I'm not racist. I love everyone. But when I'm at work there are tables that I would like to serve over others.
Tipping etiquette, or lack thereof, is passed down from generation to generation. How your parents tipped is likely how you will tip.
I grew up in a family where it was never acceptable to be rude to your server or anyone else for that matter. If our food was taking forever, it didn't matter how hungry we were, we waited.
When I was being trained as a server there was an analogy that I should treat my customers as if they were guests in my home.
I always give refills.
I always remove empty plates.
I always ask if there is anything I can get.
I assumed that it would be a two way street. I treat my customers as guests and my customers act like they are guests in my home.
This is never the case. That's why waitresses are shallow, gold-digging people who become very jaded over the years.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Claiming 10 Percent
When I complain about not getting tipped, I have a lot of people respond with, "Well there is no law that says you have to tip."
Right. There isn't. It's just ettiquette.
But at the end of the night I have to claim my tips. This means that I have to punch into the computer how much cash tips I'm walking out of the door with because at the end of each pay period I'm taxed on my tips.
Waiters HAVE to claim tips. At my restaurant, because of the clientele that we serve, a lot of times, we're claiming tips that we didn't make.
It's unspoken, but we have to claim atleast 10 percent. So whatever my total sales are at the end of the night, I have to claim that I made 10 percent of that in tips. Even the government thinks that I should atleast be making 10 percent of my total sales.
This isn't always the case. A few nights ago. I made about 6 percent of my total sales, then I had to claim that I made 10 percent, so ultimately, I'm paying for some of these tables to dine at my restaurant.
My total sales were about a thousand, I made $60 but had to claim that I made $100. Then I have to pay taxes on the tips that I claim that I didn't even make.
When people don't tip atleast 10 percent it costs me money and it's really frustrating considering that I only make minimum wage and I have bills to pay, too.
I encourage everyone to tip their waiters ATLEAST 10 percent. Your waiter should not have to pay the government for you, when you decide to go out to dinner and be cheap.
I'm willing to settle with 10 percent but in a perfect world, everyone would tip 20 percent.
Right. There isn't. It's just ettiquette.
But at the end of the night I have to claim my tips. This means that I have to punch into the computer how much cash tips I'm walking out of the door with because at the end of each pay period I'm taxed on my tips.
Waiters HAVE to claim tips. At my restaurant, because of the clientele that we serve, a lot of times, we're claiming tips that we didn't make.
It's unspoken, but we have to claim atleast 10 percent. So whatever my total sales are at the end of the night, I have to claim that I made 10 percent of that in tips. Even the government thinks that I should atleast be making 10 percent of my total sales.
This isn't always the case. A few nights ago. I made about 6 percent of my total sales, then I had to claim that I made 10 percent, so ultimately, I'm paying for some of these tables to dine at my restaurant.
My total sales were about a thousand, I made $60 but had to claim that I made $100. Then I have to pay taxes on the tips that I claim that I didn't even make.
When people don't tip atleast 10 percent it costs me money and it's really frustrating considering that I only make minimum wage and I have bills to pay, too.
I encourage everyone to tip their waiters ATLEAST 10 percent. Your waiter should not have to pay the government for you, when you decide to go out to dinner and be cheap.
I'm willing to settle with 10 percent but in a perfect world, everyone would tip 20 percent.
Birthdays
It's my birthday do I get a free meal? A free drink?
Who says that?
I've wanted a lot of things for my birthday throughout the years but none of them ever consisted of a free meal or a free drink.
Singing the birthday song sets off a chain reaction throughout the restaurant of birthdays.
When you're busy and you KNOW it's not your tables birthday, it can get pretty annoying when you have to drop everything you're doing to sing happy birthday.
I had one coworker say, "Oh it's your birthday? What day is it today?"
The woman had no clue what day it was but insisted that it was her birthday and called over a manager because she was so offended that the waiter asked her what day it was.
Yes, it was a little rude on my coworkers behalf but there is nothing more annoying than someone at your table going to outrageous lengths to get free stuff.
Most of the time the birthday girl/boy isn't the one to tell the waiter/waitress it's his/hers birthday. Usually when there is a birthday its a big secret because you want there to be the surprise element.
But so many people come into my restaurant and the first thing they say is, "It's my birthday, what do I get?"
Nothing because I don't know you and I don't care that it's your birthday.
Who says that?
I've wanted a lot of things for my birthday throughout the years but none of them ever consisted of a free meal or a free drink.
Singing the birthday song sets off a chain reaction throughout the restaurant of birthdays.
When you're busy and you KNOW it's not your tables birthday, it can get pretty annoying when you have to drop everything you're doing to sing happy birthday.
I had one coworker say, "Oh it's your birthday? What day is it today?"
