Hey everyone!  Sorry it’s been so long since a real post, work work work on my end.  Hope you all enjoyed the radio interview, and for those that haven’t listened, you can do so by clicking here, sound clip courtesy of NewsTalk980.com.

So last night was the first weekend night that I didn’t have to close in about a month.  It was weird being in a slow and shitty section again yet at first I welcomed the break.  It wasn’t a really busy night, I had already worked a day shift at my other job, and I was in the mood to not really do much.  I was totally exhausted after closing on Thursday night and opening Job #2 yesterday (Friday) morning, and I just wasn’t in the mood.

Thankfully, it didn’t start getting busy until my injections of Red Bull finally kicked in and I was starting to wake up.  I had a few pretty nice tables during the first couple of hours I was at work.  One of them was a young black couple that were just awesome.  I personally believe they were on either a first date or a blind date because it looked like they were searching before they met up and found a table.  The guy had been to my place before, the lady hadn’t, so I made it a point to give them some good treatment.  I had her laughing, I had her giggling, I had him laughing and smiling.   I had both of them drinking margaritas, and I was having a pretty good time with them.

This tables food came out fairly quickly compared to some of my tables, and it was actually correct.  I got a little behind and they were okay when it took a minute for refills, and I assumed everything was fine with them.  In hindsight, I wonder if I should have just asked them a bit more bluntly.

They came in about 5:30, and at about 6:45, they finally asked me for their bill.  I tried to get them some dessert which they refused saying they were about to leave.  I ran their credit card slip, dropped it off, said my goodbye spiel and went out to smoke.  When I came back a few minutes later, they were still sitting at my table.

About an hour later, after I get done dealing with a guest who ordered a Mudslide and got a White Russian from the bartender and serving water after water to a table of rednecks, the new couple still has not left.  It’s now about 7:30.  I haven’t picked up their credit card slip or the three dollars cash they’ve left sitting on top of it, hoping instead they will be extra generous for my letting them sit at my table for so long after paying (our tables have a 45 minute limit after the tab has been paid).  I glance at them and see they both need more drinks, so I get them and go about my business.  I was still a bit tired so having a 2 table section wasn’t bothering me that much.

Another hour goes by and they still don’t leave.  At this point I’m starting to get a bit pissed off because we’re getting busy and I need the table.  There’s still a hope that they’re going to hook me up so I still don’t ask them to leave, however close to asking I was.  My other tables of the hour weren’t really making it worth my while to be there, and I really needed to get something good on that one.

Another hour, and it’s 10:30.  That’s the limit.  I want them gone, and it’s taking all I can to not lose my temper with them because they just keep sitting and talking.  They don’t say anything as I walk by the table, they don’t even look at me or stop talking as I take all the dishes from the table except their glasses and put new silverware and menus in their place.  They don’t say a word when I sweep around their feet, trying to hint at them to leave.

11 pm rolls around, and I’m finally fed up.  I walk over to the table intending to tell them they have to leave because I’m about to be cut off the floor only to see them getting up. I look at the check presenter, there’s still only three bucks on it…the same three bucks that’s been on it all night long.  Their bill was about 30, they paid with a credit card, and they’re leaving me 10%.  No matter, maybe there’s something on the card.  They finally leave, with me trying to keep from kicking them the whole way out, and I pick up the book.

There’s not a fucking dollar more than the original three in it!  These two cocksucking bastards took up my table for almost 6 hours, kept me from making money on it, took me down to a two table section (no matter the 45 minute signs and how much I whine, I really am not allowed to tell a guest to leave) these mother fuckers still screwed me.

I hope they burn in Hell for a few eternities, and get syphillis and gonorrhea.

Ribeye

Before I start, let me assure everyone that I have no issue whatsoever with those who come from or have relatives in Croatia. It just happens to be the place the following “server” comes from.

Croatian Barbie, aka, “Blowjob Barbie”, was hired maybe two months ago. I taught a couple of her training classes and from the start she just didn’t impress me. First off, she spent the majority of the class trying to text people without my knowing until I finally snapped at both her and the been gone for a while “CokeFiend, NeverShutsUp Barbie” about it. She failed her tests numerous times, and from training she’d already learned the delicate art of restaurant rumor starting. Fun chick. I took comfort in the fact that this bitch wasn’t going to be part of the cocktail staff.

