The early bird gets punished?

This is a story about that awkward moment when you discover your friend has a habit of which you highly disapprove and believe is detrimental to success.

Tuesday morning I served in the Cocktail part of the restaurant. Three servers scheduled, with staggered clock-in times. Pretty standard. While we awaited the third server's arrival, Jackie and I alternated taking tables, as is the routine with only two servers. Cocktail is primarily open seating, but the hosts will still seat the area if needed. 

As I chatted with one of my tables about their orders, I realized that the man sitting alone at table 111 still had his menu but not yet a drink. And that he had been that way for about three minutes. He was Jackie's guest, per rotation, but perhaps Jackie hadn't seen him come in? Or perhaps Jackie talked to him while I was in the kitchen just a moment ago and now she's in there getting his drink? I guess we'll see what happens, I guess.

She emerged from the kitchen and walked right past 111 to drop something off at table 110. Then she walked off, completely ignoring him. Well maybe she thought he was my table? Honestly, it doesn't matter; I mean, it's just one guy. Taking him on as a new table would certainly not put either of us in the weeds. But we need to be clear on the rotation here. Sitting three minutes unattended-to is at least two minutes too long in my book. Neglecting a table is not acceptable.

I walked quickly over to Jackie and spoke to her out of earshot of the tables. "Are you going to take 111?"

"Yeah, I got him. He's just waiting for the rest of the party."

"Oh. Really?" (Now I'm confused.) "I was just wondering, cuz he'd been there a while and I didn't see a drink on the table. But if you got him, then that's good." We parted ways.

I don't know what happened while I was in the kitchen submitting food orders, but when I reemerged I noticed an iced tea on the table. For whatever reason, I caught myself chuckling a bit to see that. Would she have gotten him the tea if I hadn't said anything? Or did she get him the tea just to satisfy me? Who knows.

Only a few minutes later, the rest of his party arrived. Normally, our restaurant has a policy against seating incomplete policies, but (just like the list of side dishes on our menu), most of our policies pretty much get overlooked and ignored. Especially for small parties at lunch when the restaurant has enough open tables to spare one.

Shortly afterwards, it's my turn again. As I take entrée orders from my new guests at 109, in walk three tables almost simultaneously. Our third server is nearly an hour late at this point, so the first will go to Jackie, the second to me, and the third to Jackie. Easy as pie. Now we're each at five tables -- enough to keep us busy and on our toes, but not enough to become overwhelming. I'm not so secretly hoping that our last server doesn't show up. I'd rather be running around to make my money than be underworked, bored, and leaving without enough to make it worthwhile.  

Anywho, this third table is, once again, just one guy. And once again, he is waiting on the rest of his party to show -- this I gathered from the phone call he was making as I walked past. Jackie brought him his menu and silverware and, I'm assuming, was given this news. After she walked away, I kept an eye on his table, this time specifically curious if she would bring a drink without my prompting.

[ photo credit ]

Five minutes later, still no drink on the table. His friend arrives, and they almost instantaneously get back up, walk back to the host stand in the lobby, and ask to be seated on the other side in Dining Room.

Okay, so now I'm really curious. Was the Cocktail area environment not conducive to their working lunch? Doubtful, as many other guests I serve in Cocktail, including some regulars, use our stations as makeshift conference tables. Was the table not big enough? Doubtful again, as two people should have extra room when seated at a four top. I am running out of ideas to release Jackie from blame.

I can't shake the idea the first guy at the table just plain didn't want her as their server because she didn't provide any service other than bringing a menu and silverware in the five minutes he was at her table. Regardless of the reason for his move, the facts remain that twice Jackie refrained from bringing drinks to a table immediately when she found out that the guest was waiting for the rest of his party. I would like to witness this happen a third time, just to confirm my suspicions, but in the words of my mother, "Doing something one time is just that. Doing something two times is starting a habit." I guess this is just a part how she serves.

I caught a bit of a breather at the gossip station host stand right after the men got reseated. I told one of the hostesses what I had witnessed between these tables, and told her that, quite frankly, I was shocked she wasn't bringing them drinks. Host(esse)s may not be directly involved in the dining experience whatsoever once they walk away from seating the guest, but it constantly astonishes me how much information they can absorb about the servers. Her response? An knowing eye roll and an annoyed, "Well that's Jackie for ya!" I shook my head and walked away, not wanting to learn what other faults the hostess could tell me.

As frustrating as serving a party with staggered arrival times can be, I would NEVER make a guest sit at my table for five minutes, or however long, without at least a drink just because the friend is arriving later. To quote a former manager this time, "A guest won't feel like he's being served until he's got something on the table in front of him." [ This is a huge reason why I work to sell appetizers at every table. ] Obviously you know my stance on this issue, but out of curiosity, what do all you servers out there do? If an incomplete party is sat in your station, do you tell the guest(s) that you'll wait to serve them 'til their completion? If so, why? I am most curious!


[ degreed waitress ]

Well, it's finally happened...

A guest angrily referred to me as "that bitch" today.

First time that's ever happened to me! I'm so proud... :)


[ degreed waitress ]

A whole new level of stupid

Today, a fellow server placed an entree in front of the lady who ordered it. One of the side dishes she chose was broccoli cheese casserole.

She looked at it in confused disappointment, then legitimately asked the server why there was broccoli in this broccoli cheese casserole.

She then proceeded to eat the entire casserole except for the broccoli.


[ degreed waitress ]

Something I witnessed today.

This woman has three kids. They’re adventurous kids, sure, but overall, they're not bothering anyone.

Then one of the kids hit another. Hard. Like echoing across the room, hard.

The little boy starts crying from the pain. Totally understandable in my book. But Mother-Of-The-Year here just yells at him to shut up and stop crying.

He can’t stop crying instantaneously [ obviously ], no matter how hard he tries, so MOTY takes off his flip-flop and screams that she will slap his leg with it if he doesn’t stop crying by the count of three. "I WILL HIT YOU AGAIN IF YOU DON'T STOP CRYING! NOW SHUT UP! "

The fuck, lady? How is that remotely logical? How does that even enter your brain as decent parenting?