The woman had no clue what day it was but insisted that it was her birthday and called over a manager because she was so offended that the waiter asked her what day it was.
Yes, it was a little rude on my coworkers behalf but there is nothing more annoying than someone at your table going to outrageous lengths to get free stuff.
Most of the time the birthday girl/boy isn't the one to tell the waiter/waitress it's his/hers birthday. Usually when there is a birthday its a big secret because you want there to be the surprise element.
But so many people come into my restaurant and the first thing they say is, "It's my birthday, what do I get?"
Nothing because I don't know you and I don't care that it's your birthday.
Happy Hour
The discounted prices of happy always attracts the worst customers.
In all honesty, my restaurants happy hour--isn't that happy. The prices are not worth it.
These discounted prices always drag in the worst customers. The same customers that ask to be "hooked up" are the customers same customers that are complaining about the "expensive" prices of our happy hour.
My thoughts on the matter are, well, if you don't like it, there are plenty other restuarants in the area. Although I never am able to say that.
Sunday is the worst day to work at a restaurant. Every family that never goes out dinner, but decides to go out for a family dinner, always goes out on Sundays. The family that doesn't regularly go out to dinner, is the family that sends their food back, complains about everything, and is just in general always unhappy.
But on top of this, Sunday is all day happy hour. So the family that never goes out to dinner, and wants to be "hooked up" is now seated in my bar area for all day happy hour, complaining about the "expensive" happy hour prices.
Happy hour tends to make no one happy. The customer isn't happy with the prices or the portions. I'm not happy because of all the complaining customers. My managers aren't happy because they have to comp a bunch of food to calm down the complaing guests.
It's a horrible, never ending cycle. Happy hour tends to be the longest, worst hours of the entire week. There is nothing "happy" about them.
In all honesty, my restaurants happy hour--isn't that happy. The prices are not worth it.
These discounted prices always drag in the worst customers. The same customers that ask to be "hooked up" are the customers same customers that are complaining about the "expensive" prices of our happy hour.
My thoughts on the matter are, well, if you don't like it, there are plenty other restuarants in the area. Although I never am able to say that.
Sunday is the worst day to work at a restaurant. Every family that never goes out dinner, but decides to go out for a family dinner, always goes out on Sundays. The family that doesn't regularly go out to dinner, is the family that sends their food back, complains about everything, and is just in general always unhappy.
But on top of this, Sunday is all day happy hour. So the family that never goes out to dinner, and wants to be "hooked up" is now seated in my bar area for all day happy hour, complaining about the "expensive" happy hour prices.
Happy hour tends to make no one happy. The customer isn't happy with the prices or the portions. I'm not happy because of all the complaining customers. My managers aren't happy because they have to comp a bunch of food to calm down the complaing guests.
It's a horrible, never ending cycle. Happy hour tends to be the longest, worst hours of the entire week. There is nothing "happy" about them.
Hook It Up
The kind of person that asks to be "hooked up," is the kind of person you don't want to serve.
This is the kind of person that thinks the world owes them something. This happens so often, often enough, I need to write a blog post about it.
Sometimes I do hook people up but its only when I feel like doing it. What the customer doesn't understand is that I'm not obligated to "hook he/she up" in any way. It's not part of my job. In fact, it's against every rule of my job.
In order for me to hook someone up they have to be really awesome, they have to have something about them that just makes me want to give them free stuff. You have to woo me in some way or another if you want free stuff.
When I have customers that are really polite. I always do my best to make their time pleasant. Mostly because those customers are so rare and I want them to come back again to save me from the horrible curse of regulars that flood our dining room nightly.
The majority of the poeple that walk through those double doors don't have what it takes i'm sorry to say.
One should never have to ask to be "hooked up." If you have to ask, it's no longer being hooked up, it's begging.
Many things annoy me at work but nothing more than this.
If you had an awesome personality maybe I would want to help you out and give you some chips and salsa or a stronger drink. But the second you ask to be "hooked up," its a red flag.
If you need to ask to be "hooked up" that means that you're pretentious and you have no money. No server, anywhere, will want to serve you.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Love Notes and Hate Notes
If you write me a note I can't help but share it...
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| These particular guests sat at my bar top with what I assume were their girlfriends since the guys kept referring to them awkwardly and discreetly as their "sisters." They were professional drifters or drag racers, something of the sort. If you're in the market for a professional race car driving beau, pick a number! Well played boys, well played. |
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| This is just a sweet note left by a gracious customer. These are the customers that keep me sane. |
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This is one of my favorites...I had a party of eight that were the oddest people I have served thus far.
After splitting the check 6 different ways, one girl decided that her bill of $15 was too expensive. She called me over and asked for a discount. I asked her why she felt she deserved a discount. She replied that she wanted a discount because her stomach hurt.
