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 ]

To-Go Tips Galore! -- Tip #3

The to-go food ordering process can be a complex relationship at times, but believe me -- all it takes is a little trust.

If I can manage to trust that you -- a complete stranger -- will actually show up to claim your order like you say you will, thus ensuring that the time and effort put forth both by myself and by the entire kitchen staff [ not to mention the restaurant's food, and therefore money ] aren't completely wasted, then you should be able to trust that I actually know the menu of my own restaurant.

Apparently, many customers hold so tightly to their motto, "The customer is always right," that it somehow supersedes all logic, and it miraculously still applies when they are not even inside the restaurant, have not yet even become customers, and are not in possession of any reading materials [ i.e. menus ] -- whether in print or online -- which would spell out how to become a customer. 

Since I becoming a to-go order processor [ aka bartender ], I have been surprised on a daily basis at how easily upset and offended the to-go callers can be at the revelation of little tidbits of menu information. They routinely argue with me about anything and everything remotely contrary to their preconceived notions of what our restaurant serves. 

This leads me to today's tip...

To-Go Tips Galore! Tip #3: Trust the person taking your order.

**If I tell you the entrée comes with one side dish, not two, then the entrée comes with one side dish, not two.
[ Choose just one or pay for the second. It's that easy, really. ]

**If I tell you that we don't serve mac 'n' cheese, then we don't serve mac 'n' cheese.
[ You're going to pass Boston Market on the way here, so why don't you just stop there instead, yeah? ]

**If I tell you that we can't take the onions out of the chicken tortilla soup, then we can't take the onions out of the chicken tortilla soup. 
[ Besides, do you really want us fishing around inside your bowl of soup, picking out the bits of chopped onion one-by-one, all by hand? I don't think so. Oh wait, you didn't actually think that our made-from-scratch soup is made one bowl at a time, did you? That's just cute. ]

**If I tell you that we stopped serving half-orders of onion rings over a year ago, then we stopped selling half-orders over a year ago.
[ And by "stopped serving" them, I don't just mean, "The managers said 'no,' but don't worry, random customer, I'm totally going to break the rules just for you." I mean, I don't have even the ability to order them anymore. The button itself is no longer existent. Therefore, NO you did NOT get a half-order here "just last week." Unless you went to a different branch. And that branch would have to be a franchise, not corporate, because that change was corporate-wide. And the nearest franchise-owned restaurant in our chain is a couple hundred miles away. So if you were there last week, then yeah, you probably did get the half-order of onion rings when you ordered them. But if you were here, like you're so adamantly insisting, then no, you did not get them last week, and no, you will not get them this week. So please stop arguing with me. ]

**If I -- and the menu -- tell you that all things labeled "chicken tenders" are fried chicken tenders and all things labeled "grilled chicken breasts" are grilled chicken breasts, then guess what? That's how it is. "Chicken Tenders" are not grilled, and "chicken breasts" are not fried.
[ I know, I know, it's all so confusing. It's like the restaurant should just make a detailed list of what's in every single entrée and make it easily accessible by putting that list on every single table and in front of every single guest..... ]


Essentially what it comes down to is this...

I had to prove thorough knowledge of our menu in order to complete training and even be allowed to work here.

I have worked here, serving food from this menu, nearly every day for the past two years.

I have eaten here, eating food from this menu, nearly every day for the past two years.

I have trained dozens of new hires to become excellent servers, and that includes teaching them the details of this menu.

Let's just say I know the menu.

Therefore,

**If I make a menu-related comment, then please assume it to be fact. Do not argue, as you will only make yourself look stupid.

Unless, of course, that was your original intent. Then, by all means, go right ahead.

Either way, thank you for unintentionally gifting me the subsequent momentary feeling of intellectual superiority. That's the chicken [ tortilla ] soup for my soul.


[ degreed waitress ]

This JUST happened.

[ catching up with an old friend's dad after church this morning ]

"So where do you work?"

" [ my restaurant ]. I'm a bartender."

"A bartender? Four years of college, and you're a bartender?"


Gee, thanks. Can I slap you in the face now?


[ degreed waitress ]

To-Go Tips Galore! -- Tip #2

What is your name?
[ degreed waitress ]

What is your quest?
To eradicate to-go food ordering stupidity.

