get on that, I don't know why you have so many dirty tables.” She said, still fucking sitting in one place.

“Have you seen me standing around doing nothing?” I said it in my best stressed-out, planitive tone of voice, because despite only having two tables I was getting my ass run off – by other peoples' tables!

“Well! I'm sure there are other things to do!” she huffed. I just said I'd take care of them and walked away. When she cut the floor, though, she gathered everyone in the back and began to drag us all across the coals about the “sassiness toward the managers” and how she doesn't have to be nice, and she is DONE with this “sassiness”. I knew I'd triggered it, and I knew if I didn't say something it would fester like a mental boil and would be only be lanced when she found some way to shaft me. So a few minutes later, I apologized and said I didn't intend to sound that way.

“That was just the last straw!” she burst out. “I'm so tired of this! I'm 41, I have two kids, a mortgage, and I run a four-million-dollar-a-year business! I'm not here for this teenage gossipy bullshit! People think I'm sleeping with two employees, a carful of servers went to (amusement park) and spent the whole time bitching about me, and I'm just done! I'm done with it!”

I didn't even know what to say. People wouldn't think she was sleeping with employees if she didn't brag about sleeping around, obviously flirt with anything under 30 with a penis, and then bring up the rumors where everyone can hear her. The car of employees bitching has zero to do with me (although I know who it was and can't believe two of them trusted the third). And for somebody “not here for this teenage bullshit,” she's the biggest goddamn gossip in the place! Perfect example: L's Arch-Nemesis told CL in confidence that her brother has a drug problem and so she needed to make some changes to her schedule. CL helped her with the schedule …. and then went and told Dolly the whole thing! And Dolly told fucking everyone, and everyone naturally repeated it.

But she's not here for this teenage gossipy bullshit.

Is there such a thing as a Ketamine pump?

2011-07-26T01:42:00.000-07:00

I mean, if there's an insulin pump, surely something could be created for a tranquilizer. I suppose secretly attaching it to CL would be impossible, though. She's just been on a freaking rampage lately. Tonight I was having some nasal issues, namely my goddamn nose was oozing blood. It was a slow night; I had two tables. One had full drinks and was waiting for their food, and the other was waiting for her friend. I ducked into the bathroom to check on my issue, which seemed to have settled down, then came back out. The second table's friend had arrived, so I went to get her drink order. As I stood there talking to her, I felt a crack and a dribble in my nose. I think they saw the momentary panic in my face, because they gave me a weird look.

As soon as I could, I scurried away and back in to the bathroom. It took a couple of minutes before I felt like I could go out on to the floor again. But I knew someone was waiting for an iced tea, and that I had two open tables and could have gotten sat, so I was paying attention – not even one song finished while I was in the bathroom.

When I came out, the first thing I saw was CL kneeling down to tie her shoe … and ranting. “There are dirty tables all over the place, there's no ice, we're out of silverware,” she stood up and started flailing her arms around, “there's food that needs running, and you've been in the bathroom for the last seven minutes!” she pointed at me and glared.

Honestly, I just gaped at her. Five minutes, ten minutes … these are normal increments to toss out. But seven? She's timing bathroom breaks now? Or thinks she is anyway, since had I been in there for seven minutes I'm pretty sure my customer would've been bitching about her missing iced tea. I said my nose had been bleeding and I went to try to do some of the things she was panicking about (the one dirty table, the ice that I could hear someone scooping as she started ranting, the silverware that hadn't come out of the dishwasher yet, and the one plate that had already been run).

Oh, you're a fucking wit.

2011-07-25T02:38:00.000-07:00

Since my restaurant can't be bothered to print little things like salad dressings, soups of the day, beer on tap, beers in bottle, brands of liquor, or even sides on the menu, the most constant question I'm asked is … well, for a list of any of those. It's the bane of the newer servers, since that's hundreds of things to remember. I don't know all the bottled beers by heart, largely because they change all the time without us fucking being told (I just found out we got Coors in bottle four fucking months ago, I've been telling people no that whole time), but I've got the rest of it down.