Her first few weeks weren’t fun for the rest of her team. They quickly learned that Croatian Barbie was not one for following the rules being constantly on her phone or texting while walking through the dining room. They found that they were often picking up her slack when it came to the running sidework as picking up an ice bin or stocking glasses might harm her delicate hands. Managers and Shift Leaders alike tried time and time again to make her understand that tray service, while not fun, is also not optional. It was even overheard one night her responding to a SL with “Do it yourself!” when asked to fill the ice bin.

Within three weeks, Croatian Barbie had attached herself to a young, black American man who shall remain nameless. Once that began, not only did she not perform as part of the team, she and her newfound beau would vanish together for 10 and 15 minutes at a time, tables and teammates left wondering what was going on.

Croatian Barbie decided during her first few weeks that she was just too good to be a dining room server. She picked up a few cocktail shifts, and me and the rest of my teammates also noticed the rampant cellphone usage and laziness. We dealt with it because it was only a couple of shifts here, a couple of shifts there.

Croatian Barbie had other plans. Somehow, she hoodwinked the Powers that Be into letting her transfer from the dining room to the cocktail staff. Thanks just so very much, Powers that Be, you’ve screwed me again!

Since she joined my team, she’s proven that she can handle a few tables at a time which is a good thing. She’s also shown that she’s utterly worthless. I’ve never in my life seen anyone use a service station as an armrest as much as she does. She refuses to carry a tray, she refuses to do running sidework unless she hasn’t got a choice in the matter, and she’s become a table thief. In the time she’s been a cocktail I’ve also noticed (being forced to work the same shifts as she) that she doesn’t know how to ring things into the computer despite my teaching her a class on how to do just that. This makes for interesting weekends when we get busy and her tables wonder where their food has gone.

A couple of weeks ago, she came in wearing her hair in pigtails. Her hair is quite long, and at the time had a reddish/purple tint to it. The pigtails were held up with ribbons, and with her top button unbuttoned the way she does to show off her tits, it made her look every bit the 18 year old slut. Her actions with the younger more attractive male guests also show a slutty aspect to her personality. Back to the day in question. There was a guest that couldn’t find her. He wandered around, asking us where she was at because he wanted another beer. Finally, he gave up and was headed for the bar where the one bartender was a little busy. As she was making her way around to the guy, Blowjob Barbie ran up to him and asked if he wanted another one. She then proceeded to serve the guest that had now sat down at the bar. It was later discovered that the man had already closed his tab with Blowjob Barbie and he was now an actual bar guest. We’re not allowed to serve the guests who sit at the bar except under extreme circumstances, and it pisses the bartenders off when we do it anyway. The bartender wasn’t going to take her guest being stolen lying down as she needs money just like everyone else, so she confronts BJ Barbie about it and let her know she can’t take guests from the bar like that.

This is her response: “Everyone wants to order their drinks from me because I have the prettiest face back here!” Let me describe this face to you a little. Being Croatian, she has a bit darker skin tone than most Caucasian people. She adds to this by putting on about a pound and a half of makeup, making her resemble a clown. She has a hint of Asian in her eyes and puts eyeliner on the outside corners of both eyes because “I look like an Egyptian Princess” yet it really just makes her look goofy. The guys apparently tend to like her because of the width of her mouth, nobody wants to actually talk to her. She has braces so her teeth aren’t bad (we all know mine suck so I’m not gonna say anything about hers). She really just looks like a 16 year old that’s trying too hard.

Last week and this week have by far been the worst. Last Wednesday, I somehow got stuck with just her and one of the other…not so work ethically inclined…cocktails. Just the three of us. I was closing/shift leading. Once again, she refused to do anything to help the team and spent most of her night either on the phone or in her mans lap. At the end of the night, she wasn’t happy because she was still there around closing time when she was supposed to have gotten off. I gave her the silverware count and she set off. When she returned, I picked a couple of them up like I do with everyone and I noticed that they were horribly dirty. We have to wash, rack, wash, and polish (or soak then polish) our silverware before we roll it. I looked at her for a minute in disbelief, then went to find Manager G the Fuckin Great because Manager just doesn’t like her and he’s as anal as I am about silverware.

