Seen and Heard: 4

Seen: The host Augusten sitting at a table in the back of the private party room alternating between taking bites of Italian bread and taking bites of straight butter from the little wrapped butter chips, which at the moment were too cold to spread properly.

Heard: (note: we have a server named Cherish)
Bartender: (to the Mexican bar back) Can you get me some Cherries?
Bar back: Cherries? She's in the party room. I get her?

Definition of the Day: Same Side Seaters

Same Side Seaters - pl. n. - Two people, usually romantic couples, who sit on the same side of a table that has a booth on one side and a chair on the other, as to be asclosetoeachotheraspossible. The couple is usually either in high school, or middle-aged divorcees on their first date (married people never like to be that close to their spouse).

Usage--
Me: Oh man did you see--
Mark: --table 51? Oh yes. Same side seaters!! Good luck with those douches...

I never really understood this as I prefer, when eating garlic-laden food, to be a good foot and a half away from my dinner companion. Typically SSSes are super cheesy and usually assholes. Why rush to judge you say? Because honestly if you're squeezed in between two other tables just like yours, chances are, you're rubbing up on someone from the next table, which makes them feel awkward. And you don't care. Therefore, you're an asshole.

It finally happened...

That's right. The Crazy Waiter got suspended. I mean, let's face it. It was inevitable. He got caught saying one of his under-his-breath (or in this case, not so much) comments. However, what I suppose was luck, on his part, was the fact that it could have been so much worse. He could have called a customer a cocksucker to his face or punched in a computer monitor (which has also happened at The Restaurant). But no. It was a relatively unremarkable day in the life of TCW. He just happened to get caught. This is how the suspension played out:

TCW: Hi there, how's everyone doing toni--
Man: --Can I have some butter?

::TCW turns to our bus boy Jose and asks him to get some butter for the man.::

::Turns back to the table and takes a drink order, rings them into the computer, and brings them back to the table.::

Man: Did you bring my butter?
TCW: (looks and sees Jose in the server station looking like he's getting butter) It will be over in just a second.

::TCW proceeds to tell the specials when he gets to the last one, Jose has still not returned with the butter::

TCW: And finally this evening we have a surf and turf made with one filet mig--
Man: Can I get that butter?
TWC: (turns, walks away from the table about 3 steps and yells to Jose) Can someone get these people some butter before they have a fucking riot?

And thus, suspended.

Definition of the Day: Balsamic vinegar

Balsamic vinegar - n. - an Italian vinegar made from a reduction of grape juice. It is often paired with olive oil for use as a salad dressing, or occasionally a condiment in which to dip bread. In Italian restaurants you might find balsamic in something like this:


Various Balsamic vinegar brands include Bella, Avanti, Clearspring, Biona, Regina and Villa Bellentani.

THIS is NOT a brand of Balsamic vinegar:




That's right. One of my many genius co-workers stumbled drunkenly into dry storage and grabbed the first jug of brown liquid they saw. They proceeded to, at the end of the shift, fill all of the half empty bottles in the restaurant with the murky fluid. It wasn't until a couple days later that I noticed the mix up as I, myself, was assigned the task of refilling.

For those of you who don't know, Lea & Perrins is in the Worcestershire sauce family. This type of sauce is generally used in bloody mary mixes and meat marinades and is generally not thought of as an ingredient in salad dressing or ideal for bread dippage.

Just thought I'd clear that up.

California Fridays

Esteban: Did you know TJ made up "California Fridays"? As in, on Fridays he only pushes wine from California. What the fuck? I wish I sold enough wine that I could just pick a region.

The Low-Rent Top Ten (or so), By TJ Giglio

In an effort to keep all of you loyal readers undoubtedly in-the-know, TJ has graciously volunteered to list off, in his opinion, the top "low-rent" things, actions, etc. seen in restaurants.
Enjoy.

-A customer ordering beginning a request with, "Lemme get a ______."

-Indulging in ranch dressing in a public setting.

-Use of the term "regular" (i.e. "I'll have the regular salad"). I didn't grow up in your father's house. I don't know what's "regular" to you.

-When given olive oil for bread, a customer asking, "do you have butter?" Additionally, when non-Italian people get butter at a restaurant and ask for olive oil. You're not Italian. You don't really like that. You just saw an episode of Molto Mario.

-Sprite.

-A customer referring to a lobster tank as an "aquarium."

-A customer asking to add cheese to anything not coming with cheese.

-The use of the word "water" as a verb by waitstaff (i.e. "Connie, can you water table 36?"

