"What if the Mayflower......had landed on Fraggle Rock?"
. . . deep.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
that's deep.
Today, while flipping burgers, one of the cooks says to me,
. . . deep.
. . . deep.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
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.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
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..."
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.
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..."
Sunday, February 26, 2012
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.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, February 24, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
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.
"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.
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."
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.
"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."
"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."
Monday, February 20, 2012
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..."
Me: "OHHHH!"
Me: "You'd like pickle for your burger!"
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!"
Sunday, February 19, 2012
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)
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)
Saturday, February 18, 2012
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*
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*
Friday, February 17, 2012
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."
"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."
Thursday, February 16, 2012
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?"
Before I could run away from this sure to be awkward situation, the woman looked up at me in desperateness and shock.
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?"
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
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.
2. Does that item look like a sandwich to you?
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.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
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.
Customer: Excuse me miss, can I have a water?
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?
5 minutes later.
Monday, February 13, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
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?
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?
Saturday, February 11, 2012
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?
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.
Friday, February 10, 2012
pants on the ground.
Late last night I received an email from my manager, Bob, regarding our "Valentine's Uniforms."
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.
"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.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
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.
"Ha... uh... I think I'm stuck!" I stammered awkwardly.
"I hooked one!" the customer shouted.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
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.
"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.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, February 6, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
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?"
"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?"
Saturday, February 4, 2012
TGIF
Friday night is one of the busiest nights at the restaurant, and consequently one of the most stressful. The servers try to keep their cool in front of the customers, greeting them with the most genuine smiles they can muster and asking them how their days are going.
Me: "Good evening! How are you all doing tonight?"
Customer: "Fine thanks, and you?"
Me: (Well, if you really want to know, I'm working a double today and have been here for 9 hours already. I had honey mustard in my hair for 3 of those hours, but no one bothered to tell me, so I'm pretty upset about that. I didn't get a break to eat lunch or dinner, so I slammed some chocolate mousse as fast as possible, which was followed by instant regret and a stomach ache worse than that one time I tried a KFC double down. In addition, the cooks are behind, the kitchen looks like a war zone, and most of the staff are running around more frantically than the Sandiegans in Jurassic Park 2.)
"I'm doin' pretty well, thanks for asking! What can I get you folks to drink?"
Me: "Good evening! How are you all doing tonight?"
Customer: "Fine thanks, and you?"
Me: (Well, if you really want to know, I'm working a double today and have been here for 9 hours already. I had honey mustard in my hair for 3 of those hours, but no one bothered to tell me, so I'm pretty upset about that. I didn't get a break to eat lunch or dinner, so I slammed some chocolate mousse as fast as possible, which was followed by instant regret and a stomach ache worse than that one time I tried a KFC double down. In addition, the cooks are behind, the kitchen looks like a war zone, and most of the staff are running around more frantically than the Sandiegans in Jurassic Park 2.)
* most genuine smile I can muster *
"I'm doin' pretty well, thanks for asking! What can I get you folks to drink?"
Friday, February 3, 2012
soup of the day
Something I've noticed over the past few weeks is that my employer's whole soup-of-the-day offering is kind of a sham.
We have the same soup-of-the-day, every day. So in reality, we offer three soups- two that are blatantly listed on the menu, and one that is titled as the mysterious "soup-of-the-day." I don't know if this is poor planning or good marketing, but solving the soup-of-the-day mystery definitely peaks many customers' interests.
When customers inquire about the soup-of-the-day, I inform them that it is (once again) Chicken Tortilla. This often leads to them replying with the follow up question, "Is it good?"
First of all, what an inappropriate question; do you think I would I tell you if it wasn't? Second of all, I don't know what you like. You could be a fan of dog food for all I know, and in that case the answer would be no, the soup is not good, because I prefer human food over Purina One.
Instead of answering this ridiculous question, I instead describe the soup to the customer.
"Yes!" I typically answer. "It's an orange, cream based, Mexican tasting soup."
Customers can now make a more informed decision, and I've never had a problem with this technique.
Until yesterday. When a Mexican family walked in.
If someone were to ask me what kind of restaurant Taco Bell was, yes, I would tell them that it serves Mexican fast food. In all truthfulness, however, Taco Bell is probably further from authentic Mexican cuisine than the donuts at the gas station, and I would be quite ashamed to describe T-bell to an actual Mexican as "Mexican."
This was kind of like that.
We have the same soup-of-the-day, every day. So in reality, we offer three soups- two that are blatantly listed on the menu, and one that is titled as the mysterious "soup-of-the-day." I don't know if this is poor planning or good marketing, but solving the soup-of-the-day mystery definitely peaks many customers' interests.
When customers inquire about the soup-of-the-day, I inform them that it is (once again) Chicken Tortilla. This often leads to them replying with the follow up question, "Is it good?"
First of all, what an inappropriate question; do you think I would I tell you if it wasn't? Second of all, I don't know what you like. You could be a fan of dog food for all I know, and in that case the answer would be no, the soup is not good, because I prefer human food over Purina One.