“Manager G, how should I tactfully tell someone I want them to re-roll their entire bin of silverware because they didn’t polish a single piece?”

“Who are you talking about?” he asked.

“Blowjob Barbie,” I replied.

“Hold on.” He put down his rag, and went flying from behind the bar to see what I was talking about. We opened up a couple of them together so he could see what I was talking about. He didn’t say anything else to me, just took the pan of silverware to the table she was cleaning. I don’t know exactly what was said but she took it back to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, she came back. At first glance, the silverware looked like it’d been cleaned, however when I opened a couple, they were still horrible. Back to Manager G and she was hot. She had to take them all apart, polish each piece and reroll it. That’s when she learned that her shit wasn’t going to be tolerated.

The weekend went by with her being as lazy as usual. Then we come to Sunday night. Sunday night, I was again closing, and I was again stuck with her. All night long, I asked her to pitch in and help out with running sidework. Every server had something assigned to them but we were in a groove and working together. It was a pretty good night except for her. She just ignored me when I would ask her to do anything. “Blowjob Barbie, can you get ice?” “Blowjob Barbie, can you stock glasses?” “Blowjob Barbie, you can’t leave your tables for the busser, we only have one tonight. You need to get them clean and reset and ready to go.” Ten minutes later, “Blowjob Barbie, go bus and reset that table!” Still nothing. I got busy with a couple of tables. In the time it took for me to greet and get the orders for both tables, get them into the computer, and get the food and drink back to the table, she still hadn’t done it. That’s when I’d finally had enough of her shit. “You need to get over there and clean that table, NOW!” I almost yelled. She finally got the hint.

Another aspect of my night was to make sure everyone was carrying a tray. I hate using them, but it’s policy and I’m making sure everyone follows the rules. Over and over I caught her not carrying a tray. Over and over I said to her, “Carry a tray” and “Put those on a tray.” She ignored me each time. The last time, she picked up two drinks from the service bar, looked at me, and walked past the stack of trays. That time, I followed her to the kitchen and proceeded to actually yell.

“Blowjob Barbie, when I tell you to carry a tray, that doesn’t just mean when you want to carry it, that means you carry one with everything you take to the table. Tray service is not optional here!”

“Alright!” she snapped back. She had a ramekin of dressing in her hand and was making her way back to the game room with it. Dressing and sides of sauce have to be put on an app plate with a napkin on it, carried on a tray. It’s a professionalism thing and a policy thing.

“THEN TURN AROUND AND PUT THAT ON A TRAY BEFORE YOU WALK OUT THAT DOOR!!!” she refused, and took it to the table.

She vanished after that. I found her in the hallway to the kitchen where the last exchange took place, more or less giving the nameless man from above a lap dance. “You need to get back to your area, Blowjob Barbie, we’re busy out there.” She ignored me and I didn’t feel like arguing. I went to the dining room where I was headed to find a manager. Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t gotten back to her area, and she had a new table. The manager told another server, Ms. A, to take the table. After Ms. A had gotten the drinks, Blowjob Barbie comes out of the break room where she and her man had gone to hide, and tells her, “Don’t worry honey, I’ve got it.” She proceeded to take the table from Ms. A causing a whole new set of drama.

Later that night, the managers pulled her in the office. I would have paid to see the show, because Manager G the Fuckin Great and Manager C the Assistant tore into her so hard that she left the office nearly in tears.

Too bad that bitching still didn’t do anything for her attitude. I caught her last night (Tues.) sitting on the bowling counter where guests pay and get shoes, swinging her legs back and forth playing on her phone. I told her to get down. “I will.”

“No, I mean get down now, and put your phone up.” She rolled her eyes and went back to what she was doing.

“Blowjob Barbie, What is your problem? Why do you think the rules don’t apply to you?”

“Ribeye, what’s your problem? Why are you always picking on me?”

“I’m not picking on you, I’m just tired of you running around here acting like a child! This is a restaurant and you’re at work, it’s time you acted like it!” I didn’t wait to see if she got down, I just let the managers know. That’s just not a good first impression for the guests to see a server sitting on a counter when they should be working, and playing on a phone to boot.