-A server saying a table number loud enough for a customer to hear.

-Giving a handful of plastic creamers for coffee.

-Placing a drink or food item on top of a menu on the table.

-Use of the term "veggie" for vegetable or "parm" for, say, eggplant parmesan.

-The term "combo."

-A server saying "grilled to perfection." Fuck off.

-Asking a server how much he makes.

-The birthday song.

Two Servers Google Chatting

Lauren: i have a feeling i'm outside tonight ever just get those feelings?

Me: just give [the manager] a sexual favor so we can leave.
I better not be outside. i will be so sweaty and gross.
Speaking of favors......[bartender] from [closed wine bar] is apparently working at [another wine bar] now.

Lauren: oh SUPER

Me: ha

Lauren: somewhere else to frequent

Me: we need another wine bar

Lauren: are you still feeling ill?

Me: better since lunch

Lauren: same here

Me: what'd you have?

Lauren: a hangover

Me: for lunch?

Lauren: oh for lunch?

Me: ha

Lauren: a hotdog and fries

Me: nice

Lauren: what are you eating for dinner

Me: family meal?

Lauren: haha i always eat before the shift

Me: i had apple and yogurt for breakfast and salad for lunch then it all goes down the shitter once i get to t-t-t-t-[The Restaurant].
Oh and i hear you had a pool the other night

Lauren: ? what ?
OH yeah.
God i was bored on Tuesday.
I made a pool on what family meal would be.

Me: that's awesome
Who won?

Lauren: well no one technically.
Courtney said rig egg mozz [rigatoni with eggplant and mozzarella]
But it was penne

Me: HA
Lost on a technicality

Lauren: so i gave it to her bc i was too lazy to give everyone their dollar back

Me: that's hilarious

Lauren: i think we should up it to 2 dollars tonight

Me: ok i am cracking up. this is rediculous

Lauren: i already have money down on rig vodka

Me: fine. i got ziti nap

Lauren: oooo and ziti is a good choice bc it COULD be penne or rig and TECHNICALLY you aren't wrong by saying ziti

Me: bam!

Lauren: so scratch that i got money down on ziti vodka

Me: no way. unfair.

Lauren: now doesn't that just make your stomach turn

Me: ugh

Ticklish Tanninberry Time!

It started out as a joke in the pre-shift meeting:

Manager: Mark, describe this Cabernet.
Mark: It's jammy and has delicious ticklish tanninberries.

It's lame but for some reason keeps us endlessly entertained. I'm not exactly sure how this translated into the little game we now play at the restaurant....

Whenever a table leaves a substantial amount of wine in a bottle or if a large group has an open bar tab we take it upon ourselves to sample some wine. And by "sample," I mean "chug."

For example, last night Mark managed to get two full glasses of Chardonnay from a deserted bottle. He hid them in a the back server station then approached Fritz, Heather and I across the restaurant and yelled, "Ticklish Tanninberry Time!"

We all, like rockets, took off running toward the back station. Fritz and Mark screeching to a halt, got to the glasses first and chugged the first halves. Then they quickly pass off the glasses to Heather and I to knock out the rest. All in under 15 seconds. High fives all around.

Love those ticklish tanninberries.

Definition of the Day: Buy Back

Buy Back - n. - A free drink from a bartender given to a customer who exhibits one or more of the following behaviors: extensive tipping, having a really great personality, or being extremely attractive.

Proper usage--
One bartender to the other: "Give that guy a buy back. He's mad chill and hooked me up with a fat tip last time he came in."

Incorrect usage WHICH I ACTUALLY HEARD SOMEONE SAY THE OTHER NIGHT--
Douchebag customer to the bartender: "Do you guys do buy backs here?"

Ok. You can't ASK for a buy back! Would you go in to a restaurant and ask your server for a free appetizer just cuz? No. To be honest I was a little delighted when I heard this, as my friend John was bartending that night. First of all, that particular bar is very liberal with their free-drink-giving so had he not asked the question, he probably would have gotten a free drink. Second of all, John is from New Jersey and doesn't take a lot of shit...especially from some guy who brings his own pool cues to the bar and has the collar on his polo shirt popped. So here's what happened:

Guy: Do you guys do buy backs here?
John: Uh, sometimes we do.
Guy: Ok cool, because this is my third beer.
John: Ok buddy. I'm glad you're keeping track.
....
John (to the other bartender): See that fucking guy over there? Don't give him shit.