By all means, you classy, classy lady, PLEASE have more children.


[ degreed waitress ]

This literally just happened....

I’m cut for the night and minding my own business, sweeping my section.

A lady walks over to me from the next section over…

Lady: Could you get me a to-go box for my son’s food?

[ I cannot see her son’s plate from here. ]
Me: Sure! Would you like a large box or a small one?

Lady: Just large enough to put his food in.

Me [ What I wanted to say] : Well, no fuckin duh, lady. Now does he have a lot of food or just a little bit?

Me [ what I actually said ] : Of course, ma’am!

I brought her a large one with a large smile.

[ degreed waitress ]

PREACH IT!

Ladies and Gentlemen,



I would like to direct your attention to the video screen for some good ol' fashioned server ranting :D



THE RESTAURANT Ep #5







I wish I could say that I had anything to do with this, but I cannot. I did, however, watch all 7 of their videos and subscribe. I suggest the same for you!





[ degreed waitress ]

To-Go Tips Galore! -- Tip #7

Okay, so I put you on hold. I realize neither of us wants that. But let's take a second, shall we? Let's think about why. Why did I put you on hold?

The answer really is quite simple  -- Now's not a good time to talk.
 

To-Go Tips Galore! Tip #7: If you want your food, then stay on the line.
 
This is a concept I've touched on before in a previous To-Go Tips Galore! post, but it certainly needs repeating.
 
I only have one computer, you know. I share that computer with my other bartenders. If one of them is ordering food or processing a payment for another guest, I have to wait to use the computer.
 
Please, dear caller, allow me to take two or three minutes to get some other things settled for the people standing directly in front of me, and then you can have all of my attention.
 
I promise I will come back to you.
  
I have two phone lines, and most of the time during the weekend rush, both of them are ringing simultaneously. I could very well be answering a to-go call on the other line while you're on hold.
 
I answer the calls in the order in which they came. So when you decide you've waited long enough, hang up and call back, guess what you've done? You've put yourself at the end of the line again. You're likely going back on hold to wait out a few more minutes.

Together, my fellow bartenders and I are processing the pickup and placement of to-go orders by the people standing right in front of us, serving food and drinks to the bar guests, making drinks the servers have ordered for the restaurant, and acting as our own bar-back, in addition to answering the two to-go phone lines.

And the last thing I, or my bar guests, could possibly want to hear while doing all of this is that God-forsakenly-annoying riiiiiiiiiiiing BEEP BEEP of the to-go lines. Putting a caller on hold solidifies his/her place in line while silencing that haunting noise.
 

[ Side note: a bar guest the other day had the gall to ask us if we could silence the phone ringer. It took everything within me to not retort, "And how do you expect us to answer the phone if no one knows it's ringing?" ]

Now if you've been on hold for ten minutes -- which is extremely rare [ and far more rare than the guests claim is occurring ] -- then, yes,  hanging up and calling back is a good idea, because I have likely forgotten about you in my scurrying about. That's my bad. But seriously, don't yell at me. You chose to call in at 7pm on a Saturday night, or at 12:30 on a Friday afternoon, and so you have to deal with the consequences: longer wait times. What did you think I was doing? Just sitting around, twiddling my thumbs, hoping and wishing that you -- yes, you! -- would deign to call me so that I would finally, finally have something to do??

I cannot tell you how many people offhandedly comment upon arrival, "Well, I was gonna complain about how long you had me on hold for, but then I got here and saw how busy y'all are! I don't know you keep up with all this!"

So what now, you self-entitled jerk? In yo' face!
Maybe you should get your panties untwisted and you won't be so insufferably impatient!
Stand there in awe at my epic multitasking skills!
Revel in amazement at the sheer volume of sales I am conducting by the minute.
Realize that you are significantly less important to me than you had initially presumed.
And be patient in that line 'til it's your turn for my attention.

So there.
:)
 
[ photo credit ]

 
 
Sometimes, our situation is exacerbated when we are extremely busy by the management blocking off one of our to-go lines to help save the kitchen from going down in flames. When the cooks are slammed with the food orders for hundreds of people actually seated in restaurant, adding five or six orders every three minutes or so for someone who's not even here yet can be the straw that breaks the camel's back. My standard, and fairly accurate, "15-20 minutes" quote time becomes "20-25 minutes." But this means that now I have only one to-go line. So if I'm talking to someone on that line, or someone is on hold, then no one else can place any to-go orders. Sure this kills my potential for tips from the lost to-go orders and can irritate some guests, but it maintains the kitchen's ability to function, which, from what I can tell, is pretty darn critical for a restaurant to operate.

This is yet another reason for you to stay on the line! Again, if I put you on hold, I'm coming back! There are anywhere from one to four bartenders working at any given moment, so if none of us can get to you at that precise moment you call, please be patient. My restaurant as a corporation technically does not support the to-go operation, but is forced to tolerate it, meaning that we don't have a designated to-go person. As in, on weekend evening shifts, we have four bartenders: one up to his neck in drink orders for the whole restaurant while two more are drowning in to-go orders, and the fourth is generally acting as the assistant, the "go fer" running the errands the other three need to stay afloat. And somehow between the four of us, we manage to serve our fifteen or so bar-top guests. Despite the corporate anti to-go stance, our store's to-go sales constitute 15% of the entire restaurant's sales. We would not even remotely need a fourth, or even a third, bartender on weekend nights if we had a smaller to-go operation. Even other stores in our chain here in the area would be crippled by the sheer volume of to-go orders that we handle routinely. We have a lot going on.

tl;dr: BE PATIENT, YOU IMPATIENT, ENTITLED JERKWAD. YOUR TIME WILL COME.

[ photo credit ]

 

[ degreed waitress ]

I promise I'm still alive...

What an adventure these past few months have been! What an emotional rollercoaster!

 

I apologize for not having uploaded any posts lately... I know a few followers of mine been hounding me lately for updates (Hermione and Eloise I'm looking at you!).

