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.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, January 28, 2008
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!
Me: Which Chianti would you like?
Woman: The Italian Chianti.
Really? THEY'RE ALL FUCKING ITALIAN!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
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.
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!"
"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!"
Thursday, January 17, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
"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.
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.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
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.
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
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...
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...
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