Confessions of a Part Time Waitress

Comments?

2010-01-10T18:31:00.000-08:00

Someone emailed me and said me comments are not working? Is this nonsense true? Or are you all just sick of me.

confessions.of.a.waitress@gmail.com

xox

Neglected.

2009-12-24T12:44:00.000-08:00

First lets start by saying Hello again to all of my fantastic readers. It's been awhile, I know, and I'm sorry!

This term was absolute Hell! Apparently in Nursing school "normal" grades don't apply. Where in regular college classes, a 60% or higher is passing, we have to maintain a 77% or higher to pass. We can ace every assignment and have a 97% total, but if we don't have a combined total of 80% on our midterm and final we get the boot. And they aren't joking. Of the 65 students that started, we already lost 10 in first term.

Needless to say, Its ridiculous how little time I have to do anything other then studying. On the plus side though, I'm feeling rather smart;)

As expected, I started the term taking a small break from work, and then went back to only work Saturdays and Sundays. Well that didn't quite work out because the work load was piling up, and I was seeing my husband less then 6 hours a week. So I talked to my boss and asked for the rest of the term off. She agreed and promised to have my spot for me when I came back over holidays.

So when the term rolled to a close, and I prepared to put on my apron and serve up some steak, I was informed that things at the restaurant were "too slow" and they had to give priority to the "committed employees."

I wasn't bummed.

At first I was excited for all the time off. I was able to clean the house for the first time in literally three months. I was able to cook real meals with out feeling guilty for "wasting good study time," I was able to go out with the ladies and get hammered without fear I would sleep through my 6am clinicals. I hand sewed my nieces and nephews cute monster dolls for Christmas, I got my hair done, I slept in...And now I'm just plain bored! I have almost forgotten how miserable the term was, and I'm a bit excited to start it all over again.

I know I promised some good stories from the term, and trust me you will get them. But not today my lovelies!

Life of a Nursing Student.

2009-10-16T23:44:00.000-07:00

As predicted, this term is an absolute doozy ! We are three weeks in, and I still haven't had a chance to stop and catch my breath. I took the first month off from work to focus completely on school without distractions. I told my boss I would be back mid-October, but the way things are shaping up, if I do return to work it may only be for one sad shift a week....and hell no, it doesn't make ME sad at all.

I plan to post any interesting events that happen throughout my clinical rotations however. I mean, I realize this is a waitress blog and all, but you KNOW you'd rather read about old man testicle gunk, or my incontinent coma patient shitting on me while I was changing his bed. After all, that's real entertainment. No more "Oh, table 3 is being a bitch" or, "that asshole didn't tip..." lets get down and dirty with the stuff life is REALLY all about.

In the mean time I plan on changing the title of this blog. Also follow me on Twitter for more frequent updates (though probably still uncommon). And make sure to not go anywhere! I haven't forgotten about you. I will post when I can, and will regularly update throughout school breaks.

Also, if you've ever taken any medical courses and worked with a SimMan or a mannequin, this video is sure to have you laughing your ass off!!

Weekly Confessions

2009-09-25T23:40:00.000-07:00

This week you bared your soul. You shared the gruesome details, you admitted to crimes against society, you laughed an evil laugh, and I loved every second of it.

Secret Confession #1- One time I had to deliver a fruit tray to the main office of the county department of health. The delivery was scheduled for very early in the morning, and was located a good 30 minutes away from my house. Since my work was another 30 miles away in the opposite direction, I decided to bring the fruit tray home with me to save an hour at the crack of dawn. That morning as I sleepily loaded the fruit tray into my car, I accidentally dropped it all over the pavement... There was no time to get the ingredients, much less prepare them, so I did the only thing I could think of: I picked up all of the fruit, rinsed it off, and reassembled the platter. Yup, I served pavement fruit to the health department.

Brilliant. The shear irony of the situation would have been to much to handle. Now, lets hear from the passive aggressive antics of a pizza maker, and a cocktail waitress...

Secret Confession #2- I used to work at a place that served take-away pizza. Whenever someone was especially rude, I would slice their pizza just hard enough so it looked like it had been sliced, but not hard enough to cut through the crust. Devastating? Probably not. But the thought of those jerks making a mess of themselves trying to eat a slice on the way home always made me smile.

Secret Confessions #3-When I was a cocktail waitress at a casino, I used to do something called "arm pit straws". Whenever a person was particularly nasty and called me a bitch, I would put their straw under my arm pit while I was delivering other drinks. I would then put the straw in their drink (arm pit side up) and deliver it with a smile.

Ahh, and just the thought of you silently sabotaging those asswads makes me smile too. Thank you all for your confessions this week. Keep them coming, as I am thoroughly enjoying reading through them. It sure is nice to know you are all just as screwed up and vindictive as I am.

Confessions of a Cokehead

2009-09-21T13:37:00.000-07:00

When hubby and I first met during the awkward prepubescent years, we were like two zit faced tweens in a Proactive commercial. We smiled at each other with metal faces as I knelt down to give him a kiss. See, I had a growth spurt before most kids my age, and was much like an amazonian walking several feet above my peers. Though it was a successful year for me and sports, it was not uncommon for me to hear shouts of "She-Man" and "Giraffe" echoing down the halls.

Like most things that happen during the ages of 11-14, we pray they stay buried and locked within the walls of our junior high, our relationship was certainly one of them. Pictures were burned to hide the evidence that I had, in fact, dated a midget.

Six years later when hubby and I ran into each other again, I was happy to see that he was no longer 4'8, but was still as thin as ever. We started dating immediately and four years later we were married. Though he was still shorter then me, this time it was only by mere inches, rather then entire feet as was the case in junior high. We were finally on level playing field. Until slowly, I began gaining the dreaded marriage weight I had heard horror stories about. While some will be quick to blame the birth control, I will admit the fault was nobodies but my own... and whole milk, and ice cream. Four months after the wedding, I was shocked when my favorite skinny jeans didn't fit anymore.

In effort to save money, the grocery shopping was down to mainly essentials, and since hubby needs high calorie food and drink to keep up his weight (lucky bastard) I found myself buying whole milk, pasta, and Pepsi. (yes, Pepsi is an essential).
Once I identified the culprit I immediately changed my shopping habits. I began buying skim milk, non-fat ice cream and Diet Pepsi for myself, while still buying high calorie foods for him. Within months I had lost most of the weight, and rejoiced as I slipped effortlessly into my favorite jeans.
One night last week I called hub, and asked if he could pick me up a Diet on his way home. When he arrived home with Coke, I threw a fit. After a four month love affair with Diet Pepsi, I felt that drinking any thing else was an abomination. Three 2-liters in two hours later, I was addicted. I began bathing in it, washing my dishes with it, and feeding it to my kitten. I filled my car, my cereal and my aquarium with it. I washed my clothes, filled the hot tub, and watered my plants with it. I dreamt of it at night, and made love to it during the day. Thank you husband for accidentally bringing it home that fateful night that changed my life. I will now fight anyone who says that Diet Pepsi is better.

And on a completely unrelated note, this is the funniest blog ever!! Go check it out, and leave some love. Adnoxious.blogspot.com

Confessions Collection

2009-09-17T13:33:00.000-07:00

Since 90% of my year is spent with my nose deep in the books, when each school term is finished I usually have a few weeks to unwind, stay in my pj's all day, veg out and watch the episodes of all my favorite shows that I've missed. So to commemorate my finishing Gossip Girl Season 2 in less than 4 days, I have decided to feature a weekly Confession, written by you of course.

Are you a waitress, a pizza delivery driver, a barista, a grocery store checker, a nurse, or a retail salesman? If you work in any from of customer service and have ever fucked with a customer unbeknownst to them, please share it here. Tell me your deepest darkest secrets. Tell me about the time you spit on a pizza, or the time you ate food from a patrons plate after removing it from their table. Tell me about pouring Visine into someones drink, or giving that hot guy a discount on sharp Cheddar at the store. I want the gruesome details! And don't worry, It'll remain anonymous unless you request otherwise.

To begin this new feature on Confessions of a Part Time Waitress, I will start by sharing a secret of my own.
When I was 16 I worked at Little Caesars Pizza. On many occasions during my delivery's I would sneakily eat a bread stick out of the bag. Since each bag came with 8, I figured nobody would ever find out. To this day I don't know if anyone did.

Now its your turn. Just type it into the box on your left!

100th Follower: Observations About The World

2009-09-10T12:17:00.000-07:00

Fran, author of Observations About The World has a comedic outlook on life, television, and societal expectations of love, relationships, and (a mutual disgust and hatred of) Twilight.

She is a brilliant rant writer, and her abhorrence towards teen pop, miley cyrus, and seventeen's "Is He Cheating" quizzes, is sensed in every word.

2. To your knowledge, has he ever cheated before?

A. Yes

B. Not sure

C. No

Is there even anything to say about this question?

First off, if he has, in fact, cheated on you before, then you're stupid. On the other hand, whether he's cheated on you or not doesn't determine whether he'll cheat on you. There's a first time for everything.

And from her Four Depressing TV Shows-

3: MTV Cribs

Okay, who seriously wants to watch 30 minutes of rich celebrities showing off how rich they are by showing us their home(s)? Especially since most of the people who watch MTV are middle class people who cannot become rich unless they have some crazy talent. You see people with like 5 cars that they don't even use, and you wish you had money like that. Trust me, after a few episodes, you'll feel like a failure.

Busy

2009-09-09T23:12:00.000-07:00

I think I need to change my blog title to Confessions of the Occasional Waitress. Or maybe 5 Hours a Week Waitress, or possibly I Hate my Dead End Job and Can't Wait to Quit as Soon as I'm Done With School....What do you think? Sounds pretty catchy eh?

Last week was our "unofficial" anniversary weekend. We headed North to watch our favorite band play a show, and then camped for 5 days on the beach. We had so much fun, and dreaded the thought of coming home and heading back to work. Funny thing is, we're home and I still have 5 more days off. See, I'm quite possibly the least of my employers concern right now. When I was first hired I told my manager that I would have complete availability. 7 days a week, any shift, doubles, triples, anything. Then once I started, I found out I had been accepted into the Nursing Program, and that the next two years of my life would be a complete shit storm of homework, clinicals, and HESI's. So, imagine the managers surprise when they learned they completely wasted their time training me when I would only be available to work one, maybe two shifts a week. Oh well, I guess that's the gamble. So now they just don't schedule me. And to be honest, I'm not complaining. The less I work the happier I am.
Next weekend is our "official" anniversary and we have another weekend getaway planned. Then just days after we get back Fall term starts and I wont even have enough time to scratch my own ass let alone work a shift at the steakhouse.

The One Hundredth Follower (Inspired by The Hooters Girl)

2009-09-03T00:45:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, The Hooters Girl challenged her readers to officially "Follow" her blog, and that who ever became the one hundredth follower would be featured on a Blog Share post.

As I have reached 85 followers of my own, I would like to present the same challenge to you. The one hundredth follower of my blog will receive a full post dedicated to them, (and the blog/journal or site of their choosing), and a link on my page under Favorites.