I list the salad dressings and sides umpteen times per day, and it never fails. Somebody always thinks they have to be fucking funny.

Customer: “What are your sides?”
Me: “Mashed potato, french fries, herb potatoes, white rice, rife pilaf, cole slaw, broccoli, mixed vegetables, corn, beans, apple sauce, or for an small extra charge soup, salad, onion rings, or baked potato.”
Customer, with a smirk: “What was the fifth one you said?”

I believe it was “fuck you.”

This isn't your courtroom.

2011-07-24T02:32:00.001-07:00

The Lawyer seems bound and fucking determined to get on everybody's bad side. Ever since she found out that she did, in fact, pass the bar exam, she's been a massive pain in the ass. Now, I can understand – if I had a ticket out of this place that I was just waiting to cash in, I'd be irritable too. But the thing is that passing on the bar exam (on her third attempt) does not make her better than anybody else, which is what she seems to think.

There was a perfect example of this tonight. She was the only bartender, and she was seriously sucking a hind tit. I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that it took fifteen fucking minutes to get two draft beers. I checked the computer. It was ridiculous. PSM comped them for my pissed off table, thankfully. And The Lawyer was busy, I know that; but still? Fifteen minutes to pour a beer? Are you fucking kidding me?

That was bad enough. What was worse was when she finished making a shake. I happened to be ringing in an order, and she asked me what time it was.

“Five after seven,” I answered, wondering why she wanted to know.
The Lawyer consulted the drink slip in front of her, then said at top volume, “I need Cat-Eyes to the bar for a seven minute drink time.”

I about choked. After taking fifteen minutes to pour a goddamn beer, she was going to get on somebody else's ass about a “seven minute drink time”? When that seven minutes was entirely because she's fucking slow? Christ on a popsicle stick.

Not a babysitter.

2011-07-23T03:37:00.000-07:00

Summer is here, and of course that means that fucking crotchspawn are everywhere. Or maybe it's just that parents are more likely to keep the little bastards out later, so it seems like there are more of them.

I was cleaning up my section last night, and there was a quite cute little girl there with her mom and grandma. She was probably three, chubby and big-eyed with super curly blonde hair. I was sweeping up crayons and ripped-up napkins left on the floor by a bunch of teenagers when I saw her crawl over the back of their booth and start staring at me. I waved – I didn't have to clean up after them, they weren't my table, so I wasn't irritated with their presence. The little girl giggled, then clambered down and came over to investigate the sweeper. Her mom called her and she ran back to the table laughing. I went to do something else and when I came back, the little girl saw me and came running full-tilt at me laughing. I scooped her up and tossed her into the air, figuring if her mother wasn't paying any attention she wouldn't mind me playing with her.

I sat the girl down by their table again and went back to filling sugar packets or some shit; the little girl kept climbing back and forth between the booths, roughly following me. When I got to my last table I had to clean, I was on the opposite side from before, and she climbed into that booth. The other one was empty; this one had some dishes on it.

“What's that?” she pointed at something.
“That's trash,” I said patiently.
“What's that?”
“That's sugar.” I turned to check the ketchup bottle on my table, and when I turned back the little girl had picked up a glass and was about to drink out of it. I think I let out a little yelp as I snatched it away as gently as I could – because it was a fucking half-full pint of beer! Meanwhile, her mother and grandmother were chatting away, totally ignoring her.

But of course, if the kid had chugged down some backwashy Fat Tire, I'm sure they would have sued the restaurant.

The kitchen is soundproof. Right?

2011-07-22T01:53:00.001-07:00

I walked in the side door at work today, and I immediately knew it was going to be a shitty shift. From down the hall and around the corner, I could hear CL yelling. Nothing distinct, but it only took a few more steps, until I was in the dining room itself, before I could clearly hear her.