My manager explained to this woman that food poisoning doesn't hit until 6 hours after eating. A woman from a nearby table overheard what was going on and left me this note along with some cash. It was an interesting night to say the least.
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| Just a little love note... She really liked my co-bartender and me. It was a pleasure serving her! |
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| This son a gun left me an 8 percent tip because I made a mistake on his bill and he felt the need to point it out. Jackass. |
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This note was given to a coworker of mine. The happy couple couldn't afford to leave an appropriate tip, go figure. Out of all the restaurants on planet earth they chose the chicken frying, rib serving, fajita selling one that I work for, romance at its finest.
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| This is a tip from one of the restaurants regulars. Sometimes I want to tell him to keep the penny since clearly he needs the money more than I do. |
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| No matter how frustrated I get at work, walking out with this in my hand is the most satisfying feeling... |
I guess my job isn't always THAT bad.
You're not gonna write it down?
I take orders in my head. I don't have time to write things down. I found that when I write orders down, I forget to put them into the computer because I'm working at such a fast pace.
I learned to do it when I was promoted to a cocktail waitress and I no longer had time to write things down. I usually have about 7 tables at a time. Depending on the night, I can have up to 13 tables at a time. The average server has about 3-4 tables at a time.
For me, it was sink or swim. I did what any rational person would do and I chose to swim. I chose to be really good at everything I do. Serving's not rocket science.
I love when tables ask me, "how do you do that?! Are you gonna remember all that?"
Yes, it's really not that impressive. When you have an IQ higher than 70 you can remember simple things in your head for several minutes after hearing them and enter them into a computer without difficulty.
There is only four of you at the table for christ's sake. I'm no genius, I'm just competent with a tiny sliver of common sense. I simply listen to what you order, comprehend it, and fulfill your needs. It's not complicated.
Sometimes tables will insist that I write their order down. One table, in particular, was really obnoxious. I asked the man what he did for a living...he replied that he worked at the DMV.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SERIOUSLY !!!! @%&#!
I smiled and said, "Well sir, I appreciate your concern but, I won't tell you how to do your job if you won't tell me how to do mine."
The DMV!!!!??!?! Are you kidding me? That's the most dysfunctional place on the planet and he wants to tell me how I should be doing my job.
You learn self control quickly in the serving industry. The best advice I can give to a new server is learn how to bite your tongue. Hard.
I learned to do it when I was promoted to a cocktail waitress and I no longer had time to write things down. I usually have about 7 tables at a time. Depending on the night, I can have up to 13 tables at a time. The average server has about 3-4 tables at a time.
For me, it was sink or swim. I did what any rational person would do and I chose to swim. I chose to be really good at everything I do. Serving's not rocket science.
I love when tables ask me, "how do you do that?! Are you gonna remember all that?"
Yes, it's really not that impressive. When you have an IQ higher than 70 you can remember simple things in your head for several minutes after hearing them and enter them into a computer without difficulty.
There is only four of you at the table for christ's sake. I'm no genius, I'm just competent with a tiny sliver of common sense. I simply listen to what you order, comprehend it, and fulfill your needs. It's not complicated.
Sometimes tables will insist that I write their order down. One table, in particular, was really obnoxious. I asked the man what he did for a living...he replied that he worked at the DMV.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SERIOUSLY !!!! @%&#!
I smiled and said, "Well sir, I appreciate your concern but, I won't tell you how to do your job if you won't tell me how to do mine."
The DMV!!!!??!?! Are you kidding me? That's the most dysfunctional place on the planet and he wants to tell me how I should be doing my job.
You learn self control quickly in the serving industry. The best advice I can give to a new server is learn how to bite your tongue. Hard.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Pet Names
No one wants to sit at a bar top with a boring bartender. The livelier I am, the happier my guests are. Meaning that I have to act interested in middle aged men and engage in conversation that I really could not care less about.
Politics, construction, earthquakes, HD TV, 3D TV, football, baseball, car engines, diesel trucks, NASCAR, fishing, power tools--I don't know the first thing about half the topics I just listed. But I ask questions. I inquire to know more. It's like restaurant bartending prostitution. You pay me, I humor the notion of liking you as a person.
Does this give you the right to call me stupid pet names? Maybe. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't annoy the hell out of me.
My typical customer is a middle aged man who needs a few beers and a good conversation and it's my job to entertain them. The problem arises when entertaining is mistaken for interest. I am tolerating you Not liking you.
Maybe you think I'm a bitch...Look at it this way, I'm sure you have a job. Do you like everyone you encounter at your job? No, probably not. But you're nice, nonetheless, because that's the professional thing to do.