I would also like to add that in doing so, you will be guaranteeing much additional traffic towards your blog.

So, what do ya say?

The Sweaty Silverware

2009-09-01T00:48:00.000-07:00

Last night was my first day back from my bullshit suspension. Though I walked in feeling completely awkward and uncomfortable, both mangers did a good job pretending nothing happened, while whispers of "I thought she was fired," and "I hear she's been stealing for months" were overheard from fellow employees throughout the night.
It was a remarkably uneventful shift, spent avoiding confrontation of any sort. It was ridiculously slow, and we were asked to start small cleaning projects. I opted to roll hundreds and hundreds of silverware, as it beats the hell out of scrubbing crusted cheese, and layers of spilled sauce under the salad bar.

I think it may be the law anyway, but my steakhouse is what you might consider an equal opportunity employer. This usually means non-biased hiring towards sex, race, or religion. However we have often hired mentally handicapped people as well. Now, please don't leave nasty comments because I will have none of it. My Aunt had down syndrome, and I have a soft spot in my heart for the mentally challenged. I do not, however, think that they belong working in a stressful position like those offered at a restaurant. Our newest hired busser is handicapped. He is very friendly, and does what he is told, problem is it takes him 5 times as long to get it done, and he forgets important parts of each task, which usually takes someone else to clean up, or sort out.

Last night, I thought I would teach him to roll silverware, and smiled as his eyes filled with joy at learning the new skill. We spent about ten minutes together rolling silverware, when he was asked to empty all the trash cans. He returned from the job to continue with silverware, and was completely drenched with sweat. I assumed he had washed his hands, so we continued rolling. We made small talk until I caught him wiping drips of sweat from his forehead with his bare hands. At first I was unsure of what to tell him, so I just watched as he scratched his nose, rubbed his sweaty neck, and returned his hands to silverware rolling. I gagged a bit, and then I reminded him that anytime he touched his face he needed to wash his hands. He nodded agreeably, and took off to do so.

While he was gone, Manager C (the one to suspend me) walked by with her manager meal, said she would be in the office eating dinner if anyone needed her, and reached forward to grab the nearest silverware.

Of course she grabbed the one Busser had just snotted, and sweat all over. And of course I didn't tell her. I just snickered to myself, and told her to enjoy her meal.

Suspended

2009-08-29T18:37:00.000-07:00

Last Monday during a closing shift an old friend of mine sent me a text saying that she was in town and wanted to see me. I told her I was working, but that she could come in and hang out for a bit, so she came, and brought with her another very close friend that I hadn't seen in a few months.

I casually asked them if they wanted something to drink, while flashing them the "of course I won't charge you" smile. One had a Pepsi while the other had a raspberry lemonade. As many of you are probably aware, to have food made, or a bar drink poured you must ring it into the computer because the kitchen/bartender cannot make anything unless they have a ticket. There are only a few things that servers have complete control over, and fountain drinks are one of them. It is because of this, that I didn't charge my friends for their drinks.

I took their order, and rang in their food. I sat and chatted for a bit while they ate, then I collected their money for the bill, and then hugged them as they left.

About ten minutes later, I made a stupid mistake on a new order and needed a manager to void off an item. We laughed about how I was a total bonehead, always making silly mistakes when she looked at me and said...

"You know, you're only a real bone-head if you forgot to charge your friends for their drinks."

Oh shit...Panic mode kicked in, so what did I do?

I looked my manager straight in the eye, and lied. Completely forgetting that she had the ability to open up a closed tickets to see exactly what was rung in.

I told her I hadn't charged them because I paid for them myself, So she smiled sweetly and dropped the subject.

I spent the next 3 days stressed out that she knew the truth, or that I would get fired.

Thursday evening I headed into work for another closing shift. When I arrived I noticed my name was not on the seating chart, so I fearfully approached the managers office. When I got there I was asked to sit so that we could have a "chat."

Manager C informed me that she had checked my nightly report and found no sign of my friends drinks. She reminded me that stealing was grounds for termination, and she asked me once again if I had meant to charge my friends.

I had two choices. I could either admit that I purposely gave my friends free drinks, then lied about it, and face certain termination, Or lie again and say that I intended to charge them, but must have forgotten, look like a total airhead, but still have a job.

Can you guess what I did?

I lied again. I said that I must have spaced it, but that I meant to ring it in. I apologized for my ignorance, and whipped out a $10 to pay for the drinks.

I was then scolded for making stupid mistakes, and suspended for 2 days.

So, I am not proud of the situation. If anything, I am embarrassed. I feel and looked like a total idiot, and It is all my fault. I deserve to be fired. But now that all is said and done, and we are moving forward, I have to ask my readers and fellow servers a question. Feel free to leave comments anonymously if you prefer nobody find out, but please, I would like as much feedback as possible.

Have you ever hooked up a friend? Have you ever slipped them a freebie while you were working, just because it was easy, and you wouldn't get away with it? Was giving them a free drink OK, but only crossing the line because I lied about it?

Please be honest... I was.

Gall Bladder Removal.

2009-08-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

One Saturday Elvira was keeled over in the bar holding her stomach in excruciating pain. She was sent home early because eventually she couldn't even hold herself upright. She called in sick the next three shifts. Nobody knew what the hell was going on, so on her fourth missed shift Manager C told her she needed a doctors note. Upon visiting the doctor she learned she had cholesterol gallstones, and would need a Cholecystectomy (gallbladder removal).

Prior to the surgery, she had some lab work done, as is a common practice. She had a tox screen, a UA, and a CBC. After reviewing the results, the doctor warned Elvira about the dangers of her particular habits. To which she replied "It's my life, I will do what I want."
Classy Elvira, classy.

Post surgery Elvira was in a recovery consultation. She was once again urged to discontinue all drug, tobacco, and alcohol usage, as these could dramatically effect her rehabilitation. She once again irresponsibly declined.

As their meeting was drawing to a close, he quickly wrote her a prescription for 1000mg Ibuprofen. She immediately announced that she wanted something stronger, to which he replied that she would not be in much pain, and that anything stronger then the ibuprofen could possibly do more damage to her digestive system.

Frantically she tried again, demanding that she absolutely HAD to have something stronger for the pain. Leaning back in his chair, he removed his glasses, and said...

"You're clearly an alcoholic, you reek of stale pot, and your uncontrollable jitters and grumpiness would suggest that the last two days without a cigarette have been anything but delightful. I will NOT be giving you anything stronger. You really think its wise to get addicted to another substance?"

Kudos on your bed-side manners Dr. House, I'm sure you wont be to surprised to find out she's working on a case to sue your honest ass. I know I wasn't.

Rapetopia

2009-08-18T21:20:00.001-07:00

While working my clinical hours I encounter a vast assortment of people. I have learned to detest the human body and all of the filthy and disgusting things it is capable of. I have also learned to detest most humans for all of the awful and harming things they are capable of doing to themselves and others. It is not uncommon for me to help suture up a stab victim, or to scrub asphalt out of a drunk driver, who just killed three people in a head on collision.

One afternoon my charge nurse and I entered an isolated room. After suiting up with gowns, gloves and masks, I asked for some information on the patient. He had AIDS, and was coughing up blood. The man was young, in his 40's. He laid curled in the fetal position, clutching his stomach as he violently coughed while simultaneously shitting himself.

Several weeks after the incident hubby and I were watching some good ol' Dane Cook in his Rough Around the Edges tour, when the bit came on about a website where you could find out if any sexual predators lived in your neighborhood, so for fun we decided to check it out. Within 2 miles of our house, there were 20 registered sex offenders, and under each name there was a picture, and a list of sexual felony "stats", like a rapist baseball card. This would have been a good time for us to log out, and forget everything we had seen, but we decided to check each picture to see if we recognized anyone.

And then I saw him. My AIDS patient. Staring into the camera with his cold eyes.

I was horrified. Not only did he live just up the street from us, but he also had 4 counts of child sodomization. My heart immediately broke for the young children that this monster had brutalized, raped, and then gave AIDS to.

For the record, if you read my blog and think that I seem a bit cold, withdrawn, and detached from society, this is why. The exasperation and hopelessness I feel towards mankind is because of shit like this.

Cooking Burns and Stripper Poles

2009-08-15T00:10:00.000-07:00

Elvira is scandalous. The more I work with her, the more I feel the need to come home and disinfect everything I own. It started subtly. A naughty comment here, a blow job in the walk-in there. Before I knew it she was describing to me vivid sex-dreams in intimate details.

She wants to fuck 90% of the male employees at the steakhouse, and would probably have a go at most of the ladies to. She's been warned about making off-colored remarks because sound echos in the kitchen, and the front half of the restaurant can usually hear everything that is said, however most of the time she comes to work to drunk, hungover, or to strung out to care.

One evening this week she came to work with her arm bandaged up, and tucked safely in a sling. She said she burnt her arm pretty badly while cooking, when the always witty and clever BB said loudly,

"Right...It's probably a friction burn from your stripper pole."

Everyone laughed hysterically, and Elvira blushed as she replied,

"I wish I knew how to pole dance."

Several hours later BB and I happened to be back in the dish pit when he said,

"Seems weird thinking of her burning herself cooking. It just doesn't fit, Elvira....cooking...?!!"

To which I replied,

"Yeah...Cooking Meth maybe?"

A Bucket of Lard, and a Sneaky Bastard

2009-08-10T23:50:00.000-07:00

Growing up, my oldest sister had a serious eating disorder. The knowledge of this made me feel like a pregnant hippopotamus because she was always so much thinner then I was, and nothing boosted my self esteem more then a petite, beautiful blond standing 5'9, with a perfect rack telling me she was utterly repulsive.
One Christmas she was home from college, and over a few to many margaritas she began confessing to me terrible things she had done to her friends, just to make her feel better about herself. She told me about how she would dump out her roommate's diet soda, and refill it with regular soda. She would crack the seal of her skinny friend's Splenda, replace it with regular sugar, and glue the edges back together. She would offer to cook, and use pure lard. She even made "health-shake" for her model friends using whole sticks of butter.
At the time, I had a few laughs about it. I found myself justifying her actions, I even thought of all the ways her little scheme could have benefited me in the past. Just like LiLo with the energy bars in Mean Girls, I though about all the hot girls whose bodies I could have have watched bloat up with Lard and butter, as I laughed and kept on feeding them. How their misery, and self-hatred would somehow make me feel better and help with my own validation. And then I sobered up.

I haven't thought much about my sister's shenanigans since then, I have even gained an appreciation, and have learned to be happy with myself the way that I am.

But then the other day I was at Starbucks. My Barista was a heavy set teenage boy, who stood cowering and meek, almost as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin. When I asked for a small sugar-free nonfat iced mocha, he rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath,

"Nonfat, sure...make fun of me...just like everyone else.."

I chose not to respond. There was nothing I could have done or said that would have made feel any better about himself, nor was my nonfat drink in anyway a representation of what I thought, or felt about him. So I remained silent, but I watched him closely as he made my drink. I watched as he pumped 5 squirts of REGULAR Mocha syrup into my drink, and as he
sneakily added a squirt and a half of Classic Syrup (liquid sugar).