 

Between starting a graduate school program, moving into a brand new apartment, starting an exciting relationship with a co-worker and falling hopelessly in love, then getting dumped and having my heart ripped out of my chest while still having to see him pretty much every day at work complete with lots of drama, and injuring my hand on the clock while my managers mishandled the situation but thankfully allowed me to file workers' comp, and all sorts of other crazy adventures, this blog hasn't exactly been first on my priority list lately.



I promise to be uploading more posts soon though :-) I can happily say that my time off from posting has led to a nicely growing stockpile of stories waiting to be shared with you.

 

 

I mean, look at that hang loop! That is a niiiice hang loop!
Doesn't it just make you want to secretly slip a soup spoon through it?
Or tie a napkin flag to it?
If you jostle the shirt's wearer, just enough,
and at just the right moment, he won't even feel it.
Minutes of pure entertainment, guaranteed.
 
[ photo credit ]

I shall start with the story of "T-bone," the resident jokester of our serving staff. It is not uncommon to see a server's belt loops or shirt back loop secretly filled with soup spoons as they stand at the computer ordering their tables' food. It's always entertaining to see how long it takes for people to notice the spoons hanging there delicately.

 

 

 

Apron strings are a never ending source of entertainment as well...
....untying them...
...tying them in super-knots...
...tying them to someone else's apron strings...
...tying straws to them...
...tying napkins to them...
...tying spoons to them...
Need I say more?
 
[ photo credit:
T-bone's careful handiwork,
an inattentive server at the computer,
my phone's lovely camera,
and an absentee manager
so I didn't get caught with my phone out at work ;) ]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or other simple, tried-and-true pranks, like asking for unnecessary favors from fellow servers... having them deliver cocktail sauce to a party eating chicken tenders, or a ranch to a table that hasn't even been sat. Confusion breeds hilarity. Or my personal favorite, T-bone once convinced a new, ditzy coworker that we serve a side of peanuts (the chopped, dessert-decorating kind) with every unsweetened iced tea. Standing by and watching these events transpire is always quite entertaining, and usually they are taken in stride by the prankees. Well 9 times out of 10, at least...

 

T-bone took his pranking to a whole new level last weekend, though.

 



Not quite, but almost!
 
[ photo credit ]



One of the tall tables in the cocktail room that night had a party of one gentleman who was, based on appearance only, generating much kitchen-gossip as he was undoubtedly a pimp. In his fifties probably, he definitely stood out in his shiny leopard print shirt, tiger-striped hat, extensive gold jewelry, and oversized fur coat. Just give him a cane and a hoe or two, and the image is complete.



He walked towards the exit where he cornered Yasmin, our exotically beautiful Panamanian new manager. He chatted her up, and from head to toe, her body language screamed "uncomfortable." She deftly retreated, uttering her friendly "Thank you for coming in tonight. Have a good evening," but not before he slipped her a little scrap of paper, asking her to call him sometime.

 

She scurried back to the back of the restaurant, and into the managers' office, and I scurried after her, barely concealing my laughter until we were out of sight.

 

I followed her into the office where I collapsed in hysterics and Yasmin threw the paper almost angrily into the trash can. The other managers laughed sympathetically as we shared the story. Joseph the manager (not to be confused with server/bartender Joseph) pulls the scrap out of the trash can once he learns of it and unravels it.  

 

"You have to call this number, Yasmin," he says, reading the words she had not read. "You have to settle this right now." He smiles slyly, and pushes the phone towards her. In leaning foward, I catch a glimpse of the pimp's "name" -- Cat Daddy --  and his phone number. And I double over in laughter all over again, not only at the ridiculous name, but also now at the realization that the phone number listed is that of our own restaurant. If Yasmin had called it, she not be contacting a pimp, but rather the host staff she oversees.

 

Turns out, T-bone had orchestrated the whole thing. "Cat Daddy" returned to his table and grinned good-naturedly as he watched as many of our servers who now knew of the situation blatantly came out to the cocktail room to see this pimp for themselves and bust out laughing unashamedly. Once Yasmin calmed down from her embarrassment, she too joined the laughter, and even admitted to both Cat Daddy and T-bone that it was a funny prank.

 

It's the little things that make this job worthwhile sometimes :)

 

 

[ degreed waitress ]

Not sure if i should be proud of this...

I'm a little too skilled at tying my tie while driving.

[ degreed waitress ]

Drop a ramekin in the trash can?

Well, that sucks. Cuz it's gone forever now.

This hasn't changed in months.

Actually, probably years.

To-Go Tips Galore! -- Tip #6

I'm sure we've all looked at a restaurant's menu and found that *one* entrée that you would just love to get...... if it didn't have mushrooms.... or pineapples... or peanuts... whatever the case may be.

Perhaps you're allergic to the item. Perhaps you just plain don't like it.

Perhaps you're vegetarian and need to find a dish without any meat. Perhaps you're super vegetarian and need to find a dish without any chicken broth, bacon grease, or meat-related bases or flavors.

Some dishes you would need to avoid completely because they can't be modified in the way you would want. Some dishes can be modified easily, simply by clearly communicating your wants and needs to your server.

Whatever the case may be, it is your right and privilege to ask these questions of your server. It is the server's responsibility to know the answer. Or, if he doesn't know it immediately and with complete certainty, it is his responsibility to get the answer to you as soon as possible.

But here's the catch... ask informed questions. Asking vague questions gets you nowhere. Asking informed questions gets you answers.

There is a key difference between asking your server something completely vague, "What's good here?" and asking something slightly more specific, "What's your favorite dish?" The more specific, the better: "What's your favorite dish with grilled chicken?" Bingo. Get ready for a good conversation on the dinners available with grilled chicken, as well as a personalized recommendation.

The more information your server has about your food interests, the better he can tailor his suggestions to you. That is a key part of the service he provides in being a waiter. He can't help a customer pick a meal nearly as adequately without some cooperation from the customer herself. Otherwise, he's just going to resort to promoting the special of that day or week regardless of how much it would interest you, simply 'cause management told him to promote it -- or bribed him to, by means of competitions and prizes.