What is your favorite color?
Teal! No, green! No! Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!

To-Go Tips Galore! Tip #2: Pay attention to what the person taking your order is saying.

I answered your call pleasantly, saying "[ my restaurant ] To-Go, thank you for holding. Can I get the name for your order please?"



What is your name?

[ photo credit ]

Guess what?! I didn't just say that same spiel for the seventy-third time tonight just for giggles and grins. No, there's actually a reason! I need your name first. So when you ignore my question and shoot off three or four rapid-fire orders all the while I'm trying to sneak in a repeat of the question, "Hold on a moment, ma'am, can I get your name please?" then you have the audacity to rudely snap "No! I'm not finished yet!" and keep ordering... then you have NO right to be pissed off when I politely state, "I'm sorry ma'am, but I can't take your order until I have your name." A super offended "Excuse me?" is NOT called for, but luckily you've finally shut up long enough for me to explain, "My computer system won't allow me to start a food order without a name for the order. Which is why I asked you for your name first. So what name can I put your order under?"
 
By the way, lady, in those few moments of deafening silence, I could just hear you shrink in embarrassment. And I kinda enjoyed it. So, uh, thanks for that ;)
 
[ p.s. Thanks also for sending your son to pick up the food. He's always really nice and tips really well. ]


[ degreed waitress ]

A(ballsy)broad

Once again, I had the what are you doing with your life? conversation with my guests.

Oh, joy.

They kept asking me questions between bites (it was somehow less awkward than it sounds, I promise), but unlike any other conversation on this topic that I've ever had with a guest, I never felt judged for my employment choice or demeaned in any way. This middle-aged married couple seemed legitimately interested in getting to know me. It was weird, well, at first, anyways.

We talked about my International Business degree. We talked about my love for traveling the world, acquiring new languages, and building cross-cultural relationships. We talked about my indecisiveness, my uncertainties. But most importantly, we talked about her life.

The two seated in front of me shared my international interests. The wife especially had vastly out-traveled me, thanks mainly to this story: At age 21, she was a single mother with a one-year-old daughter and an overwhelming urge to travel the world.  And what did she do?

She traveled the world.

Yup. With no plans and no goals, a young woman left all friends, family, and familiarity behind to travel extensively throughout Europe and Asia for the first time. For nearly a year. With an infant.

Why can't I find the balls to do that?

I mean, seriously. Why am I still here? I'm 23, educated, single, no kids, relatively little debt, and in a job that I can easily (and most days, gladly) leave. My wanderlust was my main reason for choosing the International Business major. My only positive academic memories from elementary and middle school are from my Spanish and Latin classes because I loved learning languages so much. My soul's sole craving right now is just to be a traveler.

Not a tourist, mind you. A traveler. There is a difference.

A traveler. My imagination soars into wild creativity building scenario after fantastic scenario. My gut clenches around what feels like a thousand butterflies. My heart leaps, racing over each Olympic hurdle of a rib.

I become a whole new person when I travel. I become bold, where I am normally cautious. I become an adrenaline junkie, where I am normally apprehensive. I become serene, where I am normally feisty. I become spirited, where I am normally lazy. I become conscientious of my surroundings, where I am normally inattentive. I become the better version of myself.

And yet, I'm still here. I find a way to talk myself out of it, every time -- How will I afford it? What will I do while I'm there -- will I just travel on my own, or will I seek out a job while there, or enroll in a service immersion program? How long would I stay? What would I do when I get back? Where would I even go? Would I be safe? What if I got lonely traveling by myself? What about all the friends I would miss? How would my mother get any sleep at night? blah blah blah... -- And then I take the easy road yet again -- the highway to my hellhole of a restaurant job -- and I am disappointed in myself for talking myself out of going, every time.

Why can't I find the balls to do that?

The question still rings in my head. Every time I look at table 114. Every time someone mentions traveling. Every time a guest/coworker/friend/parent asks me what I want to do next in life.

Why can't I find the balls to do that?

Why am I holding myself back from the one thing I want most?

Maybe one day, I'll just go.


[ degreed waitress ]

To-Go Tips Galore! -- Tip #1

As I have recently stated, the vast majority of my job as a bartender is, in fact, handling all to-go orders instead of handling bar drinks.