Barista: "Nonfat Mocha..."

GH: "Thanks..."
Taking one sip so he could see me, I scrunched my face and said,
"Are you sure this is sugar free?"

Barista: "Yes, It is..."

GH: "Uh, OK. Thanks."

Upon leaving the building I dropped the drink into the nearest trash can. Luckily I had payed with a gift card that much to my surprise still had $20 dollars remaining.

I was really annoyed by the whole ordeal, yet having to dump the drink was the least of my concerns. I was pissed that he was dishonest, that he would purposely sabotage a stranger who unintentionally offended him. I understand low self-esteem. I struggled with it all through junior high and high school. But does he honestly think that just because he is miserable, everyone else should be too? That since he is fat and unhappy, everyone else should join him in self-loathing.

We make our own happiness. We may not like our weight, our hair, or our clothes, but we shouldn't treat everyone else like shit because we are unsatisfied. We should change our attitudes, and treat people with love and respect, only then will we learn to love the person trapped underneath the extra weight, a bad hair-cut, or shabby clothes.

Cold by Definition

2009-08-06T22:33:00.000-07:00

When asked how you would like your steak cooked, the obvious choices are rare, medium rare, medium, medium well, and well done. Each choice has a corresponding internal temperature, and this is how a cook can tell when the steak is cooked exactly how it's ordered.

There are, however, a few other ways to order a steak. You may not be familiar with them, as I certainly was not until I began working at the Steakhouse. One of those ways is called Pittsburgh Style, also called Blue-Rare, meaning it is so rare, that it looks almost blue inside.

I seldom, if ever have anyone order their steak this way, either because they are not familiar with it, or because it is absolutely disgusting. But, either way, if it is ordered, the cooks will make it.

The other night I had a table of two. They were unhappy throughout their entire meal. Her Rum and Coke was to strong, even though it was Malibu Rum, which is like liquid candy. His salad tasted old, even though it was the first scoop out a new bag, and the dressing and croutons were hand-made that afternoon. And their bread was cold and stale, even though it was a fresh batch right out of the oven. I got the feeling early that they just wanted to complain, so I acted interested in all of their shenanigans, and nodded my head with implied concern, but had mentally tuned them out, and was in my head enjoying a Malibu Rum and Coke of my very own.

He ordered the Prime Rib, and wanted it very rare. I let him know it would be more like Medium rare, as the Prime Roast is kept in the oven all night, and the later it gets, inevitably the more it is cooked. He was annoyed, but ordered it anyways.
When I brought out their dinner, they said everything was fine, so I left them to eat. Five to ten minutes later I stopped by to see if everything was still going well, they said it was, so again I left them to eat. Only seconds after I walked away and stopped by another table, the man half stood, and began violently flailing his arms to get my attention. I shot him a "Wait your fucking turn" look, and he sat back down. When I had a moment, I returned to his table to see what had happened in the 14 seconds since he told me things were going good.

Man: "The Prime is cold."

GH: "Of course it is, its been out here on your table for ten minutes"

Man: "No, I mean it was cold when you brought it out to me. "

GH: What I said- "Oh I'm sorry can I get you a new piece?" What I meant- "Then why the hell did you tell me twice that everything was fine?"

Man: "Yes, I want a new piece...could you make it RARE this time please. If you knew better you wouldn't mess with me"

GH: "I'll see what I can do"

Upon returning to the kitchen I was informed we were 86 Prime, as the last piece had just been sold. My manager told me to offer to heat it up, give him a Rib-Eye, or a piece of dessert on the house.

He said I would ruin the Medium Rare if I heated it up, he hated Rib-eye (even though Rib-eye IS Prime Rib) and he had no appetite for dessert. And then he just stared at me....for minutes....without saying anything. My manager saw what was going on from across the floor and came to my rescue. She finally got him to speak. He said he would take the Rib-Eye but wanted it Blue Rare, charred for only 45 seconds on each side. So that's exactly what he got.

A few minutes later, I was introducing myself to a new table when the man stood and yelled my name across the restaurant. I ignored him at first but after three consecutive yells, I looked back and said "Wait your turn Sir!"
This asshole was challenging me and I was not in the mood, so I put on my game face and went back to his table.

Man: "This Rib-eye is awful. It's colder then the Prime. Don't you guys know how to serve a properly heated steak. What the hell is wrong with you."

GH: "Well sir, before the steak was put on the grill it was in the fridge, which is somewhere around 35 degrees. We did as you asked and only grilled the steak for 45 seconds each side, and last time I checked, a minute and a half is certainly not enough time to bring up the temperature of something so cold. If you wanted a warm steak, you should have asked for Well Done, because Blue-Rare is cold by definition. Now you can enjoy this steak the way you ordered it, or I can microwave it for you. Those are your only options.

The man looked dumbfounded, as if I had just shot him in the neck with a metaphorical stun gun. Swallowing his pride, he puffed up his chest and demanded to talk to a manager. So I waved one over, and listened as he implored her to comp his entire meal. He played every card in the book, and even threatened to tell his "Gun Club" buddies how terrible he had been treated if he was not compensated somehow. She said she would not be comping any of his meal, and then she asked him to kindly Fuck off.

I was so elated. People will do anything for a free meal, and apparently my manager wasn't in the mood to be fucked with either. A few minutes later she went out for a smoke, and I followed her to thank her for not letting him get away with such tomfoolery's. She had had it up to her ears with doucherockets for the night, and started ranting. Right at the point of "What an asshole!!I hope him and his damn gun club friends never set foot in this Restaurant again," the man walked around the corner to his car. He looked back towards her, and half joking, half serious she said,

"Goodnight Sir, you're sure lucky we don't spit in peoples food here."

Kill Whitey!

2009-08-02T00:10:00.000-07:00

After having nearly two weeks off the only thing that sounded worse to me than working, was to die slowly by having red-hot iron rods inserted into my anus. But such is life.

I dug my still dirty work shirt out of the laundry and forced myself to put it on, while nearly gagging at the stale grease stench, I made a mental note to buy a new work shirt.

I was pretty bored the majority of the evening, and tried to keep myself busy while going through the motions and spouting off random bits of information like a robot on auto-pilot. And then I received my first big-top of the evening. An elderly man asked to pick up the tab, so I kept my eye on him and made sure to give him a little extra attention. When his Medium Rare Rib-eye came out Rare I wasted no time bringing it back to the kitchen for a quick fix.

Elderly man: "Don't overcook it...just throw it on the grill for a minute"

GH: "Absolutely sir."

Man: "I'm serious...if you bring it back Medium I'm walking out."

GH: "I'll watch the clock myself sir, you have nothing to worry about."

Two minutes, and a perfect Medium Rare later, I returned to the table and watched as the elderly man morphed into a fit of unnecessary rage.

Man: "God Damn It!! I said Medium Rare, not Medium...I told you...I knew they would overcook it!!! Who is back there cooking? It's some stupid white guy? Get the Mexicans...they know how to cook it right... * Mumbles* Fucking whiteys....always fucking up my steak."

GH: "Sir, this is a family restaurant, please lower your voice. I can get a manager if you would like."

Man: "Get me the stupid white cook. He needs cooking lessons."

After ten more minutes of degrading ramblings the man was finally asked to leave. I found it humorous that before he left he asked for a to-go box for his steak.

I'm sure I'll get shit for saying this, but I couldn't shake the feeling of racial stereotyping. If the man had screamed that a "fucking Mexican ruined his steak" he would have been publicly crucified. Why is it such a crime against society to so much as mumble a racial slur against an African American, an Asian, or an Indian, but have free range at Whitey? It just doesn't make sense to me.

Will This Vacation Ever End?

2009-07-23T21:08:00.001-07:00

LA is depressing. How can anyone live with the traffic and smog? The family is successfully annoying the hell out of each other, and I have officially begun counting down the days till we get back. I haven't been online for over a week, how did I survive 17 years without the internet? I miss you all, I miss my bed, I miss my sanity. Keep me in your thoughts, or prayers, or meditations, or whatever religious pratices you do, or do not participate in cause the next 3 days might be the end me of. Sent via text

Los Angeles and Other Shenanigans

2009-07-17T00:31:00.001-07:00

Just a little heads up, I'll be in LA for the next week for a family reunion with the in-laws and won't have the time/patience or internet access to post. But I promise, with these nut jobs I will have plenty to write about when I return.

Also, on a side note, I am a nursing student, not an English major, and unless I'm turning in my most recent Pharmacology Case study, I do not care about grammar.
Keep busting my balls over bullshit grammar mistakes, and I'll keep making them, because (once again) I do not care about grammar.
Deal with it, or go away...your senseless attacks and irrational rants are not wanted here.

And also, last time I checked grammar never saved anyone's life, and nurses are paid substantially more then English majors anyways.

Classic Cars and Inbreds

2009-07-15T21:10:00.000-07:00

Community tradition is a big deal in my little town in the middle of nowhere. It's a time when all the under-educated mill workers change out of their Carharts and shake the sawdust from their hair, when the rednecks and backwood inbreds make their way off the set of Deliverance and rejoin society for a bit of good old fashion entertainment.

Since before I was born a Classic Car Show would take place every year in the middle of July. I grew up watching the old cars cruise downtown, while running out into the street to pick up candy the riders would throw out the windows. This was before the days of razor blades in laffy taffy, hypodermic needles filled with AIDS in caramel apples, and cyanide-laced packages of pixy stix.

Last weekend was the Annual Classic Car Show and the entire 24 thousand members of my pathetic community packed up their blankets, folding chairs, and ice-chests full of piss beer, and claimed their spots on the sidewalk to watch the festivities.

The entire 5 block section of downtown is blocked off during The Cruise to provide ample room for overpriced restored classics to show off their new chrome grills, neon under lights, NOS injections, and spinners. Seems to me they have completely missed the point of a classic, as you would have never seen those shenanigans in the 50's.

I happen to live in the downtown area, and was slightly concerned I wouldn't be allowed to drive to work during The Cruise due to road closure, but was assured by an officer on duty near my house that they would allow me through.

15 minutes before my shift I hopped in our old truck and set off for work. Now, I have been warned several times, by several different people that there is something seriously wrong with our truck, but have never had the time, or the money to do anything about it. So we do our best to keep her running, but know its only a matter of time before she dies.

I proceeded with caution as I drove through the Cruise. I tried my best to keep a low profile as I stuck out like a sore thumb between a 53' Oldsmobile Rocket and a 57' Chevrolet Bel Air.

And then it happened. The spark plugs flipped me the bird as they laid down for a nap, the transmission went on vacation with the starter, and the alternator was strung out on smack.

So there I sat, in the middle of the road. Broke down, in front of my entire community, the local news crew, a SWAT team circling ahead in a government chopper, and Jesus descending from the heavens. And there I sat for what seemed like days, with horns honking all around me, and hicks throwing empty beer cans, while an officer gently suggested that I get the fuck out of the road.

I turned the key....And nothing.

"You're ruining the show!!"

I turned the key again....nothing.

"Your truck sucks!!!"

I turned the key, said a silent prayer.....and she finally started.

"Your mother was a whore!!"