The question-asking scenarios get a little rougher when there's a pair of telephones in between the customer and the server, though. Usually that's 'cause the customer hasn't looked at a menu anytime recently [ but I've discussed this before ]...

To-Go Tips Galore! #6: Ask informed questions.

Here's a bright idea..... THINK!!!

[ photo credit ]

Regardless of the situation, I once again implore customers, especially those who place to-go orders via phone, to please take a few minutes to prepare your order -- including your questions -- before picking up the phone.

Want some [ unfortunately ] real examples from my daily experiences?

** "Uhh, yeah, hey, can I get a chicken salad?" is NOT acceptable.
[ All entrée salads have chicken on them. Unless specifically ordered otherwise. ]

** "What kind of chicken salads y'all got?" is NOT acceptable.
[ Same reason applies. Plus, If you just waited nearly five minutes on hold to talk to me, you can safely assume that I am busy helping other people. So why the hell would you think it's okay to ask me to explain the menu to you? ]

** "What sides y'all have?" is NOT acceptable.
[ With our recent new menu rollout, I now have nearly two dozen side dish options, including the price upgrade options. And the number of sides you get -- not to mention the prices -- varies depending on the category of entrées and sides selected. You're just going to order Fries and Broccoli Cheese Casserole anyway, so quit wasting my time asking me to list them all. ]

** "What is the size difference between the lunch and dinner portions of catfish?" IS acceptable.
[ One fillet versus two fillets. ]

** "Is the bourbon glaze spicy?" IS acceptable.
[ And no, it is not. It is, however, totally awesome. ]

** "Is it possible to add an extra breast of grilled chicken to that Alfredo pasta?" IS acceptable.
[ And yes, it is possible. Only $1.99 more. ]

** "What does the 'loaded' for your 'loaded baked potato' mean?" IS acceptable.
[ Butter, cheese, and sour cream. "No ma'am, no chives... No, we don't even have chives, ma'am... There won't be any chives on your baked potato whatsoever... No chives, I got it." ] 

** "What do you mean 'loaded' don' come wit' bacon bits?! You serious I gotta pay 79 sint fo' bacon? Das crazy. Everywhurr else put bacon on dey potatoes! Nu-uh, I ain't payin' no extra fo' bacon bits!" IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.
[ If you want free bacon on your baked potato, go to a restaurant with bacon as part of their 'loaded.' *cough*Chili's*cough* Have fun making up for it by paying more for any of their entrées than you would have for any of ours. ]


[ degreed waitress ]

Exciting news!

To the few of you who care,
 
I have launched a Confessions of a Degreed Waitress Tumblr account.
 
Y'all should totally check it out.... or better yet, follow me!



Here's my first post:



When people find out I've been waiting tables with a college degree for two years

 


[ degreed waitress ]

No, honey, that's not what I mean.

That awkward moment when you tell your GM that you haven't applied to that corporate job you were interested in just quite yet,

because you should be hearing back any day now from the graduate school program you applied to,

and it would require moving 300 miles away in less than two months,

...and she somehow still believes you'll be coming back to work for her after you're done with school.




[ photo credit ]
 


[ degreed waitress ]





To-Go Tips Galore! -- Tip #5

Again with the [ not so ] common sense.

To-Go Tips Galore! Tip #5: Pick up the menu. Before you pick up the phone.

Oh, and read it, too.

I've given this example before, but asking me for a side of macaroni and cheese when that side is listed absolutely nowhere on our menu is just plain stupid.

[ There is a rare exception to this statement: If you know -- and you know for absolute certain -- that there is a "secret menu item" -- an item regularly served yet not listed on the menu -- then you may, of course, order this item. ]

Telling me you want "that baked fish plate" is not only as far from helpful as you could possibly be, it is also a guaranteed way to make me hate you. I do not want to play "20 Questions" over the phone, but I swear people MUST think that I do because I have this exact conversation almost word-for-word at least three times a week:

Me -- How may I help you?
Caller -- I wanna get that baked fish plate.
Me -- We actually don't bake our fish. We have grilled and fried, though.
Caller -- Grilled, then.
Me -- Okay, well we have salmon, catfish, tilapia, and shrimp. Which would you like?
Caller -- I don't 'member which one it was, but it was grilled and on, like, a bed of rice.
Me -- Well, we actually serve each of them that way, but--
Caller -- Oh, hmm, well I guess, hmm, yeah, you can get me the grilled catfish.
Me -- Would you like the lunch or dinner portion?
Caller -- Dinner.
Me -- And would you like that with lemon pepper seasoning or blackened with Cajun spices? [ awkward silence of decision making ] Or perhaps one fillet of each?
Caller -- Blackened.
Me -- Okay, and what will your sides be?
Caller -- How many ya'get?
Me -- Two.
Caller -- Umm, I guess, hmm, I guess you can get me some fries. And what other sides y'all got?
Me -- [ lists over 15 side dish options ]
Caller -- I guess, get me some macaroni and cheese.



I die a little inside with each occurrence of this conversation.

[ photo credit ]

99% of the time, I am far too busy to spend two full minutes going back and forth on one entrée. Just do me a favor, pretty please? [ It's super easy, I promise ]

READ. THE. MENU.

Guess what?! It's even online!

That way, you can tell me very succinctly that you'd like the "Dinner portion of the Blackened Catfish with sides of x and y."

And guess what?! Now I don't hate you!

See how much easier that was?!?


[ degreed waitress ]

Wait, when did jalapenos turn into sexism?

Around 3:45 on Wednesday, a server brings a stack of boxes down to the to-go end of my bar. One of the side house salads fell off the stack, spilling rabbit food onto the floor area just in front of the sink and trash can. He apologizes and says he's going to get a new salad and help clean up the fallen one. [ wanna guess which task he didn't do? ...P.S. either way, your guess is right.]

[ photo credit ]

Around 3:50, a man walks in and sits down in the to-go area. In fact, his spot at the bar is directly over the sink.  I'll call him Statler. [ The resemblance was uncanny! No, seriously! If that Muppet were human... ] Statler is oozing discontent from every pore, and I am not looking forward to whatever interaction is to come. He tells me he'll be placing a to-go order, and that he needs a menu. As he glances over it, I continue to tidy up and wipe down any surface I can reach.