“I thought we scheduled so this shit wouldn't happen!” I heard her yelling in a panic. “Twenty minute ticket times do not fucking work for me!”

Our kitchen doesn't have doors. Two steps out of the entrance and you're at the first bar stool; two more and you're at a table. I can only hope a customer heard and will write in a complaint.

Even more work for no pay? Awesome!

2011-07-21T04:18:00.001-07:00

(I normally don't post on my days off because I try to forget that fucking hellhole exists, but I'm trying to make up for being a blogging slacker lately!)

As part of corporate's never-ending quest to sell more alcohol (love that markup), they're all hot under the collar to keep the bartenders nailed down behind the bar. Their theory is that if somebody walks in and doesn't see a bartender behind the bar at that exact fucking moment, then bar business will be negatively impacted. Now my opinion of the general public is pretty low, but even I think most people can process the fact that the bartender might have something else to do rather than stand there waiting for them.

But since in this corporate fantasy, the presence of a bartender behind the bar every moment of the night will have some magical increasing effect upon alcohol sales. So they've decreed that once the “to go specialist” goes home …. now the servers are responsible for answering the phone, taking orders, packing them up, running them out to the cars, and collecting payment. And since most people don't tip on to go orders, that means that the nights I close I get to do a shitload more work for … what's that? No pay? Fucking fabulous.

Quite possibly the dumbest question I've ever heard.

2011-07-20T20:00:00.000-07:00

A gentlemen informed me tonight that he had a question, then held up his open menu to a picture of our of our steaks. I started preparing to go through the explanation of what, exactly, the stringy mess on top of the steak is … but no, I was wrong. Instead he pointed to the list of sides underneath the steak.

“What's the difference between the rice and beans and the corn?”

facepalm forever

Well that was a goddamn waste of my time.

2011-07-20T06:06:00.001-07:00

(Wrote this a few days ago and forgot to post it.)

I went to work for two hours today, from four to six. Then I was sent home, because they'd assigned me the bloody patio. On an overcast, windy day. So I had two tables out there, three inside I managed to sneak before the other servers arrived, and that was it. Luckily CL was in a good mood, and PSM was too, because at six when I hadn't had a table in an hour they let me go home. So I took my $25 and left. For two hours' time, and probably only an hour of work, that's not bad. But overall, for a Saturday? Fucking ridiculous.

Where the fuck did our business go? Week before last, I cleared $400. Last week, $230. This week, with two shifts to go, I have made $167. What in bloody blue blazes is going on? I probably won't hit even $300 again this week! Where the hell did all our customers go!

(Yes, I did just say “bloody blue blazes.” I don't know. I picked it up in a book somewhere. I could've said what in the name of Jesus H. bloody motherfucking Christ on a broken pogo stick but I didn't want to offend anyone. HA!)

Oh, you're in a hurry, are you?

2011-07-17T02:54:00.001-07:00

My first table tonight was three younger people. Perfectly nice, if a lite abrupt. They chowed down and I gave them their ticket, informing them that I'd be their cashier. Then while they were fumbling with their wallets I stepped over to the table next to them to ask a question. Seconds later the first three filed by me, and one of them had a receipt and cash in his hand.

“Have a good night,” he said pleasantly as he walked by.
“Thank you! But actually you pay me.”
He looked down at the money in his hand and then at me. “But we're in a hurry.”

I don't remember what I said, but he didn't ask for a manager so it couldn't have been what I was thinking: “Oh, you're in a hurry? Well, then, why don't you just go right to the host stand and try to pay them with your hundred dollar bill. Maybe a cash register will magically appear just for you!” Freaking idiots.

HotPants is kind of an asshole.

2011-07-16T02:26:00.000-07:00

But at least tonight he was being a hilarious asshole. He wrote up a sheet of goals for us – some silly, like guess his cologne, and some serious, like sell five top-shelf margaritas. I won two prizes, so I acquired new pens and a glow-stick necklace. Other people got containers of slime or keychains. I think he just went to the dollar store and bought a bag of crap.