So Klassy

So there's this couple that comes in a few times a month. The assumed wife is moderately attractive, Asian and in her 40s. The husband is pushing 80, looks like Christopher Lloyd in Back to the Future III, wears only Hawaiian-print shirts and walks with the most horrendous limp that I'm amazed he manages to stay upright. He kind of drooly and overall just nasty. They only drink water. They order linguine with white clam sauce. The woman is reserved (I actually don't think I've ever heard her speak), but the guy is just voracious and sloppy. The servers turn away while he eats.

So one day they come in and I'm the lucky server who got to take care of them.

Me: The usual tonight folks? Linguine with white clam sauce?
Dr. Emmet Brown: Yep, that's right.
Me: Anything to drink?
Dr. Brown: Nope, just water.
Me: No problem. Would you like to start with an appetizer?
Dr. Brown: No, just the pasta.

So I pour them water and go to put the order into the computer. I turn back and walk past their table and behold:

The guy has placed his spoon onto his bread plate and is shaking the cheese shaker furiously filling the spoon with cheese. He proceeds to, you guessed it, eat the cheese.

So disgusting.

Talk about an amuse bouche.

TCW: Priceless

Evan the host has been, unintentionally, seating only women in The Crazy Waiter's section. The Crazy Waiter doesn't want too many of any one race, sex, age or creed in his section, but women are especially unappreciated. It was during this time that we got this little gem from TCW:

TCW: Evan, is this a restaurant or a goddamn gynecologist's office?

Why one person loves New York...

Recently in New York magazine:

“I love New York because the waiters and waitresses are the most beautiful, interesting, creative, stylish, aloof, and driven collection of service providers that can be found anywhere on this planet. They all have a story. They all have a plan. And they all forgot to bring me the fucking mustard.”

Table 61

Man: Can I have a decaf coffee?
TJ: Sure.

::TJ goes and gets the coffee, sets it on the table::

Man: Is this decaf?
TJ: Yes it is.
Man: It better be or I'll chop your nuts off.

Don't Fuck With Us

The best quote from the movie Waiting goes a little something like this:
"Never fuck with the people who handle your food."

It never ceases to amaze me that people don't understand this. And while my crew never stoops to the point of spitting or putting other foreign objects into entrees, you need to know that there are still ways that we can fuck with you. Most of these you'd never notice, but there are servers all over the place feeling smug at this very moment knowing they pulled one over on your dumb double-the-tax-tipping ass.

1.) Roll your eyes at your server for any reason. ANY reason. Guess who's getting piping hot bowls for their salad? You are! Mmm....arugula that's reminiscent of sauteed spinach. Yum. Sure there's cold bowls we could find. But you're an asshole. TJ actually once told a table, "This is how they do it in Italy. They actually put the bowls in the ovens!"

2.) Your server just started opening a bottle of wine at the table next to yours. You have just gotten your credit card into the check presenter and you start WAVING it at us. Fuck you. Guess what your server's gonna do? After that wine is open, you better believe she's gonna stay at that table and tell the specials. All the specials. She might even tell the table about items that aren't on the menu just so you have to wait longer, all the while smiling and giving you the "one minute" raised index finger.

3.) This is almost a side note to number two... Even if we aren't busy and you wave anything at us (hand, check presenter, empty glass) there's a good chance we'll simply wave back. Or better yet completely pretend not to see you and walk the other way.

4.) I had a table once order the cheapest Chianti on the list. As I pour a taste for the old fat guy one drop of wine gets on the white paper (that should tell you something) tablecloth. The guy takes his index finger, dips it in the spilled dribble of wine and show it to his wife, eyebrows raised. Furious, I left the table and went to talk to The Crazy Waiter. After telling him the story, he goes over and SLAMS into the back of the guys chair, pretending to have tripped. Oops! Did you spill that delicious Chianti on the table? Let me get you some napkins.

5.) Oh, that's sweet. You're a 70-year old kept woman who thinks "the help" is so adorable! So what do you do? You take your server's hand and say "Honey, you can get me a coke." Oh REALLY!!? Why thank you so much for the opportunity! Right. Looks like you're going to have enough ice in that coke to sink the Titanic. Oh, it's gone in two sips? Please allow me to get you another! It would be my pleasure to charge you $2.50 for as many cokes as you'd like ma'am!

Special thanks to Lauren for extra reporting for this post.