Ok, I'll admit that I was ruining the show, and my truck really does suck, but the last comment was completely unnecessary, so as I hit the gas as hard as I could, I leaned out the window and yelled...

"Yah, well your mother is your sister, you stupid inbred bastard..."

...I love this town

But I'm a Celebrity, I Swear!!

2009-07-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, when I was still fairly new to the Steakhouse I had a run in with some very memorable guests. The night had been a crazy one, but when things started to slow down a bit, three servers and the hostess ran outside for a quick cigarette. Being the only one who doesn't smoke I inherited every table, and the whole lobby to keep an eye on.

I was busy running around when I heard the front door bang loudly against the wall, as if it was violently thrown open. Startled, I turned around and saw a large group of men walking in. They were heavily tattooed, fully clad in leather and studded belts, had full beards, and they wore sunglasses, even though it was dark and we were indoors. I assumed they were members of Hells Angels, and were just passing through our tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I greeted them with a smile, and asked if they had a reservation as we were still fairly busy and there were quite a few of them.
Biker #1 leaned in uncomfortably close and snapped "What?! We don't need a reservation. Don't you know who we are"
Unfortunately I had no idea who they were, and without missing a beat I made sure to tell him such.
"Fine!! We need a table for 15, and make it private. We don't want to be bothered." Growled Biker #1.
After taking there order, curiosity got the best of me.

GH: "Ok, so who are you guys anyways?! Are you bikers?"

Biker #1: "We aren't no piece of shit bikers! We're a band"

GH: "A band, huh?"

Biker #2: "Uhhh..Ya, a Band... and we're kind of a big deal"
(Thanks Ron Burgundy)

GH: "Uhh, ya... sure you are"
*laughs and walks away

Back in the kitchen I told everyone what had happened, and one by one they went to take a look, all returning with blank, confused looks. Apparently nobody knew who they were.
An hour and 10 pitchers of beer later, the restaurant was bombarded by high school girls. Complete with squealing, screaming, picture taking, and autograph signing, our doubts about "The band" were laid to rest, though we still had no idea who the hell they were.

When I dropped their check, they continued to insist they were a famous band. At that point, it wasn't that I didn't believe them, rather that I just didn't give a shit. These guys strut into the steakhouse, chests over-inflated with pride, and expect me to hand feed them grapes while fanning them off with palm branches because they're some super popular band, well they can have a heaping portion of Fuck off, because I don't care.
Upon leaving, Biker #1 walks up to me, and while seriously invading my personal space, he grunts "Go home and Google us. You're going to feel really stupid when you see just how popular we are." So, I did Google them when I got home. I read that they were touring with Papa Roach, Avenged Sevenfold and Hinder, none of which I give a damn about. I read that their hit song was on top of the charts, and that they had been nominated for several Grammys.

I couldn't help but laugh because none of that mattered to me.
And I hoped that as they stumbled back into their tour bus they felt a little bit of humility, as they realized maybe they aren't really as big of a deal as they thought.

Now the questions remains, without consulting Google, and only having looked at them, would you have known who they were?

Your Uterus Said What?

2009-07-07T13:05:00.001-07:00

I don't want children. I never have, and I probably never will. I think I lack a basic maternal instincts that women swear is inherit in all of us. I get glares from people when I tell them I'm not interested in raising kids, or that I really don't like babies. Women get so offended, almost as if not wanting children is blasphemous. I rarely share my opinion for fear of being stoned to death.

Problem is, I hate taking the Pill. The hormones have made me crazy, headachy, and helped me easily pack on the marriage 20lbs that I swore I would avoid. So recently my husband and I began joking that I should just have a hysterectomy. (OK, so maybe we were only half joking, though I doubt they would even do the procedure on someone so young.)
Well, about a week ago I saw this on Cake Wrecks, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I began doing some serious research, and even made a few calls to women that I knew had the procedure done, all of them unanimously agreed that I should do nothing of the sort. They all said they felt the same at my age, but later decided they really wanted a family after all.
Nothing they said mattered. I had hysterectomy on the brain. I wanted nothing more then for my surgeon to filet my uterus into bite size pieces and remove them one by one from my abdominal cavity.

And then I had this dream.
I was lying in a hospital bed post-op. I was feeling weak, and leaned forward for a glass of water when I heard someone weeping. I looked around to identify the sound when I saw my Uterus sitting up in a chair next to me.

Uterus: "Why would you want to get rid of me? We still had so many good years left together."
GH: "It's nothing personal Uterus. I just don't want children and this was the easiest way."
Uterus: "You're going to regret this."

Suddenly my Uterus leaps forward and starts stabbing me. My ovaries start a war chant, and my fallopian tubes wrap around my neck and start choking me.

In the struggle for my life I jerk awake, and see husband laughing at me. Apparently I woke him up shouting "NO Uterus, NO!!"

Now, I've never been one to interpret dreams, but honestly, a bloodthirsty Uterus avenging its death by murdering me?! What the fuck?
Maybe for now I will leave my lady parts alone, and who knows, maybe my friends are right and eventually when I'm older I will want that family after all.

Happy Holidays, You Bastard

2009-07-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

Friday morning I woke up early. Filled with anticipation I began pulling out sleeping bags, chairs, and ice chests from storage. I suddenly started to feel a bit queasy so returned to bed for a few more hours of shut eye. I woke some time later with a raging migraine, stumbling to the bathroom I was met by an unexpected visitor.
That bitch Aunt Flow couldn't have waited until after the weekend to ruin my life for the next 5 days? I marked tampons on my list of things to pick up at the store, and went about my business after taking upwards of 1,000 mg of Tylenol.
We arrived at our camp site after sweating it out for nearly 3 hours in the truck. It was a beautiful, cloudless sky, with temperatures somewhere in the 90's. We began unloading the truck when out of nowhere a flash flood tore through the campground destroying everything in its path.We took shelter in the truck for about an hour while our bags, blankets, and tents were demolished.
Within minutes the sky was blue and the sun returned. Determined to have a good time we did our best to salvage the firewood and shook the tent dry.
The rest of the evening was enjoyable, as we barbecued, drank, and enjoyed family we rarely see.

I awoke Saturday with a stiff neck and a sore throat, not to mention cramps and a blinding headache from my period. I hadn't slept well, but then again I never sleep well while camping so I got up, had a cup of coffee, and begin feeling better.
Husband and I went on a beautiful hike, and took the kayaks out on the lake. The sun's rays stung my white legs, but it felt so good.
Back at camp my father-in-law was preparing lunch, and I decided to lay down for a nap. Waking I felt worse then I did before laying down. My entire body was achy, I had a fever, my throat was raw, and I was shivering excessively even though it was hot as hell.
I had the flu. First the period, then the flood, and now the damn flu.
Husband suggested we just go home, but I didn't want to ruin the weekend for him to so I said I would try and ride it out. We didn't drive all that way to miss the fireworks either.
I spent the rest of the day puking, shivering, and trying not to move since my entire body felt bruised.

At 10pm the fireworks finally began, yet I was bundled up in my sleeping bag, with ear plugs jammed into my ears, praying for silence so the migraine might subside. After the fireworks, husband returned to find me passed out with puke in my hair, and along the side of my sleeping bag. He picked me up, put me in the car, packed up all our shit, and drove me home.

So, all together it was a pretty unsuccessful holiday weekend. One of the worst in fact. But upon reminiscing I have to laugh a bit. It was certainly unforgettable and after the hell I raised at the restaurant, quite ironic.

How was everyone else's holiday weekend? Got a story to top mine?

The Lettuce is Dirty

2009-07-01T13:17:00.001-07:00

Due to rapid oxidation of cut fruits and vegetables, a light brownish tint often appears. This is in no way dangerous to your health, and the food item is still perfectly safe to eat.
This is a fact that I though everyone in the world was aware of. I admit it is not the most glamorous thing to look at, and the thought of eating it may even cause us to cringe, but the simple knowledge that it is a natural reaction, and completely harmless give us relief while taking a big bite. At the steakhouse we go through a lot of salad mix. It is hard to catch every piece of lettuce that has a slight discoloration, but we do try to make sure the salads we serve are presentable, and look appetizing.

During a slow evening shift this week, I had the pleasure of serving a family that had apparently been living under a rock since before the Stone Age. Loud grunts and snorts were their means of communication, as was picking lice out of each others hair, and hunting for dinner with wielded clubs.

Caveman: "Messss, S'cuse me messs"
GH: "Yes sir, how can I help you?"
CM: "Salliddds durt"
GH: "I'm sorry, did you say the salad is dirty?"
CM: "Yuss. Look. Its bruwn...still has durt."
GH: Looking forward, and noticing a few tiny brown specks on the spine on the Romaine lettuce "Oh, sir, thats nothing to worry about it. The lettuce is just beginning to oxidize. Its perfectly safe."
CM: "Nooaa... its durrt. I wann new one. Plezz go out bak and pick somme freshh let-us from garden. Make shurre to wash let-us befor return."

Oh good Christ. Fresh lettuce? Garden? Really. "Oh sir. No problem at all, but you'll have to give me a few extra minutes out in the garden, as I also have to water the tomatoes, and compost your leftovers for next seasons harvest."

And Totally Redeem Yourself.

2009-06-29T00:13:00.000-07:00

A week ago I posted about the 4th of July. Many of you commented, and shared your advice as to what I should do. Most of you said I should demand the day off (or call in sick), some of you suggested that I should quit, or threaten to quit, and one anonymous blogger said I should work it "cheerfully." (Yeah Right!!)

My spineless managers are one of my favorite topics on this blog, as they provide me with endless material. However yesterday afternoon they did something so fantastic, that I may, for a week or so, have to refrain from any manager bashing to show my regards, and gratitude for a totally selfless act.

I was buzzing around the restaurant early Saturday afternoon, mentally detached from reality in order to prepare myself for the long day ahead of me. I happen to notice that all the managers were in the office chattering about something of importance. I figured it was just business, so I ignored it as usual, when the kitchen manager burst through the doors, made direct eye contact with me and said with a smile, "You owe us big time."
I was intrigued so I decided to investigate the situation. I made my way over to the office, and poked my head in, when I saw two other managers making a sign for the front door that read "Closing early for the 4th of July. Hours 12-3."
I scrunched my face with excitement. This meant that even if I was scheduled, I would be off early enough to make it up to our camp site without missing the fireworks.

GH: "Closing early, eh?"
SM: "Ya, you lucky bastards totally owe us!"
GH: "So who is scheduled then?"
SM: "None of you. The managers are gonna work it so you don't have to"

I squealed enthusiastically, almost in disbelief.
How gloriously sacrificial. I hugged both spineless managers, and thanked them obsessively for the next 7 hours.
So, after all the stupid and spineless shit they do on a regular basis, they go and do something like this...and totally redeem themselves.

Oh, and as it turns out, I also got Friday and Sunday off. Hello three day weekend, goodbye work, sanity, and soberness.