One of those items of crap was an airhorn. He honked it once just to test it, and when he saw how much it startled people, he started acting like a five year-old. He started honking it when he saw the cooks do something wrong; he threatened to do it the next time he saw someone pour water (don't know if he ever did), and at one point he jumped around the corner in the kitchen and blasted a bunch of people standing there talking.

After that, people started watching him carefully and covering their ears when he came up behind them. So he quit it for a while … before deciding to get creative. I happened to be standing there the first time he tried this out. “Chrissy, I need to talk to you outside.” he told the bartender with a very serious expression. He wouldn't tell her what about, just said he had to show her something. I followed because I'm nosy that way.

So they walked out the side door, and as soon as Chrissy was outside, HotPants spun around and freaking blasted the airhorn in her face! I thought she was going to punch him for a second, but she finally started laughing. She didn't even warn anyone else, so he got a few more people that way too.

Then he started another tactic. Knowing I'd already seen the trick, he tried to get me to go outside.

“No, I don't think so.”
“Come on, I have to tell you something.” he started walking away, then turned around to see if I was following him. I wasn't.
“I'll go with you if you give me the airhorn.”
His face twitched, his hand going to his pocket. “I don't have it.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Come on, I really need you to come outside.” he started to walk away again.
“Okay, if you keep your hands up in the air the whole time.”
He obligingly put his hands up and started heading out. Wondering what the joke was this time, I followed. Just as he pushed the door open I stopped.
“Wait a minute. Who's hiding around the corner with the horn?”
”Dammit!”

Ha! Try to fool me, will ya!

More corporate idiocy.

2011-07-15T04:29:00.001-07:00

Who the bloody fuck comes up with these stupid fucking policies? I've written before about the stupidity of our switching glasses, although I can't find the entry right now. Basically we switched from plastic tumblers to glasses which a) hold more ice b) don't hold a chill so go through more ice leading to more refills c) shatter all over the motherfucking place when dropped d) come out of the dishwasher so hot we have to use ice to chill them and them put in new ice for the drinks and e) are freaking heavy and a general pain in the ass. So they use about 25% more ice; we got an ice bucket 25% smaller so we have to make more trips; the racks for them hold 25% fewer glasses so we're switching those out more often; and we have to slice lemons on demand now instead of pre-slicing them. Oh yes, and we now have to mix chocolate milk instead of getting it prepared from the bar. And Lapdog randomly decided that beer glasses need to be hand-washed by the bartender so there's another kink in the routine we've had since the fucking place opened.

The latest little wrinkle in the beverage service is that we're no longer allowed to use iced tea pitchers to do refills. Instead, we have to get a brand-new glass every time somebody wants more tea. Considering how fast people suck the stuff down, and how quickly it gets watery between the shitty glasses and the nature of tea, this is a giant pain in the ass. Add in all the above irritations related to drinks and I'm (probably unduly) pissed off. Seriously, I've never been to a restaurant that didn't use water and tea pitchers for refills! It's been that way since the fucking chain started, why is it suddenly not cool?

We don't know, because – and this is the best part to me – they didn't bother to give us a goddamn reason for it. I asked CL, and she said she had no idea, and her boss had no idea. It just came down from the corporate office and WE MUST OBEY.

Endless repetition.

2011-07-13T03:37:00.001-07:00

I get so freaking sick of feeling like I'm living in the same shitty shift over and over. Tonight I waited on a table of three that always have sour expressions, always act like I'm causing a problem by speaking to them, and always answer that their food is “Okay.” Actually, only one of them ever answers when I inquire how their food is, the man, who sneers at me when I ask if I can do something to make it better and always says, “No, it's okay.” They don't speak to each other during the meal, preferring to scowl in opposite directions. Then they leave two dollars, no matter their tab or service.