Zak

Zak is our dessert guy. He makes all the desserts and coffee drinks. He's Bengali with a thick accent, probably 40 years old and has a pretty substantial superiority complex. See below:

Me: Hi Zak. How are you?
Zak: What do you want Jessica? Coffee?
Me: I don't want anything. Just saying hi.
Zak: No. Whenever people say hi, dey want coffee.
Me: It's 90 degrees out. I don't want coffee.
Zak: Whatevah. People ask me how I am, dey want coffee. People ask "how is your daughta?" dey want dessert.

You can't be serious.

The Restaurant is Italian. I think I've made this clear before, but this needs to be known for the following tale... TJ tells me a table full of Asians sits in his section and when they ordered, they ask him if the chef has any "fresh ginger he can shave on top of their entrees."

Seriously? Fresh ginger? Here's a selection of questions I'm sure to hear in the next week:

"So I'm on this diet. My 3 children are going to split one pasta and I was wondering if you could just throw this lean cuisine in the microwave for me for a couple minutes?"

"I have this itch I can't quite reach. Would you mind? No not there...a little lower...oooh to the left. Perfect....ahhh."

"You don't have orange soda? So I'm gonna run next door to the deli and get one. That cool?"

"Could you repeat all 12 of the specials you just said? I was busy texting."

"Could you scrape the sesame seeds off these rolls?"

"Could you just give me a kidney? Just one little kidney?"

Seen and Heard: 3

Seen: A patron somehow trips on the scaffolding outside on the patio and cracks open the back of his head. His wife is holding a bloody ice pack to the back of his head and the guy, while waiting for an ambulance, KEEPS EATING. His rigatoni with vodka was just so delicious he couldn't stop. Wife is literally holding the ice to his bobbing head as he keeps leaning down for bites.

Heard (TCW): ::whispering:: "Connie, I didn't put knives in my roll-ups."

The Popover Gals

I've debated for a long time over whether or not to blog about this as to an outsider it may seem...how do I say this?...very strange, or worse, not funny. But I've decided that I must bring our craziness out into the open.

I think it started with TJ impersonating a middle-aged woman. He lowered his voice in an I've-been-smoking-for-twenty-years sort of way, but yet still a bit femininely (a tinge of Martha Stewart, perhaps?), and said to Lauren, "Mimi, when are we gonna get the gals over to the house to make popovers with strawberry butter??"

Lauren answered, in the same voice, "Deb, I know. It really has been too long."

What started as TJ and Lauren having a fake conversation as Deb and Mimi has now blossomed into a full blown "Thing" at work. Every server and most of the hosts have their "middle aged names" along with deep voices only used in conversations with other "Popover Gals."

Esteban is "Barb," the 20-year-old host is "Margot," I'm "Connie" (I had to give a shout out to Diane Lane's character in Unfaithful...although if TJ found out the true reasoning behind this choice he'd probably force me to change it). In what has been the funniest name thus far, The Crazy Waiter has been dubbed "Clara Rose."

Yesterday TJ came up to me and said, "Connie, have you seen Clara Rose? She's been going to Curves three times a week and she looks fantastic!" And I replied, "Yeah I guess she looks good, but my jazzercise is much higher-impact."

The storyline is intact in TJ's mind (maybe I'll have him on here as a guest blogger to tell the tale in full). But it goes something like this...We are all 40-ish women who live in St. Louis. Every once in a while we gather at one of our homes to make popovers with strawberry butter and lament our fading marriages. Well, most of us are married. Some of us have kids. It's suspected that a few of us have lesbian tendencies. "I think back in college Fran and Helen experimented. I always thought they were a little awkward around each other."

"Margot, did you see that Costco is having a sale on those Weight Watchers yogurts? You better get down there."

....Oh it's all too much, really.

Just so we're clear...

"The P.R." stands for the Party Room, where there are many large tables in the back of the restaurant.

"P.S." Are the initials of a bar that we, the waitstaff, frequent after work.

"The P.G." is the Peruvian Guy who works at the Mexican place down the street that TJ used to have HUGE crush on, who is "straight" but in reality is gaygaygay.

...keep them straight (no pun intended).

Seen and Heard: 2

Seen: The Crazy Waiter finish the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle in ten minutes.

Heard: (Fran) "Let's run a train on the new girl."

The Crazy Waiter: Part Deux

"Oh this is a first. Three fat chicks and they didn't order three diet cokes."

"How long does it take a 300 pound man to eat a fucking piece of tiramisu?! Just shove it in your mouth, I know you want to!"

"That's what we should ask people at the front door: 'which smell would you prefer? Wet dog, pee or dirty feet?'"

"'Oh, I'm allergic to dust' Go fuck yourself. Go live in a bubble and leave me the hell alone."

