that's deep.

Today, while flipping burgers, one of the cooks says to me,

"What if the Mayflower...

...had landed on Fraggle Rock?"

. . . deep.

These aren't the droids you're looking for.

The text message alert on my phone is an R2D2 sound bite. Instead of turning the volume off during my shift like we're supposed to, I turn it all the way up instead. I smile every time I receive a text and my confused customers look around for a droid in the restaurant.

hot mess.

Our work schedules are posted online weekly. In addition to their own schedule, the servers can all see eachother's as well.

During a busy shift, I really wanted to know what time I was supposed to work the next day. Because I don't have a smartphone to check, I texted my coworker, Chris, and asked him what time I was scheduled in tomorrow. "4:30 PM" he replied.

"Excellent," I thought, excited I could sleep in. After I got off work that evening, I met up with some buddies at the bar, then went straight to a friend's where I spent the night.

The next morning I was abruptly awakened by my phone's Star Wars ring tone. Half asleep, I pushed random buttons until it stopped blaring at me. A few minutes later, however, the voicemail alert started to sound. "Who is calling me and what do they want?" I wondered as I fumbled through the menu to check my messages.

"Laura, it's Bob," I recognized my manager's voice. "Where are you? You were supposed to open this morning." *click*

"DAMMIT, CHRIS!" I thought as I flew out of bed and started gathering my things. I hadn't planned on going back into work without stopping at home first, and quickly realized I had no toothbrush, no makeup, and only a shirt from the previous night's shift that was covered in ranch spills and mustard splatters. "Oh well!" I thought as I took a quick glance in the mirror at my haggard reflection. "Sympathy tips for sure."

I drove to work as fast as I could, expecting to arrive to a thoroughly pissed off manager. I thought about all the lame excuses I could use for being late, but decided I'd better just tell the truth and admit that I had my schedule wrong. I took a deep breath and opened the door, ready for my manager to rip into me.

I walked up to him, terrified. "I am so so sorry," I started.

"Geeze," he said, almost taken aback. "Are you sick?"

Instead of being angry at my tardiness, he was disgusted by the fact I hadn't taken the time to primp.

"I was late and rushed to get here as fast as I could!" I exclaimed.

My manager looked at me the way you look at a dirty homeless person: half sympathetic, half repulsed. "I guess I should have told you to take the time to shower..."

safety first.

Today a customer ate their entire meal while wearing a helmet. I'm not the biggest fan of our food, but it's definitely not that dangerous.

not amused.

Today a customer tried to order classic bone-in wings on a special that clearly only comes with boneless.

Me: I'm sorry, but that deal only comes with the boneless wings. Would you like me to add a side of classic wings instead?

Customer: *sighs like they're dying* I guess boneless is fine...

Me: Great! And what kind of sauce do you want on those?

Customer: The kind with bones.

water with lemon.

When greeting a table, I usually stick with my go-to salutation of "Hi there! How are you guys doing today?"

It's tried and true, straight to the point, and gets the job done. Occasionally I'll switch up 'guys' with 'ladies' or 'folks' depending on the demographic, and interchange 'today' with 'tonight' depending on the hour. But besides those few tweaks, my greeting is pretty standard.

As you would imagine, the customers' responses to this question are fairly standard as well. 'Good,' 'great,' 'fine,' and 'doin' well,' are all quite common, and typically followed by, "How about yourself?"

While this step of the serving process may seem insignificant, I have learned that the greeting actually sets the tone for the entire meal.

Greeting: Hi there, how are you doing tonight?
Response: Doin' well, thanks!  *smiles* How about yourself?
Forecast: Friendly customers with a chance of fun. Decent tip likely.

Greeting: Hi there, how are you doing tonight?
Response: Fine. *no eye contact* But my table is sticky.
Forecast: Customers are needy with a chance of being assholes. Impatience likely.

Whatever the dinner forecast, I try to give each customer the benefit of the doubt. While I can usually predict who will tip well and who will screw me over, there have been a few occasions where I was surprised.

One type of customer who has yet to surprise me, however, are those who respond to my greeting with their beverage order as if it was their state of being.