A few minutes later, Statler says he's ready to order -- every guest's favorite lie. We only make it to the second item -- the Trio Sampler appetizer -- before he has to look at the menu again to actually choose the items that would make up the trio. Yeah. "Ready," my ass.

He looks down and furrows his brow in decision-making. This decision should take 10 seconds max. But no, apparently this is some sort of critical ordeal that must be reasoned out thoroughly. After about 20 seconds of standing there in awkward mutual silence, I am quite tempted to walk off and just leave him to his thoughts. Let him call me over when he's actually ready. But there's no way of doing that without appearing rude. Sigh. Looks like I get to just stand here. Awkwardly waiting. Knowing Raymond will walk in any moment. And all I want to do is get things clean for him.


[ photo credit ]

"I know!" my brain exclaims, "I'll clean up this lettuce! Cleaning without walking away -- excellent! self-five!*" I squat down pick up most of the lettuce, stand up, and drop them leaf things into the trash can. I squat back down to pick up the rest of the tidbits, when lo and behold! he's finally ready. Ugh, awkward timing.

"Okay! What can I get ya?" I ask from the ground. I finally finished picking up all the lettuce, threw it away, and washed my hands in the sink while he anwered my question. He lists his choices, tell me he wants no jalapenos anywhere on or near his nachos, and then lists all the dipping sauces he wants. Yay for full and complete orders! :) I dry my hands, place the order, and bring him a complimentary glass of sweet tea while waits. 

About those jalapenos, though.... guess what button I completely forgot to press?

** ding ding ding, we have a winner!

Well, technically I did press the "no jalapenos" button. But there were so many other modifications that the guy made, and the Squirrel [ our computer system ] was being so, well, squirrely [ per usual ] that I had to delete and re-do several of the modifiers so many times that, by the third go-round, I didn't notice that I'd inadvertently left off the jalapeno directive.

I thought nothing of it again until about 15 minutes later [ about 4:10pm ] as I opened the box in front of the guest to show him the finished product.

"Oh, no! Jalapenos! I am so sorry. I'll go get this fixed right now."

I picked up the box, grabbed the order's ticket, and started towards the kitchen. I snuck a look at the ticket to see if the mistake was my fault or the kitchen's. The words "no jalapenos" were nowhere to be found. Damn. It was mine.

"Wait," he snapped. "I don't want them to just take off the jalapenos 'cause it'll still have the hot on there."

In my head, I totally snickered. First of all, "hot" isn't a noun. Secondly, how intolerant to jalapenos ARE you? These really aren't that hot. But, hey, in his defense, he is old and white. Also in his defense, I did say "I'll go get these fixed." My words did not adequately reveal my plan of action -- whether I would have the cooks simply pick off the jalapenos or have the cooks completely restart the nachos.

"Oh no, sir," I corrected. "I'm going to have them make fresh nachos for you."

"Well, how long is that gonna take?"

"Only a few minutes."

Since it is well enough after 4 o'clock, it would actually take less time to make the nachos the second time around than it did the first time; 4pm is the clock-in time for the first wave of PM shift cooks and by now they've completed their shift change and are settled into position. Prior to that -- as when I first placed Statler's order -- there are only 2 cooks left from the AM shift, so things take just a few minutes longer. But of course I didn't get the opportunity to explain that the recooking would take far less time than the original cooking.

[ Also, about this time, Raymond appeared behind the bar out of freakin' nowhere, till and towels in hand. Damn. I am so not ready for him. ]

"No, no. It's going to take too long. The rest of the order is going to get cold!" Statler protested. "I want the whole thing remade."

My face dropped and my eyebrows shot up. I put the box of nachos down on top of the other three boxes of food and braced myself against the bar. "You want us to remake the entire order, not just the nachos?" I repeated slowly. Not gonna lie, I had a little attitude in my voice. Somehow I held myself back from blurting out, "IT'S TO-GO FOOD, DUDE. IT'S GOING TO BE COLD ONCE YOU GET TO WHEREVER YOU'RE GOING ANYWAYS." Yay for self-restraint!

"Yes, I want you to remake the order," he repeated.

"Alright --" I quickly snatched up the entire stack of food. "-- I'll go throw all of this away for ya," I snapped at him through a thin veil of politeness. I turned and walked away, only getting about two steps away before he stopped me, "Now, you wait a second. I wanna talk to your manager. Bring him over for me." He motions towards Raymond who is completely oblivious to my situation, as he is currently in his I-need-45-minutes-of-silence-when-I-first-walk-in-to-my-shift bubble, an is walking away from the bar and towards the kitchen. "Hah!" I thought. "He thinks Ray is a manager. Can't he see that Ray is wearing the exactly the same uniform I am?" Whatever.

"Sure, I'll get a manager," I actually said. And resumed walking.

The only "manager" available at the time was Jackie, a Floorwalker. [ A Floorwalker is an experienced and trusted server promoted to assist the management on a shift-by-shift basis. Floorwalkers dress professionally like a real manager, interact with guests as if they are a real manager, and essentially act as the bosses' filter, as they have the authority to handle the more minor issues ]. Luckily, Statler won't know that Jackie isn't a real manager. I explained the situation to her -- including the fact that the error was my fault and that I gave Statler an inappropriate amount of attitude. Jackie set out to handle my mess, and I instructed the cooks to start again on the order with no jalapenos whatsoever.

I avoided the conversation between the two of them so that I could cool myself down a bit and focus on the rest of my cleaning. Plus, Statler stood up to tower over Jackie when she approached -- between his height [ and her lack thereof ], his attitude, and his overall demeanor, he looked quite formidable. Throughout the conversation, Jackie's face showed a mix of helpless and flabbergasted, with a side of trying-to-maintain-her-composure; I couldn't help but wonder what was being said. Ten minutes later, and Statler's food finished before he did. Raymond silently bagged up the boxes, and watched as Statler left. Luckily, Jackie filled me in on what I'd missed.