Through these interactions, it has come to my attention that very few people know how to navigate the to-go food waters smoothly, which has inspired me to compile an ever-growing list of suggestions for anyone who engages in to-go food transactions.

Most people who read these might actually glean something worthwhile from this series.

The rest of you, however, can celebrate that your common sense and basic intelligence sets you apart from the hordes of idiots I have to deal with each day. Therefore, y'all can read these posts for the sadly humorous interactions with some of those not-as-intellectually-blessed.

Regardless of where you fit into all this, my To-Go Tips Galore! shall be broken into multiple posts so as to save your lovely eyes from exhaustion. And so we begin!

To-Go Tips Galore! Tip #1: Know what restaurant you're calling.

Ordering the Crispy Chicken Crispers is a fantastic idea! ...that is, if you're calling Chili's. I do not (have never, nor will ever) work at Chili's. Do not use Chili's terminology when you're placing an order with me, an employee of the restaurant that is not only around the corner from Chili's, but also is it's direct competitor.

[ photo credit ]

And when I clarify with you, "Oh, you mean the Chicken Tender Platter? The Crispers are at Chili's." please do NOT disregard my statement and just continue, "Yeah, well, I want the Crispy Chicken Crispers." If you are in a Chili's mindset when you come into my restaurant, then nothing we serve you will be what you expected, and you are less likely to be pleased. And theoretically we aim to please.

Furthermore, if the restaurant you are calling is part of a chain, please make sure that the branch you call and the branch you show up to are the same one. I don't want your five boxes of unclaimed food cluttering up my counter for three hours before we have to throw it away and thus severely damage our food costs any more than you want to show up and discover that your food is, in fact, not ready so you have to sit there waiting for it to be made and thus eliminating the advantage of calling ahead. In short, don't waste everyone else's time and money just because you're too stupid to do a simple Google search.


[ degreed waitress ]

"Sometimes, on Sunday mornings...

...I listen to gangster rap before work just so that I can be prepared for the customers we're gonna have."

-- "Eloise"

That is some sage advice, my friend.


[ degreed waitress ]

All tied up again

The uniform for servers at my restaurant makes us look just like Olive Garden servers. Except they roll their sleeves up stylishly. And we're not allowed to do that. And we have an extra level of exasperation on our faces because the average price of our entrees is probably half that of Olive Garden's, so we get all the "real OGs" who can't afford OG.

In case you're unfamiliar, it's this entrancing ensemble:


[ photo credit ]

Black non-slip shoes.
Black socks.
Black slacks.
Black belt.
Black apron, purchased through the managers.
White, long-sleeved, button-down Oxford shirt with buttoned collar.
Light colored undershirt if you wear one.
Pens, a server book, and your own personal bank.
Tie.

The tie has to be solid in color, and it can be any color. 

Except black... 

[ ...and no, I have never heard an explanation for that. ]

When I first started, I bought five ties of varying colors to spice up the uniform a teensy bit. Essentially, I was the matching girl. I matched my tie to anything I could..

...my earrings [ as long as they're studs, not dangles, says the GM *pout face* ]...

...my nail color [ yes, I know I'm not allowed to have nail polish on, and no, I don't care ]...

...my undershirt [ if these cheap shirts are practically see-though, my guests might as well see a fun color instead of my boring white bra, right? Right... ]... 

...my eye makeup [ green's my favorite, matches my eyes ]...

...my hair bow/ribbon/tieback/whatever [ there have been an embarrassingly high number of instances in which I've had to look in the mirror and remind myself "You're a [slightly] mature 23-year-old college graduate, not some ditzy high school cheerleader bimbo, so take that ginormous bow out of your hair!" ].... 

Yeah, I was that girl. Hell, anything to feel one notch more feminine in my uniform than these guys...
 


[ photo credit ]

Turn those Bibles into Guest Checks and I've got twinsies!! So hot, right?

[ photo credit ]

NOT.

 

Anywho, I've been working far more bartending shifts than serving shifts lately. In fact, Monday lunch was my first serving shift in over a month. After several minutes of searching for a clean[ish] one, I proceeded to affix my brightly colored choking device tie around my neck, thus leading me to reflect on an important observation:

A server's tie is a disgusting thing.