Greeting: Hi there, how are you doing tonight?
Response: Water with lemon.

Oh really? I didn't realize a beverage could be a condition! In that case, I'm feeling Diet Dr. Pepper- bubbly... and completely artificial. I don't have 23 flavors, but I do have 23 reasons why I hate my job! You, sir, being number one.

bust a mouth.

We play Top 40 music around the clock at work, and while it usually creates a more exciting environment, it can also get extremely monotonous. After just one shift, I have heard Rhianna's "We Found Love" more times than I would wish upon my worst enemy.

Repetitiveness aside, I typically find myself singing and often dancing to the background music if the volume is turned up loud enough.

This kind of behavior is totally acceptable- until you attempt to bust a move and accidentally elbow a customer in the face.

Whoops.

cat lady

I went straight to work from a friend's apartment only to realize my black uniform shirt was covered in his pet cat's hair.

I did my best to brush it off, but if you've ever had experience with pet hair, you know that getting it off of fabric without a lint roller or duct tape is a near impossible task.

"Great," I thought. "Adding cat hair to my customers' food is definitely not going to improve their dining experience..."

At the end of the night, however, I was surprised at how great I had made out in tips that evening.

I will have to test my theory at a later date, but I'm pretty sure that while the customers were thinking "Oooh she's one of those lonely cat ladies," I was making bank in sympathy tips.

birth control.

I have always loved children, and between years of babysitting and camp counseling, I have gotten pretty good at dealing with their shenanigans. Waiting on their tables, however, is an entirely different and unfamiliar animal.

Yesterday afternoon I started off the day with two tables: a sweet elderly couple and a couple of not-so-sweet kids and their mother. I greeted the latter with a big smile, asking the children their names and telling them mine.

I started with the kids' drink order first, listing off what we had to choose from.

"We have milk, chocolate milk, apple juice, organge juice, lemona-"

"CHOCOLATE!!" the little girl screamed at me at the top of her lungs.

"Well okay then!" I smiled as I felt the glare of other customers' eyes on my back. "Chocolate milk it is! And for you bud?" I turned to the little boy.

"SPRITE!!" he yelled just as loud.

"Is Sierra Mist okay?" I asked.

"Nooooo," he whined like I told him there was no Santa Clause. "I want Sprite!"

"Sierra Mist is fine," his mother interjected. "And just bring me a water with lemon," she snapped.

"You got it!" I faked cheerfulness.

After bringing them their beverages and taking their food order (which went equally as poorly), I vented to my coworkers in the kitchen.

"Go check out table 31... Best birth control ever."

A little while later I brought out their chicken fingers, grilled cheese, and Caesar salad.

"Anything else I can get for you guys?" I asked as I set down their food.

"Yes," the mother replied. "More chocolate milk, more Sierra Mist, and more napkins."

"You got it!" I smiled and turned to walk away.

"Oh, and one more thing," she said as she handed me the saltshaker. "You need to wash this."

I briefly inspected the shaker and didn't see any obvious reason why it needed to be cleaned.

"Is it dirty?" I asked her, puzzled.

"Yeah," she replied, pointing at her daughter. "She licked it."

lost in translation.

Pico de gallo is a mix of tomato, onion, jalapenos, and cilantro. It is a condiment that comes on a few of our dishes, and many people call it pico for short.

Today, the father of a foreign family at one of my tables asked me for some pico for his burger. "Yeah, no problem!" I smiled.

After a trip to the kitchen to fetch the pico, I returned to the man's table with a small bowl of the tomato mixture. "Here you go!" I said as I sat it down in front him.

A disappointed look slowly spread across his face.

Me: "Is there something else I can get for you?"

Him: "Pico. Please."

Me: "More pico?"

Him: "Pico... for my burger."

Me: "Sir, this is your pico..."

*awkward silence*

Me: "OHHHH!"

*light bulb goes off*

Me: "You'd like pickle for your burger!"

gross.

Dear Table 86,

I would prefer you not bring your baby into the restaurant in the first place, but I understand that accidents happen, and sometimes it's hard to find a sitter. If you must, however, dine with your tiny offspring, please know that it is not okay to change its diaper in the booth. It is even less okay to change it in the booth then leave the dirty diaper behind when you're finished eating.