Having a conversation with someone is civil. I don't know where these men learned that a girl being civil to them is interchangable for her liking them. I'm getting paid to wait on you, clean up after you, get you any dipping sauce that you ask for, and bring you unlimited refills before you finish the drink that's in front of you. I'm not paying extra attention to you. I'm simply doing my job.
I don't mind having pointless conversation after conversation because all I see when your mouth moves are dollar signs. But the second you whip out the mushy, bullshit, pet names I get the overwhelming urge to stab you with the steak knife you're using to cut your rare ribeye with.
I have this weird complex where the nicer you are, the more we hate you. I suffer from being a girl. It's simple.
My favorite customers are the ones that don't pay any attention to me. Sit down quietly. Eat their food. Watch the game. Drink their beer. Peace out and leave me a nice tip.
The less interaction the better.
I always introduce myself. I make a point to know that my customers know my name and I make a point to know theirs. There is a reason for this: I hate being called any name other than the one my awesome parents gave me.
But some men think it's acceptable to call me "baby," "babe," "beautiful," "sweetheart..."
Those names make me uncomfortable even in a romantic setting. I sure as hell do not want to be called them while I'm at work.
Hey beautiful, why don't you grab me another Bud Light...
Do you want a sandwich too?
Some bacon, maybe?
I believe what you meant to say was, "Hey Taryn, may I have another Bud Light." This whole, "Why don't you grab me..." thing is not ok. I'm your server, not your servant.
Now I know why you're sitting at my bar top alone without the company of a female companion. I'm no feminist, but this male chauvinism crap is intolerable.
Let me tell you what complex I don't have. I don't have some weird complex that urges me to take care of ape-like, brutish males. I have no desire to tame rude men and clean them up nicely.
One of my other favorites is when men tell me about their children. I'm a 21 year old bartender. I have no interest in your children or even the notion of bearing children. These men are old enough to be my father.
Therefore, I also do not have the "daddy issue complex." I have no interest in men my fathers age.
That should be illegal. I know I'm bartending but, Jesus, how old do you think I am? Your children are probably just as old as me.
Just remember. Servers are getting paid minimum wage to be nice to you. Catch them outside of work and see if they're as nice. I bet they won't be. This is a business transaction, not a blind date set up by the corporate chain of restaurants that I work for.
Politics, construction, earthquakes, HD TV, 3D TV, football, baseball, car engines, diesel trucks, NASCAR, fishing, power tools--I don't know the first thing about half the topics I just listed. But I ask questions. I inquire to know more. It's like restaurant bartending prostitution. You pay me, I humor the notion of liking you as a person.
Does this give you the right to call me stupid pet names? Maybe. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't annoy the hell out of me.
My typical customer is a middle aged man who needs a few beers and a good conversation and it's my job to entertain them. The problem arises when entertaining is mistaken for interest. I am tolerating you Not liking you.
Maybe you think I'm a bitch...Look at it this way, I'm sure you have a job. Do you like everyone you encounter at your job? No, probably not. But you're nice, nonetheless, because that's the professional thing to do.
Having a conversation with someone is civil. I don't know where these men learned that a girl being civil to them is interchangable for her liking them. I'm getting paid to wait on you, clean up after you, get you any dipping sauce that you ask for, and bring you unlimited refills before you finish the drink that's in front of you. I'm not paying extra attention to you. I'm simply doing my job.
I don't mind having pointless conversation after conversation because all I see when your mouth moves are dollar signs. But the second you whip out the mushy, bullshit, pet names I get the overwhelming urge to stab you with the steak knife you're using to cut your rare ribeye with.
I have this weird complex where the nicer you are, the more we hate you. I suffer from being a girl. It's simple.
My favorite customers are the ones that don't pay any attention to me. Sit down quietly. Eat their food. Watch the game. Drink their beer. Peace out and leave me a nice tip.
The less interaction the better.
I always introduce myself. I make a point to know that my customers know my name and I make a point to know theirs. There is a reason for this: I hate being called any name other than the one my awesome parents gave me.
But some men think it's acceptable to call me "baby," "babe," "beautiful," "sweetheart..."
Those names make me uncomfortable even in a romantic setting. I sure as hell do not want to be called them while I'm at work.
Hey beautiful, why don't you grab me another Bud Light...
Do you want a sandwich too?
Some bacon, maybe?
I believe what you meant to say was, "Hey Taryn, may I have another Bud Light." This whole, "Why don't you grab me..." thing is not ok. I'm your server, not your servant.
Now I know why you're sitting at my bar top alone without the company of a female companion. I'm no feminist, but this male chauvinism crap is intolerable.
Let me tell you what complex I don't have. I don't have some weird complex that urges me to take care of ape-like, brutish males. I have no desire to tame rude men and clean them up nicely.