Instead of answering this ridiculous question, I instead describe the soup to the customer.
"Yes!" I typically answer. "It's an orange, cream based, Mexican tasting soup."
Customers can now make a more informed decision, and I've never had a problem with this technique.
Until yesterday. When a Mexican family walked in.
If someone were to ask me what kind of restaurant Taco Bell was, yes, I would tell them that it serves Mexican fast food. In all truthfulness, however, Taco Bell is probably further from authentic Mexican cuisine than the donuts at the gas station, and I would be quite ashamed to describe T-bell to an actual Mexican as "Mexican."
This was kind of like that.
Mother of Mexican family:
What's your soup of the day?Me:
Today we have Chicken Tortilla!Mother of Mexican family:
Is it any good?Me:
Yeah! It's...uh....orange... ...soup.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
thanks, but no thanks.
Some of the plates at work are really hot. Instead of burning their hands, most of the servers stow small hot pads in their aprons for carrying the smoldering dishes.
I learned this the hard way.
After multiple blisters from scorching chicken finger baskets and fiery bowls of pasta, I decided I had better locate some hot pads. And stat.
My mother enjoys sewing/quilting, so instead of spending my hard earned wages on work-related accessories, I asked her if she could make me some.
Me: Hey mom? Could you maybe make me some hot pads? I need them for work- some of the plates get really hot.
Mom: Yeah! I have some extra camo material that would be perfect.
Me: ...nevermind.
I learned this the hard way.
After multiple blisters from scorching chicken finger baskets and fiery bowls of pasta, I decided I had better locate some hot pads. And stat.
My mother enjoys sewing/quilting, so instead of spending my hard earned wages on work-related accessories, I asked her if she could make me some.
Me: Hey mom? Could you maybe make me some hot pads? I need them for work- some of the plates get really hot.
Mom: Yeah! I have some extra camo material that would be perfect.
Me: ...nevermind.
Monday, January 30, 2012
How did that even get there?
Today I managed to get ranch in my hair. Too bad it wasn't until after I greeted a group of customers that I realized it.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Suck it
Today a woman ordered a fountain drink. Shortly after I brought it to her, she waved me over and complained that her Pepsi "wasn't strong enough." I presumed she meant that the syrup to soda ratio was not to her liking, so I offered to "remake" it for her. However, like most restaurants, our fountain drinks come out of the soda fountain, meaning they are pre-mixed, and cannot be especially tailored to a customers syrup dilution preferences. I took her old Pepsi into the kitchen, dumped it into a different glass, and brought it to her.
"Ahhhhh," she exclaimed after taking a sip. "SO much better."
"Ahhhhh," she exclaimed after taking a sip. "SO much better."
Friday, January 27, 2012
High Speed Chase
Tonight I had to sprint after TWO different customers that accidentally left their "to-go" boxes on their tables. My job is to serve you your food, not to run across the icy parking lot like a lunatic chasing after you with it.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
How things change.
THEN:
As a child, I loved when the wait staff sang for birthdays.
I felt so special being the birthday girl.
NOW:
As a waitress, I contemplate suicide when the wait staff sings for birthdays.
I feel like punching the birthday girl.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Well now you do.
Me: Can I start you off with a margarita tonight? Or we also have Sam Adams, Miller Light-
Customer: What- do I look like an alcoholic or something?
Me: Haha, no, those are just our promotions! We also have Pepsi products and ice tea.
Customer: I'll have a double shot of Makers Mark then.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Sketchers
Tonight marked day two of training at the new job. So far, so good...except for the uniform. I have no problem with the name badge or giant red promotional button I have to pin on my shirt every day. And in addition to being functional, the apron is even kind of cute.
The required shoes, however, are not.
Half of my first pay check will go towards shoes. Typical girl move, right? Wrong. I am not spending my hard-earned money on fun flats or sexy heels, but instead, Sketchers. Slip-resistant, fugly Sketchers.
Not only have I not purchased Sketchers since I was twelve, but these particular Sketchers cost me SIXTY DOLLARS. Sixty dollars! You know what I could have bought with sixty dollars? A pair of non-Sketchers shoes that don't look like they belong to a fifth grade boy.
The required shoes, however, are not.
Half of my first pay check will go towards shoes. Typical girl move, right? Wrong. I am not spending my hard-earned money on fun flats or sexy heels, but instead, Sketchers. Slip-resistant, fugly Sketchers.
Not only have I not purchased Sketchers since I was twelve, but these particular Sketchers cost me SIXTY DOLLARS. Sixty dollars! You know what I could have bought with sixty dollars? A pair of non-Sketchers shoes that don't look like they belong to a fifth grade boy.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Whole new meaning to chili fries
Me: And what would you like as your side with that?
Customer: Fries. Hot fries.
Me: As in spicy? Orrr...
Customer: No, just hot. I don't want them cold.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Background Research
Orientation for my new job starts tomorrow, and I am determined to be the best dang waitress this place has ever seen. My past four years of classes have taught me that the key to success is being prepared. My past four years of classes through the school of journalism have taught me that being prepared includes background research.