"How much would you give me if I threw this tray across the room?"

A girl at Esteban's table leaves her number for him, written on the check. When he shows it to The Crazy Waiter: "Esteban, you can't pay your bills with pussy."

Definition of the day:

Fuss (or F.U.S.S.) - n. - stands for Frivolous Unnecessary Sidework Search.

Origin: James. This refers to the end of the night when you have to do closing sidework (i.e. "Cheeses" or "Sugar Caddies"). The search comes when you have to gather certain items from around the entire restaurant and sometimes you just can't find them.

Example: "Now I know we have 30 fucking sugar caddies, but I only have 26. I'm so tired of these damn FUSSes!!!"

Top Server

Last night while watching Top Chef, I was thinking to myself...They should really create a show called Top Server. OK, hear me out:

Gather up the cockiest servers from around the country. Give them tiny hidden cameras and have them wait on people as usual. The challenges would be moving them to different restaurants. The first week they could work at Le Cirque, then move on to Olive Garden in Times Square for week two, etc..

Judges would debate which is worse, Joe forgetting an entire entree, or Laura forgetting the woman in the blue sweater was allergic to garlic, or something of the like. Servers are eliminated accordingly.

So what would the prize be? "At stake for the winner of Top Server is a Saturn Sky Roadster, one year of unlimited groceries at Whole Foods, and $500,000 to retire from waiting tables forever."

Oh a girl can dream can't she?

Table 50

Me: Can I start you all off with some water for the table?
Guy: Sure.
Me: Would you like flat, sparkling or tap water?
Guy: Toilet.
Me: Fuck you.

Here's what happens when you're a server...

When you're a server, especially in a neighborhoody-type of neighborhood, a few things start to happen:

1.) You'll get regulars. Some you'll like, some you won't. One group we can't stand is "The Basketball Guys." They come in ten minutes before closing every Monday after they finish up with some yuppie basketball game for aging assholes. They act like they own the place. They ask for all sorts of shit that's not on the menu (which our over-zealous manager gives to appease them), they don't tip especially well, and they're rude to boot! Anyway, moral of the story is one night one of them asks one of the new servers what he does outside of the restaurant. He says he's an actor. In response, the guy laughs and straight up (no pun intended) asks the server if he's "a fag." It's the kind of thing that makes you want to lick your finger before you slosh it around in their pitcher of Coke. I'm just sayin'.

2.) You become a regular. Sure there are 38 bars within a four block radius, but when we get off work we go to the same two. Over. And over. And over again. Why? Because we don't get charged for half, nay, a quarter of what we consume. Talking to a non-server friend recently he said something to the effect of "you think you're getting hooked up, but you end up just tipping the living shit out of each other." I thought to myself that, while this is true, the non-server probably doesn't realize just how much we drink. Sure, for the non-server, getting one vodka soda free after buying one for six bucks and then going home to sleep it off doesn't sound as enticing when he's overtipping. However, when I'm in one of the two acceptable bars drinking seven $12 glasses of Grenache and get charged $24 at the end of the night, I'm more inclined to leave a $40 tip. Not to mention the fact that on a Saturday night we just made $300 while the non-server was nursing his watered-down vodka soda at some shitty bar. Which brings me to my next, perhaps last, point...

3.) You drink entirely too much. Yeah it sucks not having Saturday nights open sometimes. You forget about little things like college football and unlimited mimosas at certain brunch spots (which become off-limits when you have to punch in at 3:30). However, one thing that does seem to keep certain servers endlessly entertained is the fact that whenever we get off work on Saturday night and head out to meet our non-server friends, we're going to, almost undoubtedly, see one of them act a fool because they've been slamming Jaegerbombs since 8. Yeah, I said "act a fool."
Another perk is seeing your non-server friends get pissed when you just got to the bar and get hooked up by the bartender immediately. So what happens in this situation? A couple things, actually. We obviously feel the need to catch up to the early partiers. Maybe some shots, maybe not. But at this point you're probably not in one of the said two approved bars, so you don't know the bartender. What to do? Drop a line about just getting off work at a restaurant. My favorite ploy is to actually keep the money I made in my check presenter and pull it out of my purse at the bar to pay for my drink (perhaps fumbling with my apron). The bartender will say, "Rough night at work?" And thus begins the process of "the hook up." Voila!

(no subject)

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/39433

That is all.

Seen and Heard

Seen: Elderly dishwasher eating a taquito (?!) with his hands...which are still clad in the wet yellow rubber gloves with which he washes the dishes.