He told her everything she already knew about the situation -- the jalapenos, the attitude. He also mentioned that he thought that I'd been washing my hands in a dirty sink because he saw the lettuce on my hands. *false* Furthermore, he claimed he was afraid to get his order remade because he didn't want us to mess with his food. He thought that I would spit in his food before I walked out of the kitchen. *also false*

The conversation quickly changed course, though, when Statler exclaimed that "Ever since she [ motioning towards me ] and that big one [ referring to one of my bartender friends Sybil, another thick white girl like myself..... but taller and thicker ] started working back there, this bar has "gone to shit." *definitely false* He continued with more rather sexist comments for the majority of the conversation, all leading up to his final statement, "I don't know why they let you people behind the bar anyways!" -- complete with a condescending sneer and a direct point towards Jackie's chest.

The entire time, Jackie was trying ineffectively to get a word in edgewise. Each attempt of "Sir--," "I underst--," "Well--," "I apologize--," etc. was interrupted with the next part of his tirade or with an even more infuriated, "No you do NOT understand! How can you? You keep interrupting me! You're not even listening to what I am saying. This is not how you talk to a customer." He trampled all over her, then took his fresh food and left the restaurant without paying. [ Jackie's exact words? "Basically I just bent over and took it." ]

Jackie trudged jaw-dropped back to the office and related the story to our Kitchen Manager Melissa and myself. Melissa became infuriated when she heard the story. Forget about Melissa's perfect blond hair -- with her fire, I'd swear she was a natural redhead like me. I seriously would have paid money to see her talk to Statler. But, alas. Her outburst was only for our ears.

"Why didn't you stand up to him, Jackie?!? You don't have to let him talk to you like that! Oh, I wish I had been the one who talked to him. I would have given him a piece of my mind!"

Jackie mumbled and bumbled something about "didn't know we could talk back to a customer..."

Melissa is pacing the three square feet of open space in the office. "We have the right to refuse service to anyone. And when someone makes a personal attack against our employees, I don't think we should take that! ...I mean, seriously, half of our bartenders are female. You're a female. Most of the other Floorwalkers are female. Three out of our five managers -- including our General Manager -- are female! We need to stand up to that kind of shit! I would have told him that if he can't be respectful, then he should take his sexist business elsewhere, that he and his money were no longer welcome in our restaurant!"

Jackie blinked as if she were about to crumble under her guilt of not having stood up for me. And for all of us.

Naturally, I turned to my phone and posted a snarky Facebook status:
"Didn't realize that I was born with the wrong genitalia to be competent behind a bar. Whoops. My bad."

My favorite responses?
"What dude goes to a bar to get waited on by a dude?"
followed by, "It's not like we're stirring the drinks with our junk..."

*le sigh* What an ordeal. I don't even know what to make of it all.


[ degreed waitress ]

Why are teenage hosts always idiots?

10:45 AM

A guy comes to the restaurant to eat this morning. But we're not open yet. So the host cracks open the door and says, "Sorry, we're not open yet."

"Okay. What time do you open?"

*pause*

The host backs up a few steps and leans into the cocktail room. "Hey, what time do we open?"

I blink at him.

Never mind that the front door clearly states the hours of operation in full view of both guys.... not to mention it's also listed online....

Never mind that one of the first things they make you memorize on your first day of New Hire Orientation is our hours of operation....

Never mind that you have worked here for a couple months now....

Never mind that you are the host and it is your job to open the doors for the guest and greet them all morning....

"11:00," I answer him.

"Okay, thanks!"

And he goes back to the front door to tell the guy.

Seriously, dude?


[ degreed waitress ]

Why are coworkers always drama magnets?

We may only have a handful of bartenders here, but man, they sure are a handful.

His Royal Highness Raymond

[ photo credit ]

Raymond is our head bartender. He has worked for our little slice of heaven for over 12 years now. Longer than nearly all other staff, including most of our managers. He calls the shots about his schedule, he maintains the restaurant's alcohol inventory, and he essentially has the management eating out of his hand. [ Especially since one of our managers totally has the hots for him -- "mmm, I swear, if we weren't both taken!" ]

With Raymond, respect is not given -- only earned. I mean, at the rate that servers break free and run screaming from this place quit or get fired, he's likely worked with several, several hundred people who no longer so much as cross his mind. You need to prove you're worth his time. It took me snapping back at him when he was being a ridiculous prick [ but then again, that's nearly every day ] for him to actually see me as a person, not just a nameless server.

Having spent over a decade bartending at the same location, let's just say he's built up a few regulars. I have come to know many of them myself; in fact, I've got a couple dozen people's normal drink and food orders memorized, but my "dozens" is only the tip of the Raymond iceberg. I am completely not even remotely kidding when I say that in EVERY. SINGLE. SHIFT. there is at least one guest who'll ask me, "Where's Ray?"  "Is Ray not workin' tonight?"  "Does Ray still work here?" etc. [ Every Friday and Saturday, fellow bartender Sybil and I place bets on how many "Where's Ray?" comments we'll drudge through as we work without him ].

"Okay, well, will you tell Ray that [ insert guest's name here ] said hi? He'll remember me."  "Yes, of course," I lie. What's crazy is, he would remember them. Any of them. You know those scenes in TV crime dramas where the police interview the bartender and get the guest's entire life story which gives them the exact lead they need to solve the crime? Before I started working here, I'd never found that to be realistic. The "I-know-everybody Bartender" just struck me as a deus ex machina for the stuck writer.

Nope. He's real.

And in Raymond's case, he's also a total clean freak. One who is easily aggravated at walking in to a mess. Or anything less than perfectly spotless. And by the way, "easily aggravated" is putting it nicely. He's so nitpicky about it that his cleaning towels are always neatly folded in fourths at all times.