A Deal With The Devil

2009-06-27T00:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight was pure insanity. I'm not even sure why? There wasn't anything special going on, but for some unknown reason, the entire community felt that they needed to eat at the steakhouse, and also felt like being ridiculously generous and charitable. No complaints on my part, though around 8:45 pm I would have given anything to be at home, in my pj's curled up with a bowl of ice cream and a good book.

So I made a deal with the devil.

Figuratively.

I had a reservation for a 25 top at 9pm. I was totally dreading the large party since it would take up all of my time, and put me really far behind on all my closing duties. I knew that they wouldn't be out of the restaurant until 10:30, which would mean I would be stuck there until 11 or later.
I asked everyone, with hopes that I could get someone to switch and take it. And of course nobody wanted to. I sighed, and mumbled some choice words under my breath in frustration.
When suddenly, pregnant bitches husband skips up to me and says "Hey! You still want someone to take your big top!?!"

I tell him that nothing would make me happier, and he accepts and says he'll take it, no problem. I breathed a breath of relief.

He turns to leave, but stops in his tracks. Turning back towards me with a crooked smile painted on his stupid face he says "Oh, under one condition"

I assume he'll ask me to clean his tables, take out his trash, or finish up his side work.

GH: "Sure anything, I'll do it, just take the damn table."

PBH: "Work for me tomorrow morning."

GH: "Done."

This is a perfect example of immediate gratification. The thing my mother warned me about growing up. "Having sex with your boyfriend will only feel good now, you'll regret it later." She was right, and I did. "Cheating on your math homework may get you through the assignments, but if you don't learn the material, your gonna bomb the test. " Again she was right, and I did.
Such a wise woman, that I clearly still have much to learn from.

About an hour later, as I was wiping down my last table, the reality of the situation sunk in, but it was to late. PBH was basking in the glory of his $50 tip from my big party, while I was realizing that I would be working an opening morning shift, and a closing night shift.

The Staff Meeting

2009-06-22T23:54:00.000-07:00

After an insane six hour fathers day shift, nothing was more appealing to me then crashing hard and sleeping late into the afternoon. But 8am came so quickly.
I woke up to a viciously annoying alarm. Rolled out of bed, pulled my hair back into a loose pony, wiped off my smeared eyeliner and mascara, and left for the dreaded staff meeting.
Box's of greasy doughnuts and flavored creamers awaited us, as if to soften the proverbial blow waiting to confront us.
"Things are gonna change around here" shouted one manager.

"We really need to get our asses in gear" screeched another.

After the yelling died down, the full story surfaced. Just a few days prior we received an unexpected visit from the health inspector. And, well...It wasn't a successful inspection, to say the least.

We failed...Big time.

For stupid things to. Like the bleach rags not being "fully submerged" in the bucket, and not having tongs in the lemons.

I laughed at the thought of the health inspector watching us work on a busy Friday night over a secret hidden camera. Picking fries off of the plates and dunking them in the ranch, taking a quick sip of our guests Long Island Iced tea, and throwing hot potatoes from the prep line, to the kitchen and back.

Working on the 4th

2009-06-22T13:03:00.000-07:00

Husband and I have had a a 6 year tradition of going camping with both of our families for the fourth of July. We get the same spot, and have a total blast every year. This year will be the 7th time, and we began preparation in January. So when I first started at the Steakhouse, at the beginning of the year, I made sure to let them know that I needed that time off. I remember I was in my first few weeks, standing in the managers cubical. She flipped open her calendar shift book, and penciled me in. She then mentioned something along the lines of "Looks like your the first to ask for that weekend off."
I smiled with excitement.

Friday night as I was handing in my checkout, I decided that since the fourth was just a few weeks away I should check to make sure everything was still good to go.

GH: "Hey spineless manager, I just wanted to verify that I can still get the weekend of the fourth off"

Spineless manager:
(The same one that took my original request, by the way) "Ohhhh. Looks like your the fifth in line. The others must have asked for the time off before you did, sorry"
*Points down at 5 names on the book and mine at the bottom.

Now, maybe at Hooters this wouldn't be a problem because they have 30 waitresses. But my pathetic little steakhouse only has 9.

GH: "I hate to sound like a bitch, but I put in my request in January before anyone else."

Spineless Manager: "Sorry, but I have to go by the book."

I don't know what to do here. Anyone have any advice?

All You Can Eat Buffet

2009-06-20T23:32:00.000-07:00

A strange and unique couple came into the restaurant. He was young, and thin. She was also young, and nearly four times his size. He asked for a side salad and she ordered the all you can eat Brazilian Buffet. She had a Pepsi, and he had a diet. He only ate half his salad, while she gorged herself on the buffet.

Near the end of their meal I walked by with a smile, and asked if everything was ok. He said he was great, and she mentioned how she had never been so stuffed in her life. She made it a point to tell me how she totally "pigged out" and that she could "absolutely explode."

She didn't need to tell me, I already knew. And I couldn't help but think that everything about there visit seemed totally backwards.

And Tonight's Special Is

2009-06-20T00:47:00.001-07:00

Last weekend we featured the Brazilian BBQ Buffet that I mentioned briefly here. It did so well that we decided to serve it again this weekend to celebrate Fathers Day.
When I arrived at work I saw a message taped to the kitchen wall.

"Sell 10 Buffets win 2 tickets to the Movies"

So I clocked on, and immediately got a 4 top. Before I had time to get their drink orders, let alone try and push the special, they had already ordered 4 Buffets.
Maybe this was going to be easier then I thought.

I went to the back and was making 4 tally's on the board when I was approached by Dolly, who is known to be a very competitive up-seller (mentioned here).

Dolly: "4 already huh? Did you sell it to them??!!"

GH: "Well, they already knew what they wanted"

Dolly: "It doesn't count then, you have to actually GET them to buy it"
*Moves forward and erases my tally's

GH: "Excuse me. But the Steakhouse doesn't give a shit HOW we sell 10, they just want us to sell 10."
*Re-Tally's 4 buffets

Dolly: "Whatever... I know I could never feel good about winning if I didn't actually get 10 sells."

GH: "That's to bad. I'll think of you while I'm enjoying my free movie."

I sold 14. How's that for irony you crazy psycho.

Irony Much?!

2009-06-19T13:47:00.000-07:00

After a long and dramatic process, and despite Ida's best attempts, on Wednesday husband and I drove home in our new car.

Its really interesting how things work out.
We had enough saved to pay half cash, and thought we would use the loan to pay the rest. But the loan we expected to get from Ida was at a 17.9% APR. YUCK! Well, it turned out to be a good thing that we weren't approved because that gave us the opportunity to use another method. We decided to put the rest on a credit card because it had a lower APR (not much lower though).
We were literally on our way out to make the purchase when I grabbed the mail. I saw a letter from my credit card carrier and I tore it open.
Inside was a letter that read,

"Congratulation, based on your responsible credit card usage we are lowering your APR from 15.9% to 6.9% until 2010."

Woahh! Perfect timing? I think so.

Insufficient Income

2009-06-16T00:14:00.000-07:00

During my second visit with Ida, I was asked to provide Income Verification so I rummaged through the drawer at home and snatched up my most recent pay-stub. As I looked it over, I realized that on paper I looked pathetic. Almost as if I'd be better off holding a sign on the side of the road, begging for change and fishing my dinner out of a garbage can. Because everyone knows that waiters and waitresses aren't paid shit for hourly, in hopes to earn enough in tips to make up for it.

I slid the pay-stub over to Ida, and watched as she snickered and rolled her eyes.

Ida: "$130 in two weeks? You'll never be approved for the loan."

Once again I reminded her that was not including tips, and she asked me why the tips were not accounted for on the pay stub. I went on to explain to her that at my restaurant it was only mandatory to claim 8% of our total sales as tips to be taxed, and the rest we get to keep free and clear as there is no way for the restaurant or the government to track any more than that amount. She then told me to pencil in my monthly income via tips, but that she doubted they would accept it as income, and I might have to go else where for the loan. She said she would call when she heard back and that it wouldn't take more then 24 hours. Three days later I still hadn't heard from her, so husband and decided we would use another option to buy the car. As we entered the bank together to make a withdrawal, I spotted Ida. I tried my best to avoid her as we waited in line, but she approached us rather dramatically.

Ida: "They declined you the loan. Insufficient Income. I knew they wouldn't accept it!"
She shouted.
The entire line at the bank turned towards us, and raised their eyebrows. Thanks for letting us know privately Ida, you rude bitch.

Ida: "Yah, your income from tips doesn't count, I told you it wouldn't."

Good thing we had another plan. But that Ida sure knew how to call us out in front of everyone.

Last Call

2009-06-12T23:42:00.001-07:00

I've mentioned in the past my dislike of spineless managers. One's that cower at the sign of slightest discontent, and cave at every mention of dissatisfaction, in order to avoid unpleasant confrontation.
But then there are my managers.
Tonight was a weird night, where several miscommunications with the "teenage hostess" ended up in a reservation for 15 people at 9:45pm. This normally would be fine, but seeing as we close at 10pm, there were several annoyed servers, and one furious closer.
To me, this seemed like an easy fix. Call them up, let them know of the miscommunication, apologize sweetly, and suggest they come in at 9pm instead. But this would have been much to simple for my spineless manager. For fear of either rejection, or having to actually face someone in a situation that might result in conflict, my spineless manager decided to avoid the situation completely.
So the group started trickling in around 9:35. I had hoped that they would all arrive together and punctual, but that would have been much to simple, and stress free.
At 10pm the party was still waiting on 8 people, so I asked my manager what she wanted me to do. Do I remind them that we are now closed, do I suggest they order for their friends as the kitchen is shutting down, or do I wait.
And so.....I waited.

And waited.

And to make matters worse, my manager decided that since she was keeping two kitchen guys, a waitress, a dishwasher and a busser all on for an extra hour after closing for just one table, we might as well let anyone else in that happens to stop by.

So I had a full blown second rush of the night, and when the initial assclowns finally showed up it was almost 11pm. I should have already been home, showered, fed, and blogging by then.

I guess I just don't understand something. Why have rules if they aren't enforced? Why have a close time if its optional. Why let people walk all over you, and never stand up for yourself because you to much of a chicken shit to say something. How did you climb your way into management when you clearly have no administrative authority.

My advice to the spineless manager...Grow a pair, or get the hell out.

The Complaint

2009-06-12T02:06:00.000-07:00

Being a long time veteran of the service/hospitality industry I am familiar with complaints. I see them often, and have gained the ability to predict when situations will almost certainly end in one.

The Steakhouse provides comment cards at every table, with the incentive of a free appetizer to get people's participation. Throughout the night I will receive at least a dozen, and at the end of the shift I'll read through them just before I turn them in.
Being on the receiving end of my fair share of complaints from guests, I know it is both annoying and ridiculous, and though I do not claim total innocence, I must say in my defense that often times there is little I can do when the kitchen overcooks a steak, or forgets to send an appetizer out first.
There is nothing I hate more then being berated by management, accused of God knows what and being forced to defend myself.This being said, I know what it is like to receive a complaint. And I don't like it. I dislike it so much in fact, that I have tried to not become the type of person who makes such complaints.