Heard (TJ): "I like football, but I much prefer men's collegiate diving."

The Walk Out

Ok so there's nothing particularly funny about this post. Just downright creepy. A couple nights ago I'm waiting on this guy. He's alone. He orders a Coke, the shrimp scampi appetizer and linguini with clams. While he's waiting for his food, he asks me if the bartender has a newspaper he can read, because he forgot to buy one. I told him he didn't but that he could read my magazine that I had stashed in the server station from when the beginning of the shift was slow.

Throughout the meal he orders another Coke and when he's finished orders a cappuccino. Then he says, "You know what? That'll keep me up all night. I'll have a coffee instead." (Two cokes and a coffee, however, will put you right to sleep, guy). Anyway, he then asks if he can leave his messenger bag at the table while he goes to smoke a cigarette. I tell him sure. I bring his coffee to the table while he's outside.

Ten minutes pass, then 20. I go to my manager, "I think this guy bailed, but his stuff is still on the table." After a half hour goes by, my manager opens the messenger bag. No wallet, no phone, nothing valuable. The only things in the bag were hair gel, Mike and Ikes, a scarf, and, wait for it...Astro Glide.

Blech.

Two ways to patronize your patrons

1. When customers ask where the bathroom is, a few servers will say, "Past the bar down the grand staircase." Did you hear me? "The Grand Staircase." Now I know what you're imagining: spiraling hardwood steps with a gold banister under a crystal chandelier. The steps at The Restaurant are more reminiscent of the steps going down to a storm cellar in Kansas circa 1925. I wonder how many people walk right past the steep rickety ladder we try to pass off as a staircase and think to themselves, 'now that can't possibly be it,' and keep going...

2. No matter what, no matter when, the blender is ALWAYS BROKEN. Always. Okay, it's not actually ever broken, but that's what you tell people who come into an Italian restaurant and order a god damn VIRGIN PINA COLADA!?!! Sorry, ma'am. And no. We don't have sweet tea either.

I'll Take European Geography for $200, Alex.

Woman: We'll have a bottle of the Chianti.
Me: Which Chianti would you like?
Woman: The Italian Chianti.

Really? THEY'RE ALL FUCKING ITALIAN!

If you think your server hates you, they probably do.

Rules for eating at a restaurant:

1.) When the server comes to the table and says "Are you ready to order?" and you say "Yes," that is not the time to debate with your husband whether or not your 5-year-old will like the cheese sticks. It's also not the time to say "Yes, just give me one second" while you scan the menu and keep your server hovering over your table. It wastes our time and makes us feel awkward. Yelling across the table to your sister who's chatting on her cell phone to ask "Hey, Becky. You wanted alfredo or vodka sauce?" can be done after you say to me, "Just give us two more minutes." I don't care what Becky wants and have no interest in hearing the great alfredo/vodka sauce debate for the 27th time. Many of you think if you say "come back in two minutes," your server will dissappear into some black abyss and leave you to starve. Not so. We'll be back. We want you out as soon as possible.

2.) When I ask, "Would you like sparkling, flat, or tap water tonight?" Don't say, "Oh, we'll just have regular water." You mean, as opposed to all of the irregular water the tables around you are drinking? Also, don't make a joke about New York tap water being better than bottled water. Don't say "I'll have the Guiliani water" or "the Chateau Bloomberg." I agree NYC water is tasty but I don't care if you're clever. And chances are, I'll still think you're cheap. And don't lie. You are.

3.) You're allowed to dress badly or be a bitch. But not BOTH people! Not both. Because, really, what can be said to a woman in a frumpy reindeer sweater complaining that her pasta isn't "al dente"? I just laugh.

4.) Don't take pictures of your server under any circumstances. I don't care if you're "in from out of town" and want to show your girls back in Kentucy your hot waiter. I don't care if the server is holding the cake with a lit candle for your kid's 8th birthday. It's embarrassing enough having to sing "Happy Birthday" 12 times a night (and a little part of us dies inside each time), but what you need to understand is that most servers hold it in the back of their minds that they'll have an E! True Hollywood Story someday and don't want an embarrassing picture to surface of them wearing a wine-stained apron.

5.) If a restaurant closes at 10 and you walk in at 9:45 and the place is empty, turn the fuck around. If you think it's your imagination that you just heard "OH GOD DAMN IT!" coming from the server station, it wasn't. The closing server is PISSED and is looking for an excuse to take it out on you. Why? Because you suck. Keeping a server there for an extra hour so you can "have a quick bite," is unacceptable. If you are going to come in, at least spend some dough to make it worth their time. "Oh don't worry, we just want dessert," is SO much worse than, "I think we'd like to start out with a nice bottle of Barolo." Seriously.