No, seriously. It is vile.



With every shift, a server gets covered in ranch, ketchup, steak sauce, beer....or, God forbid, Grenadine. Keeping those Walmart-men's-section, so-high-quality-it-comes-in-a-package, itchier-than-chicken-pox shirts looking so fresh and so clean, clean has me going through stain remover sprays, laundry booster powders, and bleach products so quickly that I alone kept Mr. Clean himself employed all year.

You're welcome.

[ photo credit ]




The pants and aprons get cleaned, too....don't get me wrong. But they're black, and thus way easier to maintain. Most servers only have like one or two aprons, so at the start of a shift, you'll occasionally see someone wet a washcloth, paper towel, whatever and just wipe off any stains from last night's shift. Sanitary? Definitely not. But it least it will look good enough to hold over till its proper cleaning...whenever our next day off is.

It's the tie that is repulsive, though. A tie gets just as dirty as [ if not more than ] the other pieces of clothing, but never gets as clean. In fact, for most servers, the wet washcloth is the extent of the cleaning. A few are more dedicated, though, and will spray some stain remover on first before they wipe it "clean."  

Back when I first started, I took all five of my ties to the dry cleaners, and it cost me $10 to clean them. I never went back. Ten bucks a week to clean ties? That is not the kind of regular expense I feel like adding to my ever-growing list of bills. Not with these tips. So now I wash and dry them at home with the rest of my uniform, though in a laundry bag. I seem to be the only one that sends my ties through that kind of ordeal. I just can't stand the dirtiness.... after about three or four wears, that is....  But, "Dry clean only," they said. "The washer and dryer will ruin your ties," they said.

Well, guess what.

They were right. My ties--all of them--were ruined within a year. Fuzzy, stained, and so not classy. But did I care? No. Hardly a single ghetto drama queen guest who walked through our doors made me feel she deserved a classy looking tie. 

My GM was constantly nagging me about it though, "Princess, you need to get a new tie. That looks disgusting." But getting new ties takes time, effort, and money--none of which I felt like sparing.

"This restaurant isn't worth it," was my silent excuse. I kept telling myself, "I'll be quitting soon. There's no point investing more into this job now." [ Here I am over a year later, I just bought my third pair of shoes, pair of slacks, and bartending shirt.  And I am still telling myself that I'll be quitting soon. Right. ]

For months, I would try to avoid the instances of my GM actually seeing my tie... standing behind another server when she faced me... crossing my arms while holding my server book between my arms and my chest [ thus the tie hides behind the server book ]... Eventually I got too lazy to even try to hide the tie anymore, and my GM started switching her tone. The light and silly vocalization of "Princess, you need to get a new tie" had evolved into the stern, you-know-better-than-this tone of "Seriously, you need to get a new tie," followed up with the guilt trip, "If I'm going to have you training the new hires, I need you to set a good example."

Dang. She got me there.

So I went out and got a whole new set. And then, I made a fantastic investment....

I bought a tie clip.

The tie clip brought about a bit of a moral dilemma though.... Where do I put it?

According to GQ, I should follow these guidelines:

But I very quickly realized that the bulk of the tie was allowed to flop around loosely as I lean over tables to give and receive plates. That's no bueno. So, to GQ this server says...

Thus in keeping my tie actually attached to my body and not to your mashed potatoes, I end up looking like this unfortunate fellow:

Now I'm in heaven! I mean, THANK GOD for tie clips. Right?! With a tie clip, my tie gets in the way of a person's food or drink only a few times a day instead of all the time.  

With a tie clip, my tie looks fresher, crisper, colorfullier, and great!

With a tie clip, my tie stays cleaner!

With a tie clip, I don't have to wash my tie as often!  Yay!

[ p.s. I found this interesting tidbit on MSN today: check it out! ]



[ degreed waitress ]

Not even those napkins are gonna clean up this mess

Saturday night, bartending, I got into it with a guest over napkins. Yeah. Napkins.