When I bartend lunch shifts, Raymond comes in at 4 o'clock to replace me. So essentially, by around 3 o'clock I've devolved into a nervous wreck, hustling here and there to the epic crunch-time theme song playing in my head, cleaning all sorts of things, praying that by the time he arrives, he can flash me his calm, almost-smile and utter his almost-whispered approval, "Looks good, babe." Then, our group of daily regulars [ captained by a spunky grandmotherly type woman whom Raymond calls "Mom" -- cuz, yeah, they're that close ] who arrive shortly after Raymond does, will high-five me behind his back and quietly exclaim, "Way to go, girlfriend!" And, more importantly, the entire evening shift of servers will be spared Raymond's wrath at my mistake [ from then on, though, they're on their own ].

Ramona the Daytime Fight Starter


[ photo credit ]

How do I begin with Ramona? Well, she certainly doesn't "play well with others." Weekday lunch shifts are staffed by only one bartender. Until she recently changed her schedule, Ramona worked every single weekday. By herself. She is very capable of doing so, don't get me wrong, but after three years [ at least ] of working nothing but shifts all by herself, let's just say that she's not much of a team player. We're supposed to split tips pretty evenly, but she sometimes takes a little more than her share. She tries to boss people around, and she only takes on the tasks she wants to take on, and when she wants to take them.

Like the rest of us, she'll bust her ass to clean thoroughly and get all of her prep made before Raymond comes in to replace her. Cuz we don't want to get in trouble. But does she put forth that kind of effort on the days that Sybil or I replace her? Not even remotely. It is beyond frustrating. And then, in the hectic transfer of open tabs and register tills, she'll try to get away with doing as little as possible. She'll have procrastinated on her side work just enough so that she's usually able to sneak out having skipped a few tasks. Or she'll conveniently forget to pay for the food she ordered for herself, leaving us to cover her bill. It just pisses us off every time, because quite frankly, it's not my job to do her job for her. This past Friday, for instance, I arrived at 4 PM to replace her, only to find the bar looking like Oklahoma after them tornadoes, and, although she left at 4:30, I was still doing her side work in my spare time until 6:30. That is NOT okay.

Back when I was a server, Ramona and I used to hang out with some frequency. She can be fun to spend time with outside of work, grabbing a couple of beers, venting about rude guests, gossiping about who's "secretly" dating who these days. Nothing you tell her can remain in confidence, as she'll blab any secret she knows, and asap. I swear, 30% of her time at work is spent gossiping about coworkers [ I know, I know.... pot, meet kettle ] or recounting a story about recent crazy escapades. She's one of those chicks who says she hates drama but, in reality, constantly perpetuates it.

She always speaks bluntly -- often to the point of being rude. And she's so quick to claim the description of bitch that you instantly realize how proud she is of that title. She looks forward to starting a fight with other chicks, as is evidenced by, well, getting into fights with other chicks nearly every time she gets trashed at a bar.

Even guests notice how unfriendly she can be. Sybil and I have gotten numerous comments on the subject -- most recently, "I'm glad that other girl bartender wasn't working today. She's not all that nice. Like, she's good and all, but she doesn't really interact well with the customers. You two are much nicer to deal with. You've got more positive personalities, you're much friendlier."

Ramona woke up one day recently and realized that being the daytime bartender at a cheap restaurant wouldn't cut it much longer for this divorced and newly single mother of three. So she decided to go back to school, but daytime classes cut back her daytime work hours too much and there went her income. So she picked up a nighttime bartending job at the little "Irish" pub across the street. Which means that now she is thoroughly exhausted from balancing two jobs, school, kids, their school, their extracurriculars, etc., and spends about 20% of her time complaining how tired she is. Unfortunately for us, she makes great money there [ as in, she can make in one night what it would take me nearly all week to make ], so the next 20% of her time is bragging about making SO MUCH MONEY. [ seriously, girl, if you're not going to hire me over there, then stfu :) ]

Then Ramona and her fiancé broke up [ the poor guy finally came to his senses, I guess? ], and she's been doing nothing but going crazy ever since. She's slept with infamous manwhore at work, slipped back into druggie circles, is drunk and partying more than usual [ which is saying something ], lying about her kid possibly breaking his arm to get out of work, no-call-no-show-ing to our restaurant [ but showing up just fine to her other bar later that night ], and showing up over an hour late to her shift... several times.

Basically, she went from a pain in the ass to impossible to be around.

Now, my math will show that only 30% of her time remains in which to actually do her job. And in most cases, I'm sure that wasting 70% of your time while on the clock would get you fired... But it seems Ramona is best friends with our GM, so she's safe.

lucky bitch.

Sybil the Nighttime Soap Opera Star


[ photo credit ]

Sybil overanalyzes every detail of every relationship, making mountains out of molehills. She's another one of those drama perpetuators who "hates" drama -- there are NO secrets with her, even if the secret-teller makes it clear that the conversation is to held in complete confidence. She overshares the trials and tribulations of her rollercoaster love life, to the point of alienating one of her closest friends who just got tired of hearing about it. If she's in a good mood, she's goofy and fun to be around. If she's not, well then, stand a few feet back, cuz it'll be ugly. I often times find her to be unnecessarily harsh -- example: a server is picking up two margaritas, one with a salted rim and one with a sugared rim, and he asks which is which. Sybil gave him such an ugly "Are you dumb?" look and sneered in annoyance, "Just look at them, dude. Can you not see the difference in the granules?" [ okay, yeah, it was a dumb question, but was that lashout really necessary?? ]

Essentially, Sybil and Ramona are two queen bees trying to coexist peacefully in the same hive while still subtlely vying for the position of queen supreme. They won't admit it plainly, but I think that each of them has the goal of getting the other fired.

Needless to say, most "that bartender had a bad attitude" complaints are regarding either Sybil or Ramona. Usually in those cases, I can sweep in behind them with my cheerfulness [ it's a superpower, I swear ] to pick up the pieces of the guest's experience [ and to salvage some sort of tip ].