Sincerely,

Your Waitress (who is slowly losing all hope in humanity)

breakfast in the shower.

A policy the managers are pretty strict about is no cell phones. I've already gotten caught a few times while texting, so I've been doing my best to up my mobile sneakiness.

Yesterday when I felt my phone vibrate, I saw it was my dad calling. He knew I was at the restaurant, so I assumed the call was pretty important for him to interrupt me at work. I ducked into the ladies room to answer without getting into trouble.

Me: "Hey I'm busy at work. What's up?"

Dad: "Hi, honey. I'm at Meijer and I saw that you had St. Ive's body wash on your grocery list. What kind do you want?"

Me: "Uh, whatever they have. I don't care."

Dad: "There are just so many kinds here. Why do they even need this much variety? There can't possibly be that much of a difference."

Me: "Just get whatever, dad. I really need to go."

Dad: "Well which do you want? They have oatmeal shea butter, energizing citrus, mineral therapy-"

Me: "I don't care. The oatmeal one. Just get the oatmeal one."

Dad: "Ha! It's like breakfast in the shower. Get it? Oatmeal?"


*click*

Weight Watcher

Yesterday I approached an Asian gentleman to take his order.

"What can I get for you this evening?" I smiled.

"Is dis weight wahcha idem?" he asked as he pointed to a dish on our Weight Watchers menu.

"Yes, it is! The talapia has only 550 calories." I replied cheerfully.

"Ahh, no no no," he shook his head violently. "I want weight! Lot of weight. I enjoy lot of weight."

R.I.P. Whitney

A few days ago, towards the end of a long and tiring shift, I was violently interrupted as I greeted a table of ladies.

"OH... MY... GOD...," a large black woman shrieked as she scrolled through her smart phone.

Before I could run away from this sure to be awkward situation, the woman looked up at me in desperateness and shock.

"Did you know that Whitney Houston DIED today?" she asked in the most dramatic voice possible.

"Ummmm, no..." I replied, not possibly caring less. "I've been here for 9 hours now. I've lost all contact with the outside world at this point."

The lady, now on the verge of tears, looked back at me like I had no soul.

"Uhh," I tried to save face, "Can I get you a drink to take the edge off the news?"

seriously?

A more popular item on our menu includes the words "chicken penne" in its name. Penne, pronounced PEN-AY, is a type of pasta that I thought was pretty well known... until working at a restaurant.

You would not believe how many customers try to order the Chicken Panini while pointing right at a photo on the menu of a bowl of penne pasta.

1. We're not Panera. We don't have Paninis.

2. Does that item look like a sandwich to you?

argh!

Me: Hi there! Can i start you off with a margarita, Sam Adams, or a frozen lemonade today?

Customer: No thanks.

Me: Well we also have Pepsi products, ice tea, coffee, water...

Customer: Mmm I'm okay.

Me: Are you sure I can't bring you just a water?

Customer: No thanks, I'm fine.

5 minutes later.

Customer: Excuse me miss, can I have a water?

are you serious?

After the cooks put the finishing touches on a dish, the plate or bowl of food is placed under the warmers until all the other dishes that go to its same table are ready. The warmers are above a steel shelf about 5 ft high, and stand behind a 3 ft wide steel counter top.

Yesterday my manager, Bob, apparently spilled some kind of salad dressing on himself. I chuckled as I entered the kitchen to find him cursing under his breath and wiping off his tie with a wet rag. After running food out to my customers, I re-entered the kitchen to see Bob drying his tie...by leaning over the counter and holding it under the food warmers.

Well, duh.

Every so often a customer will come in alone, book in hand, and proceed to hang out in a booth and catch up with their favorite characters. I really enjoy these customers, as they are super chill, easy to take care of, and generally good tippers.

In addition to keeping their drinks full, I make it a point to ask them what it is that they're reading. The answer usually includes the title of the book, followed by some small talk about the genre or other works they've read by that author.

I've always liked chatting with my bookworm customers, and was excited when a middle age fellow came in by himself, sat down in my section, and busted out a novel.

Me: Hi there! What are you reading today?