Here's how the interactions should have gone down if the guest in question wasn't a rude, entitled meaniehead:

Me -- Hi, what can I get for you?
Guest -- I'd like a mango margarita, please.
Me -- Sure! Would you like any salt or sugar on the rim?
Guest -- Salt, please.
Me -- Alright, will do! *makes and serves the margarita*
Guest [ two minutes later ] -- Could I get some napkins please? Some of the margarita overflowed, and it's made a bit of a mess.
Me -- *hands her three Bevnaps* Here ya go.
Guest -- Thank you.
Me -- My pleasure.
Guest [ two minutes later ] -- I don't really like this. Could I get a different drink please?
Me -- Sure, what can I get for you instead?
Guest -- A strawberry margarita, please?

...blah blah blah, et cetera, et cetera...

Yeah, none of that "please" and "thank you" stuff actually happened. I'm sure common courtesy and manners would be far too much to ask of this woman.



[ photo credit ]

Instead, here's how it actually went down:

Well, just kidding. First let me offer a little background to help set the scene. The majority of my work as a bartender isn't actually tending bar; it's handling to-go orders. Also, our bartenders have adopted the habit of opening each box in front of the guest, showing them the food to ensure the order's accuracy, and then running back to the kitchen for the 3 ranches, 1 gravy, and 2 honey mustards that the guest KNEW they'd need but didn't have the decency to request over the phone so that they'd be with the order in the first place and not waste any more of anyone's time. This makes the to-go operation much lengthier, but it is worthwhile, as our kitchen often leaves off side salads, dessert accoutrements, etc.

And now, the story:

The guest sat down by herself on the side of the bar where we handle our to-go orders. Sybil, one of my fellow bartenders, greeted the lady, "Hi, what can I do for you?" Her response? Nothing. She was so zoned out, she didn't even look up or realize she had been addressed. In such a case as this (or when a guest is on the phone), we just wait a few minutes and try then. So five minutes later, Sybil asks me to greet her. "She completely ignored me when I tried. Maybe she'll pay attention now."

Given her proximity to the to-go area, and the fact that the five people near her were all waiting to pick up their to-go orders, and the fact that a large tray with about three orders had just arrived at my counter, I assumed she might be waiting on a to-go order.

Me -- Hi, are you waiting on to-go order?
Guest -- I'm waiting, but I haven't placed an order.
Me -- Okay, so you still need to place your to-go order? Do you need a menu?
Guest -- I'm not doing a to-go order [ I can practically hear her eyes rolling ]. I'm waiting on a table, and I want a drink.
Me -- Okay, do you need a drink menu?
Guest -- No. I know what I want. I want a mango margarita.

Fast forward to the delivery of her margarita. I immediately proceed to do a show-and-tell of the to-go order for the guest seated directly next to her. In between box one and box two, she interrupts me: "Excuse me, I need some napkins." Annoyed at the interruption for something so minor, I walk over to my cart o' supplies, get three Bevnaps, and hand them to her. A minute later, I'm almost done with showing his order, when she interrupts me again: "I need more napkins." "Okay! One moment." At this point I have my hands full of boxes to take back to kitchen to get the missing salad and bread. I am not about to reward her with immediate napkins again for after interrupting me again. So instead I go get the missing items and am back within a minute, picking up more napkins on the way. Once his order is done, though, more attitude sets in.

Guest -- I don't really like this drink.
Me -- Okay, what can I get for you instead?
Guest -- It's just nasty. The flavor just isn't right. *she goes on and on*
Me [ patience waning ] -- Okay, what can I get for you instead?
Guest -- Strawberry margarita.

I silently make and deliver the new margarita, and proceed to help other to-go guests. Not five minutes later, this second margarita is "nasty" too.

Guest -- I don't like it. The flavor is nasty. It tastes just like the first one.
Me -- Ah, well, we actually use the same margarita mix for all of our frozen margaritas. I just added the strawberry flavor to the glass this time instead of adding the mango flavor like last time.
Guest -- Oh, so all you do is just put some flavor in the glass?

Plus, does she honestly expect that a restaurant as cheap as ours,
with a house margarita for THREE DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS
is seriously going to have premade flavored margaritas?
That is just terrible business sense.
Or maybe I'm the only one with a BBA around here?