6.) This should go without saying. But at the same time, must be said. If your service was decent, DOUBLE THE TAX IS NOT ENOUGH. I don't know who this crazy person was who started this "just double the tax" pandemic, but apparently he had a girlfriend that was way hotter than him and she dumped him for his way hotter football-playing best friend. She also happened to be a waitress. So in an evil sordid plot of revenge, he used whatever methods possible (flyers, e-mail blasts, those loudspeakers that people in the south have on top of their trucks) to get the word out for everyone in America to totally screw their servers on a regular basis. He's now 35 and living in his mother's basement reading MAD Magazine and throwing darts at his ex's face attached to his dartboard. It should be noted the couple broke up in 1996. Anyway...20% people! At The Restaurant, we actually have a song about you double-the-taxers. However, it's too graphic to reprint in this space.

Tips for Opening a Restaurant: Part I

Occasionally, and I mean occasionally, it's not the customer's fault that servers get pissed off. Sometimes, the management or the owners play a role in the madness. This is why I've established tips for opening a restaurant: it's for those of you who always thought it would be kind of cool and hip to open a restaurant, yet haven't ever actually worked in one.

Tip 1:
If you ever open a restaurant, for the love of christ, don't name two different salads the "House Salad" and the "[insert restaurant's name]'s Salad," without a description on the menu. Not only will every single person who comes through the door ask what the difference is, but it will drive your staff absolutely fucking ape-shit. This is especially true if each salad has over five ingriedients.

We have this joke at The Restaurant that as soon as a customer says, "I have a question for you," we immediately mouth the words along with them. "What's the difference between the House salad and The Restaurant's salad?" We've even joked about having the ingredients tattooed on our forearms so that when we put our arms in an "I Dream of Jeannie" Barbara Eden pose, the customer can just read it themselves.

So like I said, don't do this. I can't tell you how frustrating it is to be in the weeds with three tables waving check presenters at you and have to say,
"TheHouseSaladIsIcebergAndRomaineWithCarrotsOnionsOlivesTomatoesPimientosAndRedWineVinaigrette. TheRestaurant'sSaladIsArugulaToppedWithAlmostLikeABrushettaMixTomatoesRedOnionsBasilAndBalsalmicVinaigrette."

idiots.

The Crazy Waiter

So there's this guy, every restaurant has one, that's been waiting tables way too long. We'll call him The Crazy Waiter (or TCW for short). TCW is bitter and complains about every table he gets. He's also hilarious. So hilarious in fact that we, the other servers, have started to write down, on the back of receipts and such, the things he says. Here are a few of my favorite TCW quotes:

"The stupid mother fucker on the patio asks me for Eggplant Melanzana!? Melanzana means eggplant, HONEY!"

"Seven dollars on a 65 dollar check? This night is a fucking abortion."

Bartender: Do you need anything else?
TCW: Nope! Just one. fucking. Corona. for that fat. fucking. bitch.

"Just what I need in my section, another cunty blonde with a big fat ass."

"I'm going to have to get a second job to pay my tip-out."

"Have you ever seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest? Because the whole fucking cast is sitting at table 17."

::Slaps a check presenter down on an empty table:: "Well there's another stereotype reinforced!"

Table 54

Woman: Oh, you're so cute! Are you Italian?
Esteban: No, I'm actually Cuban.
Woman: (face drops) Oh...well...Olé.

Swear to god.

The Martini Glass Chronicles

Sometimes you just gotta put people in their place...

A woman comes in with 5 young girls around 7-years-old. They sit in TJ's section. Woman orders a cosmo and the girls, a pitcher of Shirley Temples. When TJ gets to the table with the drinks...

Woman: Could you please bring us five more martini glasses? The girls want to pretend they have cosmos.
TJ: (looks her straight in the eye; eyebrows raised) I can bring you wine glasses, but I am absolutely unwilling to bring you martini glasses.

"Absolutely unwilling" I love it. While this is pretty brilliant on TJ's part, for having the cojones to say that, I've come up with some other ballsy answers he could have said:

Woman: Could you please bring us five more martini glasses? The girls want to pretend they have cosmos.
TJ: Well I'd like to pretend I'm not an over-worked, under-appreciated server at this shitty restaurant, but I'm not entertaining that fantasy.