At least by now I know not to waste any extra time on them. Asshats.

Latest insane gossip.

2011-07-12T01:26:00.001-07:00

Someone reliable told me yesterday that CL's been trying to get in to the pants of one of the new male servers, sending him suggestive text messages and such. If it's true, I really hope he has the sense to save the messages and go to her boss. That or thievery is probably the only thing that will get her fired. And if it's true, she deserves to get fired. I find the idea of her committing such blatant sexual harassment hilarious considering she used to freak out about servers hugging each other.

More on politeness.

2011-07-10T03:12:00.000-07:00

How many times do you set an item down for a guest, and they completely ignore you? Seriously! If your mouth is full, or if you're listening to someone else, at least make eye contact and nod. Something. But probably every third person I deliver something to is stricken mute at that moment. I usually walk away from the table muttering under my breath, ”You're welcome!”. Oh god, and especially when they're not even my customers! If I'm waiting on them it irks me less, because I suppose they think their tip is a thanks. But when I end up running meals, or condiments, or what-the-fuck-ever, to tables that aren't mine, and they ignore me? It makes my blood boil! I am a stranger to these people, with no relationship beyond fetching their requested item and no compensation for it, and they can't even fucking acknowledge my existence? Bitches!

I think on my glorious last day (HAHAHAHAHA like I'll ever escape) I'm going to forego muttering. I'll just stand there until they look at me and then said, very slowly, “yoooooou'rrrrreeee welllllllcooooommmmmmmme.” and walk off. That's before the grand finale when I jump up on the bar and start swearing profusely, of course.

Politeness negated.

2011-07-09T00:23:00.003-07:00

(I know, I'm a bad, bad blogger. Been taking a lot of days off to deal with this moving bullshit, though.)

I think we can all agree that there is an epidemic of rude fuckers who can't bother to say please and thank you anymore. So usually when somebody actually takes those few extra seconds to be polite, I'm thankful. Tonight, though, someone demonstrated how you can say the right words but still come off as a twat: by interrupting.

For example, I brought their food and set it down with my usual smile. “Is there anything else I ca--”
“Ranch please!” she chirped.
When I brought it back, I set it down and started to say “here you go.” I got halfway through the first word when she cut me off with her thank-you. Same thing with dessert, boxes, check, etc.

Now I've absolutely had ruder people. She's pretty low on the bitch scale. But I almost think it's worse when somebody is mouthing the polite words, implying they're aware of common courtesy, while interrupting and therefore ignoring its rules.

Blatant favoritism.

2011-07-03T04:08:00.000-07:00

(I'm all moved, but can't even describe the chaos leftover from said event. It's going to take me for-fucking-ever to get my life back in order, so I'm sorry if posting is irregular or my response to comments continues to suck.)

For whatever stupid reason, HotPants will now be doing the schedule instead of Lapdog, who's had responsibility for it for oh, the last ten years. I had a feeling it was going to be a fucking disaster, and I even tried to express that to CL. But I didn't want to say the real reason I was concerned – because I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me – so I just said sometimes I thought he had a hard time keeping people straight. She blew me off, naturally.

But, sure enough, when HotPants posted last week's schedule, it was completely fucked up. I was lucky, he'd only taken my Thursday and Friday second cut shifts and replaced them with a Tuesday first cut. I say 'only' but I was raging fucking pissed at first. Take my two money-making shifts and put me on a shitty kid's night first cut, when I'm not even supposed to be available on Tuesdays? Fuck you, fucker!

Then I looked at the rest of the schedule. Ooooohhhh boy. Fud went from eight shifts over five days to three shifts in two days. Mistress J, probably the most senior server we have, was taken completely off her Tuesday night and her Thursday double, and given a Friday first instead of her usual close. Kate had one first cut Monday shift. Her sister Ally had double first-cut shifts on Tuesday and nothing else. Me, Mistress J, Kate, and three other people were all taken off our regular Thursday night shifts—I don't know who the fuck he had working. Work Wife's days were right, but her closes were taken away and she was given first cuts. Those were just the most extreme examples, everything was totally jacked.