My teammates and I are trying to run her off. She’s an embarrassment to our department and an embarrassment to our store. There are others who are embarrassments too, but she definitely takes the cake. I can safely say that she’s now taken Hawk’s place as the laziest person I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with, and the only one who offers to go home with her male guests in order to get tips from them. She gives her real number out, and I think has gone out with a couple of the guys she’s served.

Thus the name Blowjob Barbie.

This is why I get stressed out at work! I have to deal with people like her! When they don’t do their jobs, I get yelled at by the manager above me for the night, as they get yelled at by the manager above them! I’m tired of it! I want the bitch gone, and so does everyone else!

Remember to listen to my radio segment, recorded this past Monday.

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(segment courtesy of the Murray Wood Show on Newstalk980.com)

You’ve all probably been wondering where the post explaining the pregnant woman poll has been. Well, after the results, you’ll see the reasons for the poll.

Should servers have the right to deny alcohol service to pregnant women?

• I’m on the fence: I don’t agree with pregnant women drinking, but I don’t agree with denying something legal either. (43%, 99 Votes)
• Yes, servers should be allowed to deny alcohol service if they feel it will be unsafe. (29%, 67 Votes)
• No, it’s not the servers place to dictate how a woman chooses to treat her unborn child (11%, 25 Votes)
• No, if they are legal the women should be allowed to drink what they want, pregnant or not (10%, 23 Votes)
• Yes, women should not be able to put the baby’s life at risk, especially if they chose to continue the pregnancy (8%, 18 Votes)

Most of you are on the fence about this issue and that’s quite understandable.  Many doctors tell pregnant women that one glass of wine or one beer a day is good for them.  I wasn’t as specific as that with this poll, and maybe I should have been.

I had a guest last week that was almost 8 months pregnant.  Legally, here in TN, a server cannot deny a pregnant woman alcohol if she is legal and not already intoxicated.  We can’t deny her alcohol just because she is a pregnant woman, no matter if we have a moral or ethical issue with it.

This woman was not ordering just a glass of wine or a bottle of beer.  This woman started out her night with a Jager Bomb.  During the two hours they were at my table, I served this woman the Jager Bomb, two Long Island Iced Teas, and a shot of house tequila.  That’s just the stuff that I served her.  I was told that if I refused to serve her that I could be fired for discrimination.  Nobody else would take the table from me, and I couldn’t get a manager to pick it up.

After they cashed out, leaving me nothing on their 70 dollar bill, fucking redneck scum, she had her boyfriend get her about 5 more drinks from the bar.  I tried to tell the bartender that they were going to a pregnant woman, who by that time was starting to get lit, but they didn’t listen.  She went outside to smoke about 9-10 times, don’t know how many she smoked but it was at least 9.  She was quite loud in asking the other girl at the table for a xanax (after cashing out, that would have given me a reason to deny her service), so she was taking nerve pills on top of all the alcohol.

This is why I made the poll.  I was fuming by the time this scum left my restaurant, and I could do nothing about it.  Had I been in the mood to lose my job, I would have said something to her, but I can’t really afford to lose that job.  The other job doesn’t provide enough income to survive on.

I’m all for a woman’s right to choose.  I’m all for the one glass of wine or beer during pregnancy if they really want one.  Hell, I don’t even care if the woman smokes.  I’m almost sure my mom smoked when she was pregnant with me.  This bitch was going overboard, however, and it made me want to hurt her.  I can only hope that she’s not doing this on a regular basis because that child will be born with fetal alcohol syndrome if it’s not stillborn.  What she did was criminal, and the laws that say we can’t deny a woman alcohol based on pregnancy need to be fine tuned a bit.

This bitch is the reason that I started the poll.

I’d appreciate your opinions on this, elaborated from your answers on the poll.  I’m curious to know the reasons for your answers.  I can see why most of you would give the “on the fence” answer and once again, that’s my fault for not being more clear.