One of my other favorites is when men tell me about their children. I'm a 21 year old bartender. I have no interest in your children or even the notion of bearing children. These men are old enough to be my father.
Therefore, I also do not have the "daddy issue complex." I have no interest in men my fathers age.
That should be illegal. I know I'm bartending but, Jesus, how old do you think I am? Your children are probably just as old as me.
Just remember. Servers are getting paid minimum wage to be nice to you. Catch them outside of work and see if they're as nice. I bet they won't be. This is a business transaction, not a blind date set up by the corporate chain of restaurants that I work for.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Big Tippers
It's plain and simple. If you have to say you're a big tipper, chances are, you're probably not a big tipper.
It's like when your friend says that she hates drama, but then ends up being a dramatic bitch. Or when your significant other swears he/she isn't crazy, but then ends up being a psychotic, overwhelming, murderous, whirlwind of crazy.
We're used to these situations because we always fall into them. We expect the best out of people.
It's a solid approach. If someone meets you for the first time, you have the ability to make them believe anything you want to about yourself. For instance: When I walk up to your table you would think I'm a friendly, happy, caring, sweet girl. Little do you know...
But fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Now take note, because what I'm about to tell you works in every aspect of life, and you can take certain precautions to make sure you are not being fooled.
What I've learned, is that if you have to emphasize something about yourself to another person, then that person is probably doubting you for obvious reasons, and you're probably not what you say are. And when you emphasize that special trait, that you swear you have, chances are, the other person will believe you.
The difference between me tricking you into thinking I'm angelic, and you tricking me into thinking you're a big tipper, is that my trickery makes your night better. Your trickery makes my night infuriating. You're causing emotional harm. That's cruel.
This is wrong and immoral.
Don't be that person.
It's like when your friend says that she hates drama, but then ends up being a dramatic bitch. Or when your significant other swears he/she isn't crazy, but then ends up being a psychotic, overwhelming, murderous, whirlwind of crazy.
We're used to these situations because we always fall into them. We expect the best out of people.
It's a solid approach. If someone meets you for the first time, you have the ability to make them believe anything you want to about yourself. For instance: When I walk up to your table you would think I'm a friendly, happy, caring, sweet girl. Little do you know...
But fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Now take note, because what I'm about to tell you works in every aspect of life, and you can take certain precautions to make sure you are not being fooled.
What I've learned, is that if you have to emphasize something about yourself to another person, then that person is probably doubting you for obvious reasons, and you're probably not what you say are. And when you emphasize that special trait, that you swear you have, chances are, the other person will believe you.
The difference between me tricking you into thinking I'm angelic, and you tricking me into thinking you're a big tipper, is that my trickery makes your night better. Your trickery makes my night infuriating. You're causing emotional harm. That's cruel.
This is wrong and immoral.
Don't be that person.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
You're Hungry?
"Hello, my name's Taryn, I'll be-"
"That's great. We're starving."
"We're starving." Oh fantastic. Guests are never hungry. I remember my first time being hungry. Let me get your food out ASAP. Every other table in the restaurant came here because they're full, but you, YOU came here because you're hungry. That's great.You probably haven't eaten since 2pm today and it's now 6:30, dinner time--who knew you'd be hungry.
Then, because you're "so hungry" you start to complain about everything. Why is my silverware dirty? Why is my food cold? Why is our table sticky? Why don't you have the Laker game on? Why is it so cold in here? Why does my margarita taste like sweet and sour?
If you're that hungry, you will just eat. You will just sit down. Shut up. And eat.
But let me see...
Your food is cold because I hate you.
I don't have the Laker game on because I hate you.
It's cold in here because I hate you.
Your table is dirty because I hate you.
And your margarita sucks because I hate you.
Is that what you wanted to hear? I DON'T KNOW WHY YOUR NIGHT IS SO HORRIBLE. Every other table in here seems to be having a great night.
I'm your server. I'm not God. Don't ask me questions that I don't know the answers to. But if you rephrase your question, and ask me nicely, I would be more than willing to help you out. I don't have answers, I just have the ability to find solutions. The world is not out to get you. The world actually doesn't even care that you exist.
Maybe it's karma. Maybe you're just a really bad person. Maybe its a personality disorder. Maybe you don't have the ability to ever be satisfied.
There are millions of possibilities. But truth is, I don't care enough about you to go out of my way to make your night horrible. Actually, I WANT you to have a good night because the better night you have, the better night I tend to have.
But if you're polite to me, I may have sympathy on your poor soul and actually want to help you out. It's your choice. My suggestion is don't be rude to the person that is serving your food.
"That's great. We're starving."