Woman: Could you please bring us five more martini glasses? The girls want to pretend they have cosmos.
TJ: Will they pretend they're drunk too? Because that's all we need is slurring, bleary-eyed children falling down the stairs on the way to the bathroom.

Woman: Could you please bring us five more martini glasses? The girls want to pretend they have cosmos.
TJ: Well actually we only have a limited number of martini glasses to go around. So when we run out we have to gather up all of the dirty empty ones from tables and bus stations and rush them back to the old Mexican guy, who gets paid six bucks an hour, and try to explain to him that we need him to limpia those before anything else in his queue. Then we take the freshly-washed martini glasses, now piping hot, back to the bar and put cold water in them, but not too cold or the glasses will crack. Then we are able to use them again to distribute appletinis made with house vodka and the such to obnoxious people just like you. So no. I can't bring you five more martini fucking glasses.

So what did the woman say to TJ's real response?

Woman: Ok.

"You're killing me!"

So I have a party of 12 people. They have a pretty decent check, lots of wine, pretty friendly for the most part. The exception is this one woman who has just been miserable the entire meal. Bitching at people, scowling, just an overall snobby lady, not unlike many of our other customers.

As I've said before, The Restaurant is by no means a diet-friendly establishment. After their meal, which consisted of an exorbitant amount of fried, fatty, lard-covered shit, I ask if they would like dessert or coffee. They order a massive amount of cheesecake and chocolate nastiness. I go around for coffee orders and when I got to the mean woman our conversation went a little something like this...

Me: Coffee? Cappuccino? Espresso?
Her: I'll have a cappuccino with skim milk.
Me: I'm sorry, we don't have skim.
Her: (astonished) What!? ...Ok, 2% then.
Me: I'm sorry, we only have whole milk.
Her: Seriously? Uuuughhh! You're killing me!

Me?
No bitch.
That pound and a half of fried calamari you just inhaled is killing you.

Go to Starbucks.

Stuffed Mushrooms

Everything on our menu is covered in one of the following: butter, oil, or cheese. The item is then slapped on to a family-style platter and thrown on the table with no regard for presentation whatsoever.

So I have this old guy in a beat up ugly suit. He's alone and he orders the stuffed mushrooms. They're stuffed with what I'm sure is whatever the chef scraped off the bottom of the deep fryer and served in an unidentified puddle of liquid with an orangish hue.

Me: How are the stuffed mushrooms?
Him: They are ::pauses, closes eyes, tilts head back:: exquisite.

No they. fucking. aren't. Nothing at this shithole is close to "exquisite."

Moral of the story: People are gross and I hate my job.

"What's Ranch?!"

As a disclaimer, while my restaurant is in a rather affluent neighborhood, it's casual enough to never attract a single classy person. Ever.

As in many restaurants, most of my co-workers are not "career servers." To many a customer's dismay, we have a plethora other dreams, aspirations, and things to do besides clean up after their pasta-throwing three-year-old.

One such co-worker, a writer, triathlon-er, and all-around smarty (we'll call him TJ), likes to get revenge on the system by putting the occasional customer in their place. Not by being rude, necessarily, but by...well by doing things like this...

Customer: Can I have some ranch dressing? (as a note, we don't have ranch dressing)
TJ: Sorry?
Customer: Ranch dressing?
TJ: I'm sorry, ranch?
Customer: Yeah, for my salad.
TJ: What is "ranch"?
Customer: You know, ranch dressing.
TJ: ::shakes his head confused:: I'm sorry I don't know what that is. Can you describe it? (he tells me later the goal is to get the customer to say the word"tangy")
Customer: You know, it's like creamy...
TJ: -like a balsalmic?
Customer: No like a-
TJ: -Like a dijon vinaigrette?
Customer: ...No
TJ: ...hmm
Customer: It's like a tangy...
TJ: I'm sorry we don't have that.

TJ is a genius

So here's the story...

I'm a waitress at an Italian restaurant. Now I know there's plenty of other angry waitress blogs out there. Mine may not be better, but it will allow me to vent my frustrations about the jerks that I deal with daily. I will re-group, I will digress, and I will not walk out mid-shift.

On top of that, as many servers know, the restaurant industry attracts the craziest cast of characters this side of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. And my restaurant's staff takes the Oscar.

I'm mainly writing this blog because so many funny and outrageous happenings have already transpired during my time at "The Restaurant" (as I'll call it). I'm afraid these memories will soon be lost forever in the alcohol-soaked aftermath of each shift.

So eat up...