A few days ago I shared a story with you about a fat old hag called Ida. Well, I had another run in with Ida on Friday. She called me to tell me that the loan offer had come back and that I needed to come into the Bank with several pay stubs for income verification. Due to my overall annoyance, and lack of desire to give the old bag anymore airtime then she deserves, I will spare you all the gruesome details, but will say this: Never have I been so publicly mocked, berated, and alienated. She spoke to me as if she were royalty and I was no better then a maid. Couple that with the snarky attitude, unacceptable comments, glares and the complimentary eye rolls, and I will go on record as having officially had The Worst experience with someone working in Customer Service.
After the first experience, I though maybe Ida had a rough day. Maybe she was frustrated and took out her aggression on me. After the second experience, I realized that either she hates skinny blond girls, or she is just a self righteous, and self serving sack of horse shit that has no place working with the general public. My guess is the latter.
So after some serious reflection, I have decided to file a complaint. Now, unlike the douche tanks that complain at the steakhouse, I do not hope to gain anything by doing this and I do not have an agenda. I simply hope to accomplish one of two things. The first is to send Ida a message.
You cannot treat people like they are garbage. Sure I am in my early twenties, and working as a waitress but I deserve the same amount of respect as the lawyer in her forties pulling in 100 large a year.
And second, to inform management that one woman's actions may be costing them much in terms of business, because if anyone else received the same treatment that I did, then they would be wise to react the same way I did, and that would be to take my money, and my business elsewhere.

Old Man Terry

2009-06-09T21:49:00.000-07:00

I only recently began working the morning shifts. They are not my favorite, not by a stretch, but because of weird school scheduling and trying to have a little time to spend with husband, I decided to drop some weekend night shifts.
This was when I was first introduced to Terry. A quite particular elderly man that comes in every afternoon, at the same time, sits in the same booth and orders the same thing.
Now, I often wonder what it would be like to be a regular. Is it the food item that they love so much, is it the company of a familiar face that keeps them coming back, or is it to be in a place where you feel so comfortable, and accepted. Whatever it may be, the Steakhouse has plenty of regulars, as do most restaurants.
Terry however, is a different kind of regular. Not because he is difficult to wait on, quite the contrary in fact. He is simple, leaves a decent tip, and is very friendly. It must just be the look in his eyes. He sits for hours just stirring his coffee. He looks as though he is waiting for someone who never shows up and It seems as if he if often holding back a floodgate of emotions, always looks as if he is about to cry.
I always feel a bit depressed when I am serving him. His emotional turmoil just really takes it out of me. I feel as though I should do more for him, smile more, laugh more, show him a good time so that maybe he will seem happy, if not but just for a short while.
Just recently there have been some major changes to the menu, and we have featured some new items. In honor of Terry, we have named his "usual" after him. A grilled Italian chicken sandwich with fried zucchini and squash.
Last week I arrived at work early to begin my opening duties when I saw Terry sitting outside. I reminded him we didn't open for an hour, but that I would let him come in and have a cup of coffee. When I sat him in his usual booth, I dropped a menu on the table and told him to decide what he wanted. He looked at me a bit confused and told me that I already knew what he wanted, so I explained to him that unfortunately his usual was taken off the menu, and that he would have to find something else, but that luckily we had replaced his chicken sandwich with something similar so he was in luck. I snuck around the corner and watched as he tore through the menu looking for the new item that had replaced his beloved sandwich. And then he spotted it. Terry's Chicken Addiction. He cried first. And then he laughed. I couldn't help but get emotional, considering this was the happiest I've ever seen him. He shuffled as fast as he could around the restaurant hugging everyone he could get his hands on, and thanking us all for the honor. And then he left the restaurant smiling, singing, and still crying tears of joy.
It was a good day.

The Fat Old Hag

2009-06-06T13:02:00.000-07:00

Husband and I have always functioned with one car. Our schedules worked perfectly, and we never had any problems, but he has just started a new (much better paying) job and this has drastically shifted his schedule. At first we just dealt with the inconvenience of it all, but after he was forced to show up a hour late during his second week because I got held over a bit in class, we decided it was time to invest in a new car. Yesterday we both had the day off, so we got up early, put our haggling hats on, and set out on a hunt.

After hours and hours of dealer bull shit, we found a car we both liked. Ironically the same make and model of two prior cars I have totaled. (A sign not to get it??) It was listed at a totally reasonable price, but husband got them to drop it a grand and a half, so we took the offer. It was 5:15, and we figured we had plenty of time to get to the bank. We decided to put half down, and get a loan for the rest... easy peasy.

When we got to our bank, we were met by the cold eyes of a fat old hag, lets call her Ida. Her glares burnt through the back of my skull. She made several attempts to turn towards the clock and sigh heavily, as if to say she didn't want to deal with us so close to closing. She said she would help us, but what she really meant was that she wished we would go fuck ourselves.
She asked us a series of questions, and things were going fine until her computer "allegedly" lost all of our progress around 5:45, that's when she snapped. As we were going through round two of the same questions she made it a point to add a snide little comment to everything we said, letting me know how she disapproved of my "career" at the Steakhouse. She even sorted with laughter at my estimated monthly income, and when I said "That's not including tips" I heard her mumble "like it matters" under her breath.

Now here's the thing, at the steakhouse if someone shows up 1 minute before we close, I will serve them. I may not be overjoyed about it, and I may even bitch about it to the cooks in the back, but when I am staring at the customer, I am all smiles and rainbows and unicorns because for all I fucking know, it could be a secret shopper, or a big tipper.
Looking back, I am only bothered because of the way she she judged me. How her sickeningly obese eye looked down on me with disgust because of my "career" or my income. She doesn't know me. I am a student first. Waitressing is simply getting me through, a means to an end if you will. Whatever though, I'll let her have her laughs. I'll let her go home thinking how much better off she is then me because of her fancy desk job, her business cards and her plus size ergonomic office chair, although I secretly know one day she'll be my patient, begging for her life as I put her on dialysis for fucking up her kidneys with one to many cheeseburgers.

Who will be judging who then?

Just a cup of water please.

2009-06-04T07:29:00.000-07:00

I have to mention, in my years of serving I have had encounters with the lowliest of humanity. I have been verbally assaulted, and mentally mind-fucked, but rarely do I ever have a situation that is just so damn ridiculous that I can't stop thinking about it for days.
Such was the first time someone asked me for a glass of water, with lots of lemons. I figured they liked lemons, as do I. Then I noticed them making homemade lemonade with all the splenda they could get their grubby little hands on. So I bookmarked this clever trick, and made a mental note to only give one extra lemon wedge per request for "extra lemon."
During an afternoon shift last week I learned what seemed to be a new customer trick. Several young couples came in together. The six adults asked if I could bring them each a glass of hot water, with lemons. It was bitter cold out, so I figured they just wanted to warm up. Personally the thought of hot water makes me gag a bit, but whatever.
Later in the meal, I returned to check on the table, when I was asked to provide more hot water and lemons. I reached forward to removed the empty cup when I noticed the tea bag at the bottom.

Honestly, who brings their own tea-bag into a restaurant, and then asks for hot water to make their own tasty beverage? Is that acceptable? What's to stop people then from bringing in a package of instant oatmeal, or a Cup of Noodle for dinner?!
The things people will do to save a dollar never ceases to amaze me. Clearly if you are needing to skimp on a beverage, your probably not making enough money to warrant going out to eat 5 times a week anyways.

Facebook for the Steakhouse

2009-05-31T15:39:00.000-07:00

We use to feature a Brazilian BBQ every weekend at the Steakhouse. It's a $35 dollar all you can eat endless meat buffet, (sounds like amateur porn). Basically, the cooks prepare different cuts of meat and grilled fruit on huge skewers, and walk around slicing off pieces until people have had enough.It was hugely popular, but due to food costs we had to stop serving it. However people are still requesting we bring it back, so our managers decided we would bring it back for one weekend in June. Today we were all asked to promote it the best we could, when I suggested to management that they create a Facebook account. We currently don't have a website, so other then paying for overpriced radio and newspaper ads, they have no way of promoting special offers. They looked at me as if I was a miracle worker, speaking words of wisdom into there brainless heads. Then they offered me money to create an account, and start networking within the community.

It really doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how to advertise more effectively, but apparently my high school drop out managers think it does.

Suggested Gratuity or Required Gratuity?

2009-05-30T15:18:00.001-07:00

Fellow waitstaff, I request your feedback concerning a situation I found myself in last night.

At the steakhouse we are required to add 15% gratuity for parties of 8 or more. It is written on the menu, and it is told to everyone calling in to make reservations. It is not optional, and therefore is rarely an issue.

Last night when I began my shift I was told I would have a party of 20. I was immediately excited. I was scheduled to be first off, so I knew the large party plus a few additional tables may be all I would have the entire evening, and that with added gratuity I would be leaving with a nice chunk of change.
As I began setting up for the big top, I was approached by my spineless manager. She told me the lady who called in for the large party refused the added gratuity, and threatened to go elsewhere unless we made an exception. So of course my manager fearing the loss of business, complied with her wishes. She apologized to me, and said there was nothing she could do, but said that if they stiffed me, she would "make it up to me."
The excuse that was given for the gratuity refusal was that they didn't want to feel limited on the amount they could tip. Well, isn't that the dumbest thing I've ever heard. If they wanted to tip more then 15% they could easily just leave a few extra bucks on the table. I was not fooled. I know there is only one reason to refuse gratuity and that is because you have no intention of tipping.
Eventually, the 20 top turned into a 10 top and half the people didn't even order, so all the commotion was for nothing. But it left me feeling somewhat uneasy. Our policy is clearly stated on the menu. Why have rules if no one will enforce them? And would it have been better for the manager to let them take there business elsewhere, and keep her dignity knowing she didn't sell herself out? What are other restaurants policy about gratuity, and are they enforced?

Also, as the 10 top left, I couldn't help but laugh as I noticed they did in fact stiff me. And I didn't hesitate to remind my spinless manager that she definitely did "Owe me"

Eating at the Steakhouse

2009-05-30T14:17:00.001-07:00

As I have mentioned in the past, The Steakhouse use to be my favorite restaurant in town, as well as my husbands. It was in fact the place where we went on our first date, and so over the past few years we would frequent it together on special occasions. However since I began working there, our visits became less and less. The problem being, once I begin working somewhere as a server, I feel strange and awkward coming in as a guest to eat. I feel that I am never given proper service, as the waiters and waitresses become my friends, and the novelties of special things that are now at my daily disposal lose there value and are therefore not interesting to me anymore. ( The yeast rolls and honey butter, the peanuts on the floor...and so on)
Well, last night was the hub's birthday so naturally I allowed him to pick the restaurant. He chose the steakhouse, as it's still his favorite and he hasn't gone in once since I began employment. I agreed, and so we went in to have dinner.
Dolly was our waitress, so I expected we'd be taken care of. Much to my dismay she pretended like she didn't even know us, almost as if we were first time guests. She proceeded to try and hard sell us everything from add cheese and bacon, to top shelf liquor. I was a bit annoyed throughout the meal, mostly because I know the menu, I know my options, and I did not want any thing except exactly what I ordered.
After we finished eating she came to us offering dessert. I said no, and she tried again saying "are you sure you don't even want a piece of cheesecake??" I said no thanks, and she tried one more time saying that we just had to try the chocolate cake. I was so annoyed and just wanted her to leave us the hell alone when I said "No dessert. Its my husbands birthday and we have two cakes and two gallons of ice cream at home waiting for us." She stepped back looking shocked, and said "So, nothing then?!?" I just looked at her and shook my head. How dense.