"We're starving." Oh fantastic. Guests are never hungry. I remember my first time being hungry. Let me get your food out ASAP. Every other table in the restaurant came here because they're full, but you, YOU came here because you're hungry. That's great.You probably haven't eaten since 2pm today and it's now 6:30, dinner time--who knew you'd be hungry.
Then, because you're "so hungry" you start to complain about everything. Why is my silverware dirty? Why is my food cold? Why is our table sticky? Why don't you have the Laker game on? Why is it so cold in here? Why does my margarita taste like sweet and sour?
If you're that hungry, you will just eat. You will just sit down. Shut up. And eat.
But let me see...
Your food is cold because I hate you.
I don't have the Laker game on because I hate you.
It's cold in here because I hate you.
Your table is dirty because I hate you.
And your margarita sucks because I hate you.
Is that what you wanted to hear? I DON'T KNOW WHY YOUR NIGHT IS SO HORRIBLE. Every other table in here seems to be having a great night.
I'm your server. I'm not God. Don't ask me questions that I don't know the answers to. But if you rephrase your question, and ask me nicely, I would be more than willing to help you out. I don't have answers, I just have the ability to find solutions. The world is not out to get you. The world actually doesn't even care that you exist.
Maybe it's karma. Maybe you're just a really bad person. Maybe its a personality disorder. Maybe you don't have the ability to ever be satisfied.
There are millions of possibilities. But truth is, I don't care enough about you to go out of my way to make your night horrible. Actually, I WANT you to have a good night because the better night you have, the better night I tend to have.
But if you're polite to me, I may have sympathy on your poor soul and actually want to help you out. It's your choice. My suggestion is don't be rude to the person that is serving your food.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Menu
One appetizer, two entrees, 20 dollars...
Yeah, so, you get to share one appetizer and pick two entrees for only 20 dollars...
I'm sorry I should have said starter, I didn't mean to confuse you...
Correct, so then, it's one starter and two entrees....
An entree is your meal...
Yes, exactly, and then you pay 20 dollars...
You know, I can only explain the same damn thing in so many different ways before I want to start stabbing you with my pen. I know small children that can read and speak better than half my clientele . The menus are not written to deceive you.
I know this is mean, but whenever my guest asks a stupid question I always make a point to open their menu and POINT to the answer. Well lets see here...turn to page 2...right down there at the bottom...the Ribeye--it's 12oz. And then I point to "12oz." with my pen as if I'm a teacher educating a poor, deranged, hopeless child.
It's tough love.
Although I don't feel too bad because the answers to all your questions are inside of that rectangular, 3 page, informational guide right in front of you. It's the closest most of my clientele will probably ever get to reading a book so I encourage them to at least skim through it. Pretend that they're smart. Pretend like they have at least an elementary school education.
I want to like them. I really do. But they're hopeless, and I'm not Hilary Swank, and this restaurant is not a classroom, and this is not a scene from "Freedom Writers." I do not believe in a successful future for them and i just want them to leave. Immediately. Decide to go eat at one of the many restaurants within walking distance from the one you're at.
As much as I wish most of my hours at work were not real life because it is discouraging--they are, and sometimes it's depressing and seems unfair. But I would much rather have my life than theirs because they don't know what "appetizer" means or know how to read. Truly unfortunate.
Yeah, so, you get to share one appetizer and pick two entrees for only 20 dollars...
I'm sorry I should have said starter, I didn't mean to confuse you...
Correct, so then, it's one starter and two entrees....
An entree is your meal...
Yes, exactly, and then you pay 20 dollars...
You know, I can only explain the same damn thing in so many different ways before I want to start stabbing you with my pen. I know small children that can read and speak better than half my clientele . The menus are not written to deceive you.
I know this is mean, but whenever my guest asks a stupid question I always make a point to open their menu and POINT to the answer. Well lets see here...turn to page 2...right down there at the bottom...the Ribeye--it's 12oz. And then I point to "12oz." with my pen as if I'm a teacher educating a poor, deranged, hopeless child.
It's tough love.
Although I don't feel too bad because the answers to all your questions are inside of that rectangular, 3 page, informational guide right in front of you. It's the closest most of my clientele will probably ever get to reading a book so I encourage them to at least skim through it. Pretend that they're smart. Pretend like they have at least an elementary school education.
I want to like them. I really do. But they're hopeless, and I'm not Hilary Swank, and this restaurant is not a classroom, and this is not a scene from "Freedom Writers." I do not believe in a successful future for them and i just want them to leave. Immediately. Decide to go eat at one of the many restaurants within walking distance from the one you're at.