90% of the time, Sybil is quite friendly. Certain notes her voice hits strike me as fake, to be honest, but hey, gotta make that money, honey. Sybil certainly won't waste her time engaging in extracurricular conversation, as it were, with a guest whom she knows won't tip. [ I have that bad habit... ]

Sybil and I work together really well though. Like, really well. Like, guests comment on it. Often. I can tell what she is doing and what she will be doing next, and vice versa. We know which guests I should approach and which guests she should. We have different styles of operations sometimes, but we are in constant communication and contact. Sybil is by far my favorite to work with during the actual shift.

Sybil and I actually hang out, too. Often. Sure, I realize she's not the healthiest of friends to keep around me, but she's just so much fun! It's a friendship developed out of convenience, tbh, but substantial, nonetheless.

[ p.s. she's totally my pick for queen supreme ]



[ photo credit ]

Joseph -- Speedy Gonzales

Joseph is probably the only bartender who prefers serving to bartending. As far as I can tell, that's just because he has an impressive number of regulars who want to sit in his section [ and tip him well ] but won't do so if he's behind the bar. Therefore, he only bartends two nights a week and in emergencies.

Joseph is definitely fun to work with, but he is also definitely selective in the guests he will and won't approach at the bar -- again, it's just hard to spend time on someone who you know will not tip you at the expense of augmenting your relationship with someone who actually will.

I don't know how he does it, but Joseph has some ninja skills when it comes to making drinks. He can knock out a dozen drink tickets far faster than I can, and he can clean the bar during closing twice as fast as I could even dream of being able to do. In the last hour of operation, we usually shift into a system of me interacting with all of the guests and him getting a head start on cleaning. It's a beautiful system.



[ photo credit ]

Alexander -- All over the place

It's a little hard to describe Alexander as a bartender these days. Because he's also a server. And an expo. He only has one bar shift a week, plus emergencies, and it is a shift I do not work. Back when we did work a shift together, he was my favorite. Genuine friendliness, giggles and grins, and all that jazz. Without all the drama. It's a breath of fresh air.

Nate -- Most Fun to close with

Nate also splits his schedule with serving tables. He's a bit single-focused and calm compared to me, as I am quite ADHD and chatty, but he works very well with Sybil and me. I don't think he's got real lead bartender potential just yet, but he is certainly a fantastic assistant bartender.


[ photo credit ]

I get to work with him Saturday nights and together we close the place down --with some assistance from his girlfriend/babymama, the hostess-turned-server Jenn. Once the last guests finally leave, we turn the restaurant music up ridiculously high and just jam out while cleaning. The two of them finally show their true colors, and they are so loud, spunky, and gregarious that we have more fun than should be allowed for cleaning and closing. In fact, we usually don't even notice that its taking us half an hour or even a full hour longer than it would with Joseph or Sybil in place of one of us. Nate's definitely my favorite to close with.

Jack -- Oh. Dear. God.

Jack is very difficult to work with. He operates efficiently as if in a tunnel, focused solely on the singular task at hand. That's fine when we're not busy -- but when we are, we all need to be multitasking. Which is something that he can hardly handle.

Here's the interesting thing about Jack. He quit like months ago [ he pretty much just cuts hair full time now. ], but we don't have enough fully trained and adequate bartenders to cover shifts should one or two need off at an inconvenient time, so our management just calls him in to cover shifts as needed.

I hate when he is needed.

This is me when I see Jack's name on the schedule...

[ photo credit ]

He doesn't understand simple aspects of clear communication between the rest of the bartenders, which brings quite a few hiccups into the evening.

And then -- the cleaning. Holy mackerel, the cleaning.

Seriously. The man is challenged, bless his heart.

I literally have to pick and choose simple tasks for him and tell him what to do. The man is over ten years my senior, and I have to specifically direct him to clean a certain countertop or to go get the floor cleaner from the back because we're about to clean the floors. If I do not give him clear instructions and instead just leave him to his own devices, I will have to go behind him and REclean everything he just did. His ADHD is so bad it makes my ADHD look like I'm a super ninja cleaning machine, plus he spends half the time cleaning on the phone with his son [ who doesn't understand the concept of daddy not being allowed to talk while he's at work ] or with his mom [ who's his ride home ].

The last time he and I closed the bar together, he did about 10% of the closing duties. And we left nearly an hour later than we should have left. I was furious.

Damon -- DANGER! DANGER!


[ photo credit ]

Damon is NOT a real bartender. He's a server whom the management tried to promote to bartending, and he failed. Miserably. He can't think for himself enough to figure out what to do next; he constantly awaits the next part of his step-by-step instructions. As soon as he finishes a task, he resumes his position, leaning up against the bar, watching whatever sports program is on TV.

Each of us bartenders went through only four official shifts of training to be promoted from serving. Then, we took weeknight shifts as the assistant bartender to Raymond to continue learning the ropes. Only after a few months did we progress to weekend shifts. Or even to weekday lunch shifts, for that matter, since they're staffed by only one person instead of two or three. Damon? Not so much. The managers invented ways to keep him in training. They added nearly an entire extra week to his training just to have him shadow the morning bartenders and learn the prep recipes, where the bottles go, how to set up the bar properly, etc.

And then, when he finished nearly twice the amount of training he's supposed to go through, how many shifts did the managers give him?

z.e.r.o.

Real conversation with the bar manager as Damon completed his bar training:
Me -- So what do you think about Damon as a bartender?
Manager -- [ exasperated sigh ] Well, I think he might be good... if we could ever get him to stop watching the damn TV.

Real conversation with Raymond, whose permission the managers need for pretty much any bar-related decision:
Me -- [ showing him the new schedule request sheets I'd made for the bartenders ] ...and I left off Damon from the list of bartenders, 'cuz well, he isn't one. But if the managers want to put him back here with us, I guess I'll remake the sheets and add his name...
Raymond -- No! No, there ain't no way they're gonna put him back here... [ mumble, mumble ] ... pay him extra and split our tips with him just to stand there and watch the fuckin' TV... [ mumble, mumble ] ... That ain't happenin'!
[ Raymond speaks very quietly, and I couldn't understand half of what he said, despite the fact that I was standing literally right next to him ]

SO!

These are the lovely people with whom I make and share my income. And speaking of... I should leave for work right about now.... Wish me luck!


[ degreed waitress ]