I picked up the bill and noticed she had charged me for my iced tea. Now, i'm all open for discussion on this topic, but I never charge a fellow team member for any soft drink/tea/coffee. I also noticed she had added small charges to my husbands meal for slight modifications. I thought at this point I couldn't be any more frustrated with her, until I saw her dumb smiling face walking around the corner ringing the cow bell and hollering with the entire crew coming to sing the birthday song for my husband.

I have never wanted to stiff a waitress more then I did then.

Fired Over Makeup

2009-05-29T15:26:00.000-07:00

A story came across my inbox this morning. The story of a beautiful waitress fired because she refused to wear makeup to work.

"Shenoa Vild worked at a Trophy's restaurant in Mission Valley, San Diego, for five years when new management bought the place and started requiring waitresses to wear makeup in an effort to class up the joint. (Because nothing says classy like pancake makeup and six coats of mascara.) Well, Shenoa's not a big fan of makeup and said no. Management asked her to take her natural, glowing complexion elsewhere."

I was shocked to find out it is technically legal to fire an employee for not wearing make up, and couldn't help but think that this move had nothing to do with "classing up the place" rather had everything to do with "sexing up the place."

86 Jimmy

2009-05-25T17:39:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned my disapproval of management hiring teenagers when there are so many possible candidates, but so far, besides just annoying the hell out of me, the teens really have not been that bad. However Thursday night we were all standing around complaining about how slow the weekend was going to be due to the holiday, when Jimmy Chin-Strap pipes in that he and his "bro's" are going camping, and they had a friend hook them up with lots of beer.

I didn't think anything of it until I walked into work Friday and saw him arguing with the managers. Doing my best to eavesdrop I heard him say that he didn't like his job and that he was quitting. After it was all said and done, he walked back into the restaurant to return his work shirt and asked me if he could borrow my cell. I let him, and he just stood there making his call right in front of all the servers, and the manager he just quit on.
His conversation was quite brief but went something like this;

Jimmy Chin-Strap: "Hey Bro, what up!!? Ya, good news homie, I just quit, so I'm still down for camping."

Apparently he had forgotten to ask for the weekend off, and instead of just talking to a manager, or getting a fellow employee to cover his shift, he just quits.
We all were pretty shocked at the audacity of this guy, but had a few good laughs about it throughout the night, and after shift over drinks. But the best part about it was Saturday morning when I walked into the Steakhouse bright and early to Open, and I see "JIMMY" written in big green letter on the 86'ed board, right under "THE LAKERS."

I love my job.

A quite perplexing thought...

2009-05-23T15:37:00.001-07:00

Why are most restaurant cooks male, but most household cooks females? Any ideas.

Sent via iphone

Thick and Hearty?

2009-05-23T01:19:00.001-07:00

So, I'm not entirely sure why, but the managers decided we would stop serving the traditional A1 Steaksauce, and only use the new A1 Thick and Hearty. Assuming it was strictly a food cost decision, I figured the new stuff was probably cheaper and therefore didn't taste as good as the original. But upon tasting it, I realized quite the opposite. It truly is an identical flavor, only a slightly thicker paste.

I was so puzzled by this, as I thought it was almost ridiculous to make a product so similar to the original, but slap on a new design and give it a new name. Whatever though, its what the managers want us to serve, so it's what we'll serve.

Well tonight I had a lady order a Tri-tip. She requested A1 so I returned with the bottle, and then moved on to another table. Moments later she near stood on her seat, while frantically waving to get my attention.

Patron: "You did hear me when I asked for A1... right??!"

G.H: "Yes mam, Its right here." (pointing to obviously labeled bottle of A1)

Patron: "This is BBQ sauce"

G.H: "It is A1, its just the new Thick and Hearty."

Patron: "No it's not, it's BB.....I didn't ask for BBQ, I want my damn A1."

G.H: "I'm so sorry mam, unfortunately we don't carry the traditional A1 any more, only the thick and hearty."

Patron: "Well then bring me a to-go box, I'm taking my steak to Sizzlers."

Meet the Staff Part 3.

2009-05-22T13:20:00.000-07:00

The Co-Workers
Part 2

6. Elvira- With even bigger hair and absurd amounts of make up, this bartender looks worse then the Mistress herself. She's a very sweet hearted gal, but as a woman living in the 21st century, I cannot figure out her sense of fashion and style. Working with her makes everyday feel like Halloween, and I left my costume at home.

7. Crippled Vet- This douche-tank is my least favorite person at the Steakhouse. He's been around almost as long as Crack Whore, and is the biggest baby I have ever met. He is in his early 30's, and spent like 10 minutes in Iraq a few years ago, and he wines and complains every single shift about his war injury's, and mental distress even though we all know he was discharged for sleep-talking. Now, don't get me wrong, I respect and honor our war veterans, but this guy is hardly one, he just claims so to get out of doing side-work, rolling silverware, or bussing his own tables. (and No, we do not have a busser, he makes the Host do it.)

8. Tween Surprise-These lovely teenage ass wipes (mentioned here) are the newest members at the Steakhouse. They all bring with them a plethora of high school drama bullshit, and won't shut up about boyfriends, pep ralleys, and there first time giving a blow job. They are incredibly excited about life, and are oblivious to the reality of becoming an adult. Often overheard bragging about spending there last $60 dollar paycheck on a new Ipod, and an Abercrombie mini skirt, these retards annoy me simply because I know for a fact I wasn't like that at 17.

Meet the Staff Part 2.

2009-05-21T13:39:00.000-07:00

The Co-Workers
Part 1

1. Crack Whore-Crack whore has worked at the Steakhouse since before it was the steakhouse, and longer then everyone including the managers, which automatically gives her the right to act like she owns the place. Having lost more then 90 pounds in less then 3 months, and having more men ask for her section then a Prostitute on a busy night in Vegas, we all know her secret.

2.Pregnant Bitch- (Also known as the vicious table thieving K.B) She's having a rough pregnancy, I get that, but don't take you morning sickness, ass cramps, and headaches out on me. She's the real nasty fighter type to. The key your car, stab your tires and sleep with your boyfriend if you cross her type.

3. Pregnant Bitch's Husband- This is the funniest, most sarcastic fucking guy I have ever met. and one of my favorite people to work with, unless his wife is working.

4. Pregnant Bitch's Husband's Sister- Have I told you yet that almost every person here is related in some form. Sister is pretty decent however. She trained me, and taught me all the half-assed ways to skimp on everything from side-work, to paying my checkout at night. She's also as witty and sarcastic as her brother, making for an interesting and entertaining combination for the rest of us when they get into an argument.

5. Dolly Parton-5 Time divorcee, is always looking for a new sugar daddy. With an age guess of about 60, she is always getting gifts from numerous men whom she brags about sleeping with. She claims to be plastic surgery free, but the woman looks like a mix between Dolly/Joan River and the creepy Cat Lady but She is a great server, as expected since she's been doing it for the last 45 years.

Meet the Staff Part 1.

2009-05-20T01:50:00.000-07:00

My beloved Steakhouse and Saloon is in a small town in the middle of nowhere. (Much like t his one.) We are primarily a logging and retirement community, and our only claim to fame would be the many Superbowl rings of every one's favorite Steeler. There is next to nothing going on here, and if I wasn't knee deep into my second degree I would seriously considering getting the hell out.
I started working at the Steakhouse as I could not handle one more ounce of corporate bullshit at Red Red, where I was employed for a near suicidal 3 years.
I was happy with the new job, as It had always been my favorite place to eat in town. I loved the laid-back atmosphere, throwing the peanut shells on the floor, and the yeast rolls with honey butter. All things that I have now come to hate as an employee.

My coworkers, and the management here are decent, and certainly better then the spoiled teenage fuck-faces, and overpaid and undereducated asshole management at the Dirty Bird. But still not entirely ideal.

I have decided to take the next few posts and give you a proper introduction of my Steakhouse Family. I figured that since we are going to be spending so much time together in the future, It would be nice for you to know a little bit more about the main characters of all my fucked up, and 100% true confessions.

Enjoy.

The Great Gift Card Scam

2009-05-17T18:43:00.000-07:00

Within my first few months at my beloved Steakhouse and Saloon, I was a involved in a scandalous and dramatic staff meeting.
We were all rounded up one busy Friday night by a frantic and distraught manager, who told us there was an urgent and mandatory meeting the next morning at 8:30am, and that they would not allow anyone to miss it.

Of course, being the brand spanking FNG I knew I had no other option but to peel my possibly hung over ass out of bed, and slink into work earlier then I feel is ever acceptable. But once I heard the cause of all the commotion I was certainly happy that I came.

Over a year prior to the meeting all of our computers had been updated, and somehow with all of the changes a small error had occurred within the program that records and logs all gift card transactions, basically restoring all gift-cards to original purchase amount.

So for example, Bob buys a gift card for $50 big ones. Bob and his wife come in to eat, spend $45 bucks, and pay with the same gift card. I run the card, and the receipt shows a remaining balance of $5 dollars on the card, so I return it and wish them well. A week later Bob and his wife return and once again spend $45. Upon paying they hand me the same gift card, mentioning that there's something like $5 dollars left on it, and they will pay the difference with a credit card. I run the gift card, and low and behold it still has $50 dollars on it, I then return it mentioning that it still had $5 dollars remaining. And so on...

It took my brilliant managers almost a year to realize that about 15 different gift cards were being fraudulently used to rack up over 8 thousand dollars of food.

It is quite the unique situation. These guests were not initiators of the Gift Card Scam, rather they were grandfathered in. Can you imagine the surprise on Bob's face the second visit when he really thought there was only $5 dollars remaining on the gift card, but mysteriously there was more, and he would get a second meal free. You can imagine how he must have pondered the third trip into the restaurant with such a magic gift card. Would it work again? Well it did, it worked the next time, and the next time, and as long as he never spent more then $50 dollars, he would keep getting the card back, and although he was told there was only a few dollars remaining, he knew otherwise.

Bob, such a sneaky bastard.

Quite a traumatic situation watching the managers scramble to fix the error. I felt pretty bad for them watching the gravel at the owners feet, but I couldn't help thinking to myself that the whole issue should have been spotted much sooner.

Within a few days the error was fixed and all was back to normal, although the thieving assholes didn't know that.

Yesterday at work a foul smelling couple came into the restaurant. They sat down, and quietly ordered. I was a little annoyed at how awkward they were being as they refused to make eye contact. They purchased a bottle of wine, two entrees, and two desserts and had a bill of about $75 dollars. Before I even made it to their table with the bill, I noticed they had set out a gift card. When I went to retrieve it the man grumbled that there was about $100 dollars on it. I went to the machine to cash them out, and the card rang in as $0 dollars. I tried again, and still $0 bucks. I returned to the table and let them know about there misfortune, when they started harassing me. "Try it again. You didn't try hard enough." They pressured. So as they requested, I did try again, this time bringing back with me the receipt with the big fat zero. The lady look like she wanted to punch me. The man demanded to speak with a manager.