If you google "waitress," your first two hits describe the 2007 film, "Waitress," starring Keri Russel.
IMDB posted a brief plot summary of the film:
"Jenna is a pregnant, unhappily married waitress in the deep south. She meets a newcomer to her town and falls into an unlikely relationship as a last attempt at happiness."
Damn. I thought my life was lousy. While I'm (fortunately) not pregnant or unhappily married, I am a waitress, so I suppose I can relate. Will I meet a newcomer in my town and fall into an unlikely relationship? Unlikely. Is this my last attempt at (job-related) happiness? Yes. I suppose it is.
The next hit on googling "waitress" came up with Wikipedia's page on "Waiting staff." Jackpot. This is the kind of research I went to college for- true investigative journalism.
Bold indicates what is on Wikipedia. Italic indicates my thoughts about it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Waiting staff, wait staff, or waitstaff are those who work at a restaurant or a bar attending customers — supplying them with food and drink as requested. Got it. Traditionally, a male waiting tables is called a "waiter" and a female a "waitress" with the gender-neutral version being a "server." Sounds good. Other gender-neutral versions include using "waiter" indiscriminately for males and females, "waitperson", or the little-used Americanism "waitron", which was coined in the 1980s. Waitron? Wtf.
Waiting on tables is (along with nursing and teaching) part of the service sector, and among the most common occupations in the United States. At least nursing and teaching require a degree... The Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates that, as of May 2008, there were over 2.2 million persons employed as servers in the U.S.
(actual photo on Wikipedia's "Waiting staff" page)
Many servers are required by their employers to wear a uniform. I hope mine doesn't look like that.
On second thought, I kinda hope it does...
The duties of waiting staff include preparing tables for a meal, taking customers' orders, serving drinks and food, and cleaning up before, after and during servings in a restaurant. Silver service staff are specially trained to serve at banquets or high-end restaurants. I work at a bar and grill... They follow specific rules of service and it is a skilled job. Apparently mine is the unskilled kind. They generally wear black and white with a long, white apron.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bikini barista? I followed Wikipedia's second "See also" link for further research. Results, while interesting, proved unhelpful. However, it did introduce me to a whole new industry I was unaware of. It's good to keep my options open- just in case this waitressing gig doesn't work out.
Because both the movie plot summary and Wikipedia article were such insightful and reliable sources, I decided I had satisfied my journalistic thirst for the truth.
My professors would be proud.
And so will my new shift manager.
If you google "waitress," your first two hits describe the 2007 film, "Waitress," starring Keri Russel.
IMDB posted a brief plot summary of the film:
"Jenna is a pregnant, unhappily married waitress in the deep south. She meets a newcomer to her town and falls into an unlikely relationship as a last attempt at happiness."
Damn. I thought my life was lousy. While I'm (fortunately) not pregnant or unhappily married, I am a waitress, so I suppose I can relate. Will I meet a newcomer in my town and fall into an unlikely relationship? Unlikely. Is this my last attempt at (job-related) happiness? Yes. I suppose it is.
The next hit on googling "waitress" came up with Wikipedia's page on "Waiting staff." Jackpot. This is the kind of research I went to college for- true investigative journalism.
Bold indicates what is on Wikipedia. Italic indicates my thoughts about it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Waiting staff
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Waiting staff, wait staff, or waitstaff are those who work at a restaurant or a bar attending customers — supplying them with food and drink as requested. Got it. Traditionally, a male waiting tables is called a "waiter" and a female a "waitress" with the gender-neutral version being a "server." Sounds good. Other gender-neutral versions include using "waiter" indiscriminately for males and females, "waitperson", or the little-used Americanism "waitron", which was coined in the 1980s. Waitron? Wtf.
Waiting on tables is (along with nursing and teaching) part of the service sector, and among the most common occupations in the United States. At least nursing and teaching require a degree... The Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates that, as of May 2008, there were over 2.2 million persons employed as servers in the U.S.
(actual photo on Wikipedia's "Waiting staff" page)
Many servers are required by their employers to wear a uniform. I hope mine doesn't look like that.
On second thought, I kinda hope it does...
The duties of waiting staff include preparing tables for a meal, taking customers' orders, serving drinks and food, and cleaning up before, after and during servings in a restaurant. Silver service staff are specially trained to serve at banquets or high-end restaurants. I work at a bar and grill... They follow specific rules of service and it is a skilled job. Apparently mine is the unskilled kind. They generally wear black and white with a long, white apron.
See also
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bikini barista? I followed Wikipedia's second "See also" link for further research. Results, while interesting, proved unhelpful. However, it did introduce me to a whole new industry I was unaware of. It's good to keep my options open- just in case this waitressing gig doesn't work out.
Because both the movie plot summary and Wikipedia article were such insightful and reliable sources, I decided I had satisfied my journalistic thirst for the truth.
My professors would be proud.
And so will my new shift manager.
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