The Restaurant Customer Stereotype series will return tomorrow, and Ghetto names of the week will be back next week.  I’m also trying to find the time to call a young news producer of a radio station to set up an interview, something that was offered to me a month and a half ago.  That’s the lack of time I’ve got right now, as I was supposed to call her last week.  I’ll make sure to let you all know when it’s set up, and where you’ll be able to hear it.

Thanks as always, and keep coming.  I’m not getting as much posted but I’m doing the best I can!

Ribeye

As you all know from a couple of posts ago, I had a “fun” weekend last week.  Issues with the Expo line, stupid guests, lots of little slutty looking girls that didn’t look old enough to drive much less act like they were and wear what they did.  I saw more camel toes last weekend than I have the entire time at the “Restaurant that shant be named”.  Last Friday night, much like most of the recent Friday nights, I ended up in the bowling/billiard areas of my job.  I hate being in those areas on the weekends because they get even more people who’ve caught the dumbass than normal.  At least in the game room there are still some normal people.

One of my first tables of the night provided a great deal of happiness for me.  Not because they left me a big tip (they didn’t leave anything for me except a complaint), but because they thought they were smarter than I was.

Approaching the table, I see a foreign looking couple.  From a distance they look to be Latin but when I got closer I could see they were Kurds.  Everyone knows that I hate serving Kurds because they don’t tip for shit, but I couldn’t get out of it.  That early in the shift, it was just me on the floor.  Trying not to groan as I walked up to them, I put the most fake smile I possibly could onto my face.   “Hey guys, how ya’ll doing this afternoon.”  I use my hick accent to it’s fullest advantage sometimes, namely because tourists love it.  I used it this time because I was in a mood.

“We tursty,” the guy said with his heavy accent.  I always wonder if Kurdish people just can’t pronounce the th sound or if they’re just trying to be smart.  I wonder the same thing about many black people when it comes to the word ask.

“Well sir, it’s Happy Hour if you would like to get something from our bar.”  I’m still pouring it on even though I’m starting to think I’ve waited on these two before, the girl has really bushy and long red hair and she looks very familiar.

“Bring me someting….exotic,” Adawallah responds.  I decide to bring him something fruity.

“That’s no problem sir, I just need to see your ID first.  And ma’am, what would you like to drink this afternoon?”  I ask, turning to Amatullah of the Bushy Hair and grabbing Adawallah’s ID all at once.

“Bring me shot of Bailey’s.”  If nothing else, these mother fuckers were concise.  No please, no Can I have?, no I would like.  Just Bring this now!  I hate that attitude.

“Would you like that straight up or on the rocks, ma’am?”

“On rocks.”

“Have you got your ID on you, ma’am?”  I ask, somehow already knowing the answer.  She might have long and bushy hair, but Amatullah certainly did not look to be any older than 14 years of age.  She starts digging through her pockets, all one and a half of them, for her ID and manages to fish out a debit card.  She hands me the debit card and tells me “We want start tab,” then goes back to playing her game.

“Ma’am, I would certainly love to start a tab for the two of you but I cannot serve your Bailey’s without seeing your ID first.”

“It must be in car,” she says while racking the next game of pool.

“Would you like to go get it?”  I asked, wondering if she really expected me to bring her drink without it.

“Just go ahead and bring her drink, you see my ID already,” Adawallah chimes in.

I turn to him, “I can’t serve her a drink until I see her ID for it.  Would you like to go and get it from the car for her or does she just not have one?”

“It is in car.  Bring her drink and we get ID later.”

“No, sir, I can’t do that.  Ma’am, would you like me to bring you a coke or tea for now?”  I ask.  I can see the look of hate in her eyes, she knows I know she’s not legal now.

“No, I will be fine.”  That’s quite fine with me.  I go and get his drink and drop it off.  I hang around for a minute to see if they want anything to munch on while they play.  They don’t order anything, and are even shorter with me than they were to begin with.  I guess I really did piss them off.

I decide to keep an eye on them while they play, knowing that she is going to drink out of his drink.  At that time of the day, my only guests are in the billiard room so hanging around to keep an eye on them isn’t a real problem.  I wander through every few minutes or so, mostly making it look like I’m cleaning, occasionally checking on other guests.  Finally, I catch this bitch with the drink in her hand.  I let the manager know, who says she needs to see it before I can take it.  I tell her that she has to keep an eye on them then, and let someone else answer manager calls for a few minutes.