Me [ what I was thinking ] -- Isn't that what I just said?
Me [ what I actually said ] -- Yes ma'am. [ Mind you, being seated at the bar, she had full visibility of the process of pumping syrup into a schooner and then filling it with frozen margarita. Both times. But once again, attentiveness apparently just is not her strong suit. ]
Guest -- It just tastes sour. It is not sweet at all. It's just alcohol and sour-tasting.
Me [ what I was thinking ] -- Yeah, it should. Because those are the exact ingredients: alcohol and sour mix.
Me [ what I actually said ] -- Yeah, there's a lot of alcohol in there. And the lime flavor of our Sweet and Sour mix will give it that slightly sour taste--
Guest [ interrupting, as usual, but this time with an increased level of attitude ] -- I know what's in a margarita. I drink margaritas all the time. This is just nasty. It is not sweet at all. I don't taste the flavor AT ALL.
Me -- Would you like some extra strawberry syrup? That should sweeten it up more for you.
Guest -- Yeah. *rolls eyes*

I bring her a lowball glass filled with double the amount of syrup that's already in her margarita and set it down next to her drink. My to-go phone is ringing, so I turn around to answer it. My back is towards my guests, but as I am now facing a wall full of mirrors, I see the lady stir the syrup into the margarita. The genius had only taken a few drinks beforehand, so now she's overflowing the margarita onto the bar, making an even bigger mess than she'd made with the mango one.

What I saw next was the final straw for my patience with this lady. I saw her get up, walk ten feet over towards my cart o' supplies, REACH OVER MY BAR, pick up my basket of napkins, take the napkins out of the basket [ thus HANDLING ALL OF THEM ], and take an inch-and-a-half stack for herself before putting the napkins back where they belonged.

Oh hell no.

Luckily, the to-go phone order was short, because I hung up, whipped around before she had made it back to her seat, and snapped at her:

Me -- Excuse me? You could have asked.
Guest -- Well, I needed more napkins.
Me -- You could have asked.
Guest -- Well, you didn't bring me the napkins I needed.
Me -- I'm sorry you already used up all the ones I already brought you, but you could have asked for more. We keep our supplies behind the bar for a reason -- we have to maintain the cleanliness of our supplies. We can't have guests just touching everything, okay? Don't. touch. our. stuff.

I felt the finality of my words emanating from my backbone, a body part I did not seem to possess before I started bartending. I felt my stomach knotting up in the effort to restrain my voice from yelling at her, although my voice was definitely raised. I felt my face flushing redder than my hair, realizing that every single guest at the bar top, in the to-go area, and at the tall tables nearest our bar was turning ever so attentively back and forth between the two of us like it was the Wimbledon finals. I felt comforted, though, that none of those onlookers seemed remotely offended by my actions. It seemed that I would escape this situation without further incident.

I walked off, taking a deep breath to calm myself, and proceeded to get back to my job. She nursed that margarita for the next hour before laying out her money; all the while, I was my normal cheerful, peppy self as I handled the to-go orders right next to her. I consciously overdid my friendliness as if it were a lethal weapon -- See? Everyone else is a decent human being, and I love to serve them. You, lady, are just a rude, entitled meaniehead, so you don't get any good service from now on.

Guess what? She didn't tip. But I didn't need to tell you that for you to know she wouldn't tip. But whatever, I didn't care. She didn't say another word to anyone, even in the payment process. I cheerfully handed her change with a "Here ya go!" and watched it all go into her purse, of course.

This whole interaction really irked me though. I dwelled on it for the rest of the weekend, actually. I kinda wish she had escalated it so I could just throw it back in her face. Put her in her place. All that jazz. Next time, though, I'll be ready...

Me [ in the hypothetical future repeat of this situation ] -- Ma'am, as a bartender and food server, I am legally bound to protect the health and safety of the guests in this restaurant by ensuring that all supplies are kept clean. That means that no guests are allowed to touch what is in the kitchen or behind the bar, because, quite frankly, ma'am, I don't know when you last washed your hands or if you've recently been exposed to some illness or disease. So here you go. *hand her the entire stack of napkins* These are yours now. You've touched them, so now I can't serve them to anyone else.

BAM!

A little over the top? Definitely.
Effective in curtailing an unsafe behavior? Probably.
Gonna get me fired? Maybe.

Hah. Until then, [ degreed waitress ] shall continue protecting her napkins :)


[ degreed waitress ]