And who got all those shifts the rest of us didn't? HotPants' favorites. Cat-Eyes had two to-go shifts and five closing nights. The Bug had four closes and three other shifts. Eager Beaver, who's been here less than a month, had three closes and four other shifts. Another FNG had five fucking closing shifts. I was so freaking pissed off, but I knew a hail of shit was going to rain down on HotPants for this blatant fuckery, so I decided that a very polite email would stand out in the crowd a lot more. I very carefully, politely, please-and-thank-you'd my way through asking for my regular schedule back, and then I waited.

Sure enough, this week my schedule was back to normal! Not everybody's was, and I think it's because HotPants was being a little passive-aggressive. When I thanked him for giving me my regular schedule again, he said, “Sure, all I needed was an email. At least yours was NICE!”

And strangely, since then, he's been talking and joking with me a little more. Score one for me.

Guest post: You think I'm mediocre now? Just wait.

2011-06-30T00:03:00.000-07:00

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.

Don't get my hopes up.

2011-06-27T02:26:00.001-07:00

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.

Control is key.

2011-06-26T04:32:00.000-07:00

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.

I apologize if I gave you the impression that I give a flea fiddling flying rat's fucking ass.

2011-06-24T03:25:00.000-07:00

(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.

A message from the restaurant gods.

2011-06-21T02:44:00.001-07:00

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?

A little common sense goes a long, long way.

2011-06-19T03:36:00.001-07:00

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.

Don't shake your head at me, I'm not done.

2011-06-17T22:55:00.000-07:00

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."

It doesn't work the way you think it does.

2011-06-17T01:49:00.000-07:00

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.

Look, the bitch is back!

2011-06-14T01:00:00.001-07:00

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.

One nutty bitch spoils the bunch.

2011-06-13T03:30:00.000-07:00

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.

I have the dumb.

2011-06-12T23:17:00.001-07:00

That was subtle.

2011-06-12T04:53:00.001-07:00

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.

The height of professionalism.

2011-06-10T04:17:00.001-07:00

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.

Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth.

2011-06-08T02:45:00.001-07:00

(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 just shot Sunkist out my nose.

2011-06-07T02:19:00.001-07:00

Just saw this on watergirl's blog. So so wrong! I love it!

What did you just call me?

2011-06-06T00:39:00.001-07:00

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?

I feel dumber just listening.

2011-06-05T03:04:00.001-07:00

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.

Guest post: Every cloud has a silver lining I suppose.... also this why I don't do favors

2011-06-04T02:00:00.001-07:00

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

I've only known you for months.

2011-06-03T00:46:00.001-07:00

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.

Oh joy, I'm sick again.

2011-05-30T04:58:00.000-07:00

I should have known it was coming, since I really needed money. Missed the last three days, and won't be able to go in tonight.

Oh look, it's a small messy human.

2011-05-27T00:29:00.000-07:00

I got stiffed tonight by a couple who were there with their two children. One was five or six, the other a baby just sitting on her own. She was a cute enough kid, I guess; totally bald and with a bigass flower attached to her head with a headband. The girl who was old enough to speak ordered her own food (which they naturally had a free coupon for); the baby just hung out flailing her fat little arms and looking around, as babies are wont to do.

When babies like that look at me, or grab my apron, or basically do something that demands attention, I'll give it. Otherwise, I treat them like a grabby piece of furniture, carefully setting things out of their reach and being sure not to hold things over their squishy little heads. Mom and dad got perfect service, quick and efficient and friendly. They said their food was delicious. And yet they left me a big fat nothing, and I suspect it's because I didn't fawn over their youngest crotchspawn. I did say she had adorable little shoes, isn't that enough?