As much as I wish most of my hours at work were not real life because it is discouraging--they are, and sometimes it's depressing and seems unfair. But I would much rather have my life than theirs because they don't know what "appetizer" means or know how to read. Truly unfortunate.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Sitting at Dirty Tables
If the average person is put in a scenario where there are many clean tables and a few dirty tables, the average person would choose to sit at one of the clean tables. Unfortunately, the average person doesn't venture into my work often. The person who does wander into my work actually chooses to sit at the dirty table. Mind boggling, I know.
When there are dirty tables, I see them. I'm aware. I've observed the room a few times in the past 10 minutes believe it or not. The reason I didn't clean them yet is because I'm currently doing something that I feel is more important. (Something more important than cleaning one dirty table when there are 11 other clean tables.)
But because you're so polite and important to me, when you yell from across the room "'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, our table's dirty!"--I drop my broom and dustpan in the middle of the floor and run hurriedly over to the sanitizer bucket and then quickly over to your emergency because you're obviously mentally unstable for choosing a dirty table to sit at and frankly I'm scared of what you might do next.
Sometimes when I'm on my break I'll sink into this state of deep frightening thought...or maybe it's depression, I'm not really sure. That's besides the point, but I'll sit and wonder, "Who raised you?" Then I quickly snap out of it because that's actually one question I don't care to ever learn the answer to.
Any who, as I clean your table you will proceed to point out every dirty spot and ask me to wipe the crumbs off the chair (which I do with my hand, it's very hard) and then you ask me to dry the table since it's wet because you chose to sit at the one dirty table in the entire bar area.
Congratulations. I haven't even taken your drink order and I all ready hate you.
When there are dirty tables, I see them. I'm aware. I've observed the room a few times in the past 10 minutes believe it or not. The reason I didn't clean them yet is because I'm currently doing something that I feel is more important. (Something more important than cleaning one dirty table when there are 11 other clean tables.)
But because you're so polite and important to me, when you yell from across the room "'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, our table's dirty!"--I drop my broom and dustpan in the middle of the floor and run hurriedly over to the sanitizer bucket and then quickly over to your emergency because you're obviously mentally unstable for choosing a dirty table to sit at and frankly I'm scared of what you might do next.
Sometimes when I'm on my break I'll sink into this state of deep frightening thought...or maybe it's depression, I'm not really sure. That's besides the point, but I'll sit and wonder, "Who raised you?" Then I quickly snap out of it because that's actually one question I don't care to ever learn the answer to.
Any who, as I clean your table you will proceed to point out every dirty spot and ask me to wipe the crumbs off the chair (which I do with my hand, it's very hard) and then you ask me to dry the table since it's wet because you chose to sit at the one dirty table in the entire bar area.
Congratulations. I haven't even taken your drink order and I all ready hate you.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Hitting on Your Server
I could not feel any less attractive, anywhere on this planet, than I do when I'm at work. Sure I walk into my shift happy and clean, well put together. But 30 minutes into my shift I look like I was in the middle of a food fight at an elementary school cafeteria.
My black polo has a little bit of everyone's food on it somewhere. Ranch, BBQ, salsa--you name the sauce, it most likely ends up on my shirt by the end of the night. My apron becomes a towel for my sticky fingers out of laziness. My jeans become splattered with dirty water from the dish area. My skin starts glowing from sweat and oil. My hair smells like fajitas. It's not a good look.
This won't stop certain men. They're animals. They have heightened sense of smell, poor verbal skills and a creepy sense of touch. Instead of looking like a wreck to these men, I look like food--I look good, it's sick and twisted.
Keep in mind though, I am being paid minimum wage to be nice to you. I'm smiling because I find it increases my tip average. I'm acting enthusiastic because I need to pay my bills. But don't mistake my kind gestures for wanting to bear your children. In my head I've probably killed you five times all ready because of how many refills I've had to bring you in the first five minutes of you being seated.
But who knows, maybe I am having child bearing thoughts...
Well this thought is abruptly ended when I pick up the credit card slip and you tipped me $2 on your $30 bill. I'm currently a struggling college student. Unless you're really interesting and great, which you're probably not, I'd rather be poor and struggling alone.
I don't think I've been called "hot" since 8th grade, and no I do not want to party with you. And if I did want to party I don't have trouble finding them.
O.K. maybe they're not all animals...
Oh wait...
My black polo has a little bit of everyone's food on it somewhere. Ranch, BBQ, salsa--you name the sauce, it most likely ends up on my shirt by the end of the night. My apron becomes a towel for my sticky fingers out of laziness. My jeans become splattered with dirty water from the dish area. My skin starts glowing from sweat and oil. My hair smells like fajitas. It's not a good look.
This won't stop certain men. They're animals. They have heightened sense of smell, poor verbal skills and a creepy sense of touch. Instead of looking like a wreck to these men, I look like food--I look good, it's sick and twisted.