I intentionally eavesdropped on them as they alienated and disrespect my manager, saying the card was a gift, and that they couldn't afford to pay the $75 dollar bill. I watched as my manger retrieved the old gift card log to verify the card number and find out if there really was $100 dollars on it and gasped when she realized this particular card was one being used to steal over and over again from the restaurant.
She demanded they pay their current bill of $75 dollars, and that they never return to the restaurant or she would call the cops and have them arrested.
They paid, and then left, and I sat back feeling a little dissatisfied. We had caught them red handed, and there was no punishment. Sure they were publicly embarrassed, and booted from the restaurant, but it felt so anticlimactic.

I realized only later that this unfortunate situation could have no other ending. There was no way to track WHO exactly used that card over 50 times to steal food. It's their word against ours, and hey...maybe they really did get it as a gift.

Things that could make me stab a coworker.

2009-05-15T22:45:00.000-07:00

Today was almost perfect. I got to work early. Did my side-work, prepped my section, stocked my peanuts, clocked in, and was ready to go. I was first off, so I knew if I got my stuff done early I could jet the second I was cut off the floor.

My first ten or so tables were amazing. Very friendly, easy, straightforward orders, not alot of extra running around. Their food came out just right, and nobody had to send anything back. Now in a Steakhouse it is quite common to send back an under-cooked Medium Well, or an over cooked Rare, and I understand that. If you are spending 25-30 dollars on a piece of meat it sure as hell better be perfect. But not today. Everyone was perfectly happy with there dinner, and then left 20-30% percent tips. I was in a great mood and then it began, so subtle at first.

A very well dressed man and woman with British accents were sat in my section. They asked to see a wine list, and I went to go grab them one.

Now, I might mention that in the restaurant world, each server is given a very specific section, and must stick to those tables, unless either 1. The manager shifts us to ease up on a server that is struggling, or 2. We personally ask another server to take a table, and they agree.

Well, British Couple order a $75 dollar bottle of wine, and seem very interested in the 30 dollar special. So as I walk to the bar to get the wine, I do some quick math in my head, and figure that I should be getting no less then $25 from this table if I do everything right, and they tip accordingly. This was an exciting thought, as I knew I would be cut soon, and wouldn’t have many more tables.

I head back to their table with the bottle when I see a fellow waitress taking their order, I assume she is just being helpful, so I proceed to the table and pour their wine and say

“I’ll go track down K.B and make sure to get your order in right away…”

They smile and nod.

In the kitchen I see K.B, thank her for her help and then ask her for there order, when she responds

“I’ll just go ahead and take the table since I already went through all the trouble of taking their order, but you can have the next table that sits in my section.”

Well, I did take the next table that sat in her section. They were complete assholes, and stiffed me on a $60 dollar bill. While needless to say K.B got a $45 tip from the lovely British couple in my section.

Now, I guess this is all my fault. You’re right I could have told her no, but I really hate to cause riffs. That coupled with the fact that I’m still considered the FNG, and there was no way I was gonna start shit with a 5 year veteran.

And just to pour a little more salt in the wound, when she asked how my table in her section tipped me and I said $0, she laughed and said…

“I guess you should have kept the other table after all….”

Bitch.

Dream Job.

2009-05-15T21:43:00.000-07:00

Its official. This is my dream job. Well, either this or Dick's Last Stand in Vegas.

But what i really meant to say was...

2009-05-15T21:32:00.000-07:00

On A Busy Friday Night.

Patron: “Could I get some ranch for my french fries?”

G.H: “Absolutely, is there anything else I can get you while I’m back there?”

(What I meant: “Absolutely, but if you need anything else and don’t tell me until I get back I’ll ~~cut your fucking balls off~~ spit in your drink..”)

Upon returning-

Patron: “Oh, I actually meant Ketchup, not ranch”

G.H: “No problem, anything else you need”

(What I meant: “They are not even similar in any way, how could you confuse the two, stupid douche rocket. Oh, and thanks for wasting my time, if I get a shitty tip from another table cause I wasted all night on your useless errands I’ll blog terrible stuff about you and use your full name.”)

Upon returning-

Patron: “Actually, can I get some extra napkins to?”

G.H: “When I get a minute, I’ll bring them right out”

(What I meant: Fuck you and your napkins. When you stop me again in 20 minutes, I’ll apologize and act like I forgot, then I’ll go in the back and pull some napkins out of the garbage and you'll never fucking know!”

Mother's day sucks.

2009-05-15T15:58:00.000-07:00

So, as you may know, there are no holidays in the Restaurant world, and Mother’s day is no exception. For our restaurant its absolute chaos and insanity. I opened at 10, and worked straight through until we closed early because we ran out of food. You know that crazy rush for about 3 hours on a Friday night…Mother’s day was like that, only all day long. The lobby was packed, standing room only, and we were putting people on a 2+ hour wait.

It felt like war. We were all there prior to opening, getting stuff ready, prepping as much as we could, trying to be overly prepared, and then the open sign clicked on and we charged forward.

After about 4 hours, I was on autopilot. I hardly remember anything from the second half of the day. I often feel like a robot repeating the same lines over and over.

G.H “Thanks for coming out today, happy mother’s day. My name is G.H, I’ll be taking care of you. Todays Special is a 6oz bacon wrapped Filet mingon, with grilled and breaded shrimp, with your choice of side, and you choice of salad, soup, or chili.”

Conversations From Last Night.

2009-05-15T15:54:00.000-07:00

So I work at one of those restaurants where people eat peanuts, and throw the shells on the ground. I know, its fantastic, but people really abuse this privileged. I mean, just cause you can toss your shells on the ground, doesn't mean you can throw all kinds of shit on the ground to. I don't like to be on my hands and knees under your table picking up sugar packets, straws, napkins, etc after you leave.

I’m talking grown adults just dumping their crap all over the floor. Its trashy. But nothing beats last night.

I bring out all the food for my table, and start handing it out. When teen patron #1 says: “What is this shit?” Pointing at the Sour Cream on her baked potato

G.H: “Thats sour cream”

Patron #1: “I didn't order this shit on my baked potato”

G.H: “I’m sorry miss, the baked potato’s always come with butter and sour cream. If you’d like I can bring you a new one without sour cream?”

Patron #1: “No, don't worry about it, I’ll take care of it.”

I say ok, and as I turn to leave I notice out of the corner of my eye, she holds her potato over the edge of the table, and flicks the ball of sour cream onto the ground. I mean, she really punted that thing, and it splatted all over the floor.

I turned back and looked at her, rolled my eyes, and walked away.

The absolute nerve of some people. How could she even think that her actions would be acceptable? People never ceases to amaze me.

Stupid teenagers

2009-05-15T14:25:00.000-07:00

So the unemployment rate in my hometown is up over 16%, and everyday many desperate people come in to get applications. Unfortunately I have to tell them that we aren’t hiring.

Well, we’ve recently had some changes and needed to hire three people, (A host, a dishwasher and a busser.) These are definitely not considered good positions in the restaurant world, but with the way things are in my town, people are so desperate for a job, that they wouldn’t mind doing the crap work, in fact they would be happy to.

Anyways, for some reason unknown to me, our brilliant managers decide it would be a great idea to hire three 16 year olds, all of which have NEVER had jobs. Nothing about this is OK with me. And to make matters worse, they all cruise up to the staff meeting in nice ass cars. Now deductive logic would assume that if these assholes have never had jobs and drive nice cars, they probably don’t really need to be working, cause obviously daddy is taking good care of them.

Now I don’t know about you, but I think “Johnny Unemployed, cause I got laid off from my awesome job and now I have to humble myself and do shit work so I can put food in my families mouths” probably deserves this position more then “Sweet sixteen who couldn’t give a shit about reality cause all that matters in life is this three hundred dollar prom dress.”

"You must have decreased your portion sizes?"

2009-05-14T21:22:00.000-07:00

So there are plenty of regulars that come in to eat everyday, but there’s one who’s been MIA for months. Well he finally came in today, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. He had probably gained 150 pounds since I saw him last. Well, he ordered his usual, a T-Bone well done, baked potato and buttered veggies, Caesar salad with extra dressing, and two sides of yeast rolls with honey butter.

Now, add to that the simple fact that we give every table a bucket of peanut to munch on while they wait, and this fellow just ate a shit-ton of food.

So, when his T-Bone comes out, his jaw drops and he looks like he could cry. “Why does this look so small!?? I remember your portions being much larger…trying to save money by cutting back I guess. What a rip off …”

So, I apologized and asked him nicely if I could bring him anything else. He declined, but continued to pout as I walked away, mumbling “ridiculous…” every time I walked by.

First, how childish can you be whining like a little baby …and second, Yeah, your right, the portions do look much smaller, but not because they actually are, rather because you are literally twice the size you use to be.

“What’s taking so long”

2009-05-14T12:59:00.000-07:00

You have no idea how much I hate hearing this question.

Patron: “excuse me ‘mam, why is our food taking so long??”

G.H: “Well since you asked so nicely, I should tell you…our cook is outside smoking, or better yet, he’s in the men’s room taking a dump. He doesn’t give a fuck about you or your order, and he’ll get around to your extra well done sirloin whenever the hell he feels like it…”

First of all, If you go to a restaurant to spend money on over-priced crap, at least enjoy yourself. If you only have 20 minutes left of your lunch break, don’t expect to enjoy your dining experience.

But, if you insist, then let me give you a small pointer. An extra well-done sirloin takes about 20 minutes to cook. If you would have let us butterfly cook it, like I suggested, cook time would have been more like 11 minutes. But since you refused, thats your problem. Don’t patronize me…dont roll your eyes when you food isn’t brought out to you the second you fucking order it. This is not McDonald's. This is an upscale restrauant. If that is not acceptable, then don’t come back.

I'm just saying...

2009-05-14T02:30:00.001-07:00

“Oh what..? You want two extra sides of butter? Annnd more syrup? Well geesh, it’s a good thing you ordered a diet coke, other wise all this shit would go straight to your big giant ass..

I’m just saying…”

Hi there.

2009-05-14T00:50:00.000-07:00

I’m your server. I know you think that I would just love to refill up your Pepsi 149 times. That it fulfills my wildest dreams to bring you a to-go box, that you will eventually just leave on the table, or throw in the trash. Or that when I say… “Is there Anything else I can get you??” I want nothing more then for you to wait until I leave and come back, just to send me on more ridiculous errands…

But I don’t…I hate it.

I also hate how you alienate me, talk down to me, and disrespect me. For years, I have dealt with your shitty tips, your bad manners, and your rude comments, and taken it with a smile, and a “Yes mam, Yes sir”

Not anymore. I'm here to air your dirty laundry. I'm here to tell everyone just how shitty you tip, or just how ridiculous you sound complaining that the blue cheese isn't blue cheesy enough.