Ignore that last post ..

2011-05-27T00:18:00.000-07:00

If anyone's reading on a blog feed that emails posts to you, you probably got a really random post that was just a strange picture. I was trying to send a picture of a receipt from my phone, but my phone is freaking the fuck out and instead it posted a totally random photo a friend sent me. This is exactly why I didn't want a touch-screen phone in the first place, because when the screen starts to go out everything gets fucked up!

Anyway, disregard the random picture if you saw it!

Goddamn hippies.

2011-05-26T03:17:00.000-07:00

Cali Girl's last customers tonight were a couple of weirdos. One of them was wearing one of those round wool Rastafarian-wannabe hats, and stank of weed. His girlfriend looked like a soccer mom, but was speaking absolute gibberish. I seriously walked by and she was looking intently at the guy and saying, “gnarble garble larble barble.” What the fuck? I had to go in the back before I burst out laughing.

They rolled in around twenty minutes to close, plenty of time to drink their beer, eat their munchies, and GTFO. But of course, they chilled out for half an hour past close. Now, usually I'd just think they didn't realize we were closed, or whatever.

But it was carpet-cleaning night, which meant that at about ten minutes to close, a crew of guys started dragging in hoses and equipment. They they moved all the booths and tables, stacking them up on top of each other … and still this couple sat. At 12:25 the cleaning crew finally started running their vacuums at ear-splitting volume, and five minutes after that the couple finally left.

Personally, I'd be very uncomfortable sitting in a restaurant that was being disassembled around me! I'd feel like I was in the way and out of place, like I didn't belong and needed to get out.

Of course, I don't go into restaurants late at night after hot-boxing my car.

The little things that make my job bearable.

2011-05-24T20:19:00.000-07:00

(Sorry about the gap in posts. I try to post every day I work, but I haven't been feeling well the last few days. Always happens this time of year, I get horrid allergy-triggered sinus headaches.)

Last night wasn't anything special in terms of cash flow. Actually, it was pretty disappointing. But it still ranks as one of my best days lately.

First, it was a very smooth shift. I didn't have to put up with Dolly, Tiffany, Snitch, or any of the other pains in the ass who make me want to bitch-slap them every time they open their mouths. We didn't have anyone working who tries to skip out on sidework. We didn't have anyone lazy and uncooperative. That in itself is very rare to have on a shift. The closing crew was Cat-Eyes, Cali Girl, Pot Smoking Manager, and me – perfect.

Second, none of my customers were complete bastards. Again, very rare. I don't remember anyone who made me angry or even irritated. I got decent tips, my lack of income was simply because it was soooo fucking slow.

Third, my favorite customers came in – the guys who left me the condom balloon. They're a damn riot, and I absolutely love when I have time to sit and talk to them. I'd consider them friends now; maybe not share-all-my-secrets friends, but the kind of friends I could call if my car needed a jump or something. So I got to laugh and chat with them for the better part of the night.

And lastly, we were out the door by 12:15! Fuck yes!

What were you expecting, a blowjob?

2011-05-21T01:38:00.001-07:00

I went into work tonight full of hope and the expectation that I might have some good customers and make some money. And one of my earliest tables seemed like a good prospect: two nice-looking guys my age, smiling and polite. One had a beer, another a soda. They both ordered steaks, one with some modifications, the other regular. Their food came out in good time, I checked immediately to see if their steaks were cooked correctly. They were never out of drinks; I dropped their check promptly and took their payment immediately. We didn't talk much, as they were pretty engrossed in their conversation, but it was textbook smooth dining experience. They were in and out in about 30 minutes, during the dinner rush.

When I picked up their credit slip, I saw I'd been gifted a 10% tip and a note that said “service wasn't great, sorry.”

Fuck you.

Perfect dining time.

2011-05-19T04:08:00.000-07:00

Tonight I saw Pot Smoking Manager come back in to the kitchen carrying three plates, trailing Cathy, the Bug, and Tiffany in his wake. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was pissed.