When I go back to check on them again, she’s had more of his drink and it’s a little over half empty.  “Ya’ll doing alright over here?” I ask.

“I no like this drink, I want someting else,” Adawallah tells me, holding it up and shaking it a little.

“That’s fine, sir, let me take this one out of your way then.” I reach out to grab the first drink, and he pulls it away from me.

“I will keep this.”

“But sir, if you don’t like it then why would you want to keep and pay for it?  I’ll just take it out of your way for you and you won’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“Bring me Bailey’s on rocks and I will finish this one.”  When he orders the Bailey’s a red flag pops up in my head and I respond accordingly.

“Sir, I’m not bringing you a shot of Bailey’s, I’m sorry.”  I make to grab the first drink again and he pulls it away from me again.

“Why not?” he asks me with a knowing smile on his face.

“I’m not bringing it because it’s the exact same drink that she ordered, and she has failed to produce proper ID for me.  I’ll gladly bring you something else, but I’m not going to bring a drink that you’re clearly going to give to her.”

He doesn’t try to order another drink, and as I walk off, I guess just to piss me off even more, I see the girl pick up the fruity drink and take a big swallow from it.  Seeing that, I go and grab my manager again.  I let her know what’s going on, and that I’m not going to serve him a shot of Bailey’s that is going to go directly down his girlfriends throat.  She goes and speaks with the guests and comes back.  She tells me that the guy made it quite clear the Bailey’s was for him, and that she made it quite clear that his girlfriend had to have ID to drink and if she was caught drinking out of either the fruity drink I served first, or the Bailey’s that was about to be served, that I would be removing both drinks, they would pay for both drinks, they would pay for their billiards, and they would leave the building.

I don’t like being told I have to serve a guest alcohol, especially when it’s my liquor license on the line if something happens but out of respect for the manager and the fact that TN is a Right to Hire/Fire state, I went ahead and did it.  At least I knew that I’d be able to snatch a drink from them, and that made me happy.

I dropped the Bailey’s off with them and started the waiting game.  I hovered for a little while, let the front desk employees know what was going on, and let the other cocktail servers know what was going on.  If this bitch so much as picked the drink up, they were to let me know so I could take it away from them.

She avoided it for a while,  even when she didn’t know I was watching.  For a split second I wondered if he really did order it for himself, being that he was the only one drinking it.  Then I noticed something:  I noticed that the drink was never getting shorter despite him bringing it to his lips a number of times.  That just made me more diligent.  I had to serve a couple of guests in bowling during this, so I didn’t have my eyes on her the entire time, but when I was up at the host stand, I glanced over to see her pick up the drink and try to kill it.  I nearly ran over to them to get it away before she finished it.  I was happy to notice that when I got there, the straw was still at her lips and I was in time.

I grabbed the drink from her as she was sucking it out of the straw, and it splashed all over her.  That brought me a certain amount of satisfaction.  “What you doing?” she shouted at me.

“You were already told by both myself and my manager that you had to have your ID to drink.  You failed to show either of us a proper form of ID.  You were also told that if you were caught drinking that you would have to pay your tab, pay for your pool and leave.  I’m going to need you to pay for your drinks now.  Would you like to use the credit card I’m holding or would you like to pay cash?”

“We pay cash,” Adawallah said, stepping in front of her before she had a chance to say anything else to me.  He held out a 20 dollar bill to me.  I took it and went to get his change.  I put his change and the credit card I’d been holding on to into a check presenter and left it with them, telling them they had 10 minutes to leave the premises.  I then went to clock out for a break and smoke.  I almost made it out the back door when a manager stops me and pulls me back in.  The guest has stopped at the host stand to bitch about me and accuse me of stealing their credit card.  Manager B the Wise is getting the third degree from these assholes, and I actually feel kind of sorry for him.  I don’t like dealing with them either!  I run back up to the front, and let Manager B the Wise know that their credit card was in the check book that I’d put the change into.  They got their card, almost pissed off that I hadn’t stolen it and given them a reason to bitch at me.