Keep in mind though, I am being paid minimum wage to be nice to you. I'm smiling because I find it increases my tip average. I'm acting enthusiastic because I need to pay my bills. But don't mistake my kind gestures for wanting to bear your children. In my head I've probably killed you five times all ready because of how many refills I've had to bring you in the first five minutes of you being seated.
But who knows, maybe I am having child bearing thoughts...
Well this thought is abruptly ended when I pick up the credit card slip and you tipped me $2 on your $30 bill. I'm currently a struggling college student. Unless you're really interesting and great, which you're probably not, I'd rather be poor and struggling alone.
I don't think I've been called "hot" since 8th grade, and no I do not want to party with you. And if I did want to party I don't have trouble finding them.
O.K. maybe they're not all animals...
Oh wait...
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Is There Alcohol in Here?
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Oh, Valentine's Day
For most this is a day filled with chocolates, flowers, cheesy cards, balloons, pink and red hearts, breakfast in bed, romantic dinners--a day we show appreciation to those we care about, usually with one special person in mind. I would like to take this time to acknowledge the 13 tables lucky enough to be served by moi. Since I am extremely humble I do not expect any compensation. Mostly because Southern California Edison called and informed me that they are now accepting "verbal tips" as legitimate forms of payment for my monthly bill. So save those dollar bills, folks.
I could only imagine how romantic it must have been...to be staring into your lovers eyes...BBQ sauce in the corners of your mouth and encrusted into your fingernails. Say, who needs to spend $30 on Dior lipstick or get a manicure when you have a gooey dark BBQ sauce that works as a duo? Then, how the greasy residue from the fries and chicken must have illuminated your mouth in such a way that made you irresistible to her. Because there's no need for Gucci cologne when you can smell like rancid grease for the low price of $9.99. And then, how the many TVs showing the college basketball game your eyes were glued to for the majority of date elevated your excitement of sharing this special day with your one and only. Who needs dim lighting, candles, and nice scenery anyway? I can only imagine, in my wildest dreams, in a universe unreal to me, how special this person is to you. Lucky her. So, so lucky. I would be swooning with jealously over your perfect Valentine's Day dinner if that $100 bill you used to pay your $25 tab would have left me a $5 bill. Because then I could justify my jealousy over this clearly sentimental date with the fact that although my boyfriend is an unromantic jerk, at least he's a baller. But instead you pay your small bill with a large bill and leave me with a messy table full of crumpled up napkins and gum wrappers. Classy. Well I just wanted to say thank you. I learned a valuable lesson. Never date a man who takes you to fried chicken and ribs on Valentine's Day because chances are, he's not really a baller, he's a cheap bastard.
I could only imagine how romantic it must have been...to be staring into your lovers eyes...BBQ sauce in the corners of your mouth and encrusted into your fingernails. Say, who needs to spend $30 on Dior lipstick or get a manicure when you have a gooey dark BBQ sauce that works as a duo? Then, how the greasy residue from the fries and chicken must have illuminated your mouth in such a way that made you irresistible to her. Because there's no need for Gucci cologne when you can smell like rancid grease for the low price of $9.99. And then, how the many TVs showing the college basketball game your eyes were glued to for the majority of date elevated your excitement of sharing this special day with your one and only. Who needs dim lighting, candles, and nice scenery anyway? I can only imagine, in my wildest dreams, in a universe unreal to me, how special this person is to you. Lucky her. So, so lucky. I would be swooning with jealously over your perfect Valentine's Day dinner if that $100 bill you used to pay your $25 tab would have left me a $5 bill. Because then I could justify my jealousy over this clearly sentimental date with the fact that although my boyfriend is an unromantic jerk, at least he's a baller. But instead you pay your small bill with a large bill and leave me with a messy table full of crumpled up napkins and gum wrappers. Classy. Well I just wanted to say thank you. I learned a valuable lesson. Never date a man who takes you to fried chicken and ribs on Valentine's Day because chances are, he's not really a baller, he's a cheap bastard.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Just to Clarify...
Here I will talk about things that you shouldn't say to your waitress. To most of you, these things may seem like common sense. But let me tell you, common sense ain't so common. I will talk about experiences that I have had that may seem unreal. But let me tell you, you ain't seen nothin' yet. I will also express my feelings about clientele that I have had the pleasure of serving by posting the beautiful experience to this lovely blog. Nothing I post here will be made up or by any means fake. To the best of my ability I solemnly swear to post these truthful experiences for you all to enjoy. Unfortunately for you, but with my best interest in mind, I have decided not to disclose the restaurant I work at or the location for fear of unwelcomed spectators for my future shifts. But I do promise that I am a waitress just trying to pay the bills.
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