Customer: A book.

Me: ...Oh... *awkward silence*...uh, great! *huge forced smile* What can I get you to drink?

Fudge.

Many of our desserts are are served smothered with hot fudge. I take pride in the fact that the ones I make are served drowning in it.

While this may sound pleasant and delicious, the chocolate sauce can be dangerous.

Again, I learned this the hard way.

While preparing a hot fudge sundae for a customer's birthday dessert, I accidentally squirted a glob of the scolding sauce onto the back of my hand.

Without thinking, I screamed the F word, loud enough for customers to hear, in front of my manager.

Manager: Um, what did you just say?

Me: ... fudge?

pants on the ground.

Late last night I received an email from my manager, Bob, regarding our "Valentine's Uniforms."

"Remember starting tomorrow through Tuesday to wear the Valentines uniform. Red or pink shirt or a white shirt with a red or pink tie with black pants. No T shirts! Any questions ask the Manager. Thanks I know you will look nice!"

1. Thank goodness he sent out a reminder email because I totally forgot.
2. Crap...I totally forgot.

I own two pairs of black pants; one pair that go with the suit I use for interviews that I am not destroying with ranch and honey mustard spills, and another pair that I wore when I worked at Pizza Hut at age 16 that would definitely no longer fit me.

Value World it is, I thought.

The next morning, I woke up at 8 am in order to get my thrift store shopping done before my lunch shift at the restaurant. I walked into Value World with confidence, excited that their clothes are organized by color in addition to being dirt cheap.

After selecting about a dozen pairs of black pants to try on, however, I realized that Value World doesn't have dressing rooms.

...whoops.

With no time to shop around at classier stores, I decided to accept the reality that desperate times call for desperate measures. And in the middle of Value World, at 9 am, I dropped trou- about a dozen times- until I found the perfect black pair of black Valentine's pants.

Hooked one.

Tonight I attempted to give one of my customers the little black book the check comes in. Instead of the graceful hand off that usually takes place in this situation, he clamped down prematurely and my index finger got stuck in the book.

"Ha... uh... I think I'm stuck!" I stammered awkwardly.

"I hooked one!" the customer shouted.

Unnecessary knives.

Tonight a customer was legitimately upset that our restaurant provided him with a fork and knife when he sat down.

"Excuse me," he said with a jerky attitude, "But do these come standard?" he asked, holding up a knife as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen.

"Yes!" I exclaimed cheerfully. "Some people use those to cut their food!"

I smiled and walked away.

whoopsie daisies

After finishing up a long shift last night, I couldn't find my keys anywhere. I asked the bartender, the cooks, the manager, and the regulars; no one had seen a pair of keys. In denial that they were locked in my car, I ordered a beer.

Post-brew, I made my way to the parking lot only to discover what I already knew. Lo and behold, there they were- sitting on my front seat. I tried all the doors, cursed at the world, and headed back into the restaurant where I called my parents and begged them to bring me my spare keys.

The only thing worse than working at a restaurant is not being able to leave once you clock out. The only thing worse than not being able to leave once you clock out is being 22 years old and having to call your mom for a ride.

positive thinking. negative effects.

During a busy shift, my manager, Bob*, decided he would try to diffuse the stressful situation by yelling the word "FUN" at anyone who entered the kitchen.

I don't know if he was excising the power of positive thinking, or had simply lost his mind, but he was definitely making the situation less fun by yelling it.

Idk. But our cheesecake is fantastic.

As I was refilling a customer's drink yesterday, I heard "Excuse me, miss?" from a woman at the table behind me.

"Can I get you something?" I turn toward her and smile.

She immediately hands me a bottle of medication and asks, "Are these chewable?" with a puzzled look.

I look at the bottle, back at the woman, then back at the bottle, shocked.

"Listen lady," I want to say. "If I was a pharmacist, I definitely would not be waiting on your table right now. Do you realize that you are asking medical questions to a waitress at a bar and grill? I don't know if your meds are chewable or not, but you probably need to get back on them ASAP, because you are not making rational decisions right now."

"Ummm..." I smile. "I would say probably not. Can I interest you in any dessert today?"