As he came in to the kitchen, he literally threw the plates down on the counter. “The more I think about it the more fucking pissed I get!” I bolted at that point, PSM is scary when he's mad, because you don't expect it from him!

Turns out that Tiffany got it in her head that it was okay to order food. She said she asked “a bunch” of servers and they all told her it was okay. I'm guessing the ones she asked were the Bug and Cathy, because they ordered food too. They were just sitting at a table in the middle of the restaurant, chowing down.

It was seven o'clock. We hadn't even done first cuts yet, and the kitchen still had a full screen. Idiots.

Guest post: A Day in the Life of a Banquet Manager

2011-05-17T01:19:00.000-07:00

Today's quest post comes from The Banquet Manager. If you'd like to join the guest post queue, please email me at slightlycranky at hotmail.com.

The corporate group was not supposed to arrive until late Sunday night so they weren’t expected to want access to any of the meeting rooms until early Monday morning. I knew better, so I scheduled my houseman supervisor and 2 other housemen to be there until 11pm “just in case”.
Well what do you think happened?
Of course 6 “meeting planners” for a 70 person group arrived around 8:30pm Sunday and wanted to inspect the rooms (1 general session and 5 breakout rooms). One person was the main contact, 2 people where there for the F&B, 2 for the sleeping rooms and the last was here just to supervise the transportation.
Just another day in paradise!
All the meeting rooms & a/v were fully setup as per the BEO and spotless in condition. All should be fine, right? WRONG!
We set the room crescent rounds of 6 people each facing the long wall (since there were 2 screens & 2 projectors) but they wanted it facing the short wall. Also, they wanted a stage with a panel seating for 6 people in between the screens. My supervisor told them that this would make the room too long for 12 tables with the front tables around 16 ft from the screen and the rear tables too far back.
But what do we know I guess? So my staff changed the setup to accommodate their wishes and got ready for Monday.
Guess what happened? The last row of tables complained all morning that they were too far from the screen and couldn’t see the bottom information. So during their lunch break, we removed some tables, made the others crescents of 7 people each and tightened them up closer to the screen. As a matter of fact, this setup is exactly what I recommended to the sales manager and group contact during the pre-con meeting the week before!
But again, what do we know!
The other screw-ups:
The kitchen didn’t schedule 2 people for the carving and pasta stations for their Tuesday night dinner so I needed to scramble to get extra waiters in to handle this. I charged it off to the kitchen of course.
Our purchasing manager never ordered the 3 kosher meals for Monday’s lunch. So guess who made a mad dash out to the store around 10:30am that day?
The usual problem with a few sleeping rooms not being the type that was requested (Jr suite vs. dbl). This drove their rooms planner bonkers!
We had the same starch and veggies for Thursday and Friday’s lunch. As usual, the kitchen couldn’t keep it straight for 5 days in a row!
A few late deliveries, some a/v problems, banquet checks having to be redone a thousand times, a thousand and one time changes, and a couple of dirty bathrooms rounded out the week.
But guess what? Banquets ROCKED!
Well I kind of cheated. I learned from the past that you need to take extra precautions when you have a group that is looking for an excuse to get a discount. This makes the meeting planners look good when they can get the clients bill reduced. How else can they justify their existence?
I brought all my waiters in a little early the entire week, had extra housemen on to refresh the rooms and I was on top of the kitchen all week.
I refuse to fail…
P.S. I priced-out the extra labor cost I incurred to make sure the group went off as planned and gave a copy to the Dir of Sales, Dir of F&B, and the GM. If Sales wants to book events like this then all involved must know that it costs extra and this takes away from our bottom line. I’ll try to get it charged back to Sales but I know it won’t happen.
Other than that, I’m very happy with my staff. They did all that was expected of them and more. Another day in paradise.
I guess my job is safe for another day…