Too bad I was in the right with the situation.  Everyone knows how much of a hardass I am about checking ID.  I’m not letting anyone else slide, so why am I going to let someone who looks like they’re still a teenager slide?  I’m not losing my job over something stupid.

Ribeye

This post has been too long in coming, and for that I apologize.  Working two jobs is Hell on my schedule.

This past weekend, we got busy.  Not just busy, we got our asses stomped into the ground.  It started when I went in on Friday.  I’d just gotten off work from Job #2, at 3:30 pm, and walked into Job #1, the Restaurant at 4.  I enter, wondering just when I started being unhappy when coming to work

When I come on, I’m told that the closers are not going to be in until 6:30 or later, leaving me with two very new ladies and one semi-new lady that tends to freak a bit when she gets busy.  I choose to treat the closing server’s sections as “pick up” sections, meaning any of us that had time would continue to pick up the tables that sat in those sections.

All looked to be pretty simple at first,  we started out dead.  A couple of tables go down in the other sections, so myself and Ms. M the newest both step up to the plate and pick them up.  Another goes down in one of the open sections, and Ms. M greets them.  I notice that Ms. M has 3 tables, one of them very ghetto, and she’s started to get a bit flustered.  Let me tell you something about Ms. M.  I LOVE Ms. M.  She’s not one of the younger crowd that’s been getting hired lately, and she’s not a brainless drunk like most of those that have been hired lately.  She’s coming from a bar up north where she was a bartender and didn’t have to deal with a computer system like we have, or an extensive menu like we have.  I can understand why she gets frustrated, it’s a lot to take in when you haven’t done it in a while.

Ms. M has also been quite disappointed lately with the money we’re making.  I can’t blame her there either because I was making double what I am now last summer.   Ms. M started freaking out a bit at 3 tables because she’s not used to it, and another went down.  I didn’t know she was getting in the weeds so when I noticed it, I immediately jumped in and started picking up the tables on her side of the game room.  Somehow, I ended up with 8 tables by the time the closers finally show up.

Ms. A and Mr. S show up, and I’m slammed and behind.  The kitchen has crashed and food is taking forever.  I’m guessing they weren’t expecting to get busy.  I wasn’t either based on the past few weeks.  They walk up about the time I’m asking people to get ice cream for milkshakes from the kitchen.  Ms. A has an overnight party she’s trying to get out of working.  “Ms. A, can you run to the kitchen real quick and grab enough ice cream for two shakes, this ticket is already running 10 minutes.”

“Well….I’ll do it if you’ll do something for me…”  I assume she means closing for her, which I can’t do as I have to be up at 7am the next day to make sure I’m awake to get to work by 9.  Now you see why I’m so tired all the damn time.  I reply, “I can’t tonight, Ms. A, I’m sorry.  Can you get the ice cream or not?”  She doesn’t answer, but walks away to talk to another server leaving me fuming and ready to snap her little head off.  This is the girl who says “I’m so much older than 18 mentally and emotionally, I’ve been through so much more than anyone else my age.”  What the fuck ever, honey, every 18 year old says that, no matter what they have to go through.  We all grew up too fast, so stop whining and do your job.

Ten minutes later, I’m still wondering why nobody has gotten me any ice cream.  I’m now asking managers to go, and none of them have time to do it because they are dealing with the fuckups of all our new serving staff they shouldn’t have hired.  Keep the vets on the weekends, put the newbies on the day shifts.  During all of this, it’s now 5 minutes till 7 and I’m still waiting on appetizers that I put in at 6 and earlier.  I didn’t even realize things had been in the kitchen for so long because I didn’t have a chance to look at a clock other than for the milkshakes.

Finally, after 10 more minutes, I manage to convince Ms. A to get the fucking ice cream, after yelling at her that I was serious about needing it and she was standing around doing nothing.  That’s not really too new for her, she’s one of a new breed of server that embarrasses me to no end, the lazy bugs.   The two shakes that I literally waited for 30 minutes to get because I couldn’t get to the kitchen myself for ice cream have now been bought for the table, as well as the two appetizers that took nearly 40 minutes.  Now that I’m more caught up, I run to the kitchen to yell about the food I’m missing for the other 6 tables that are waiting.

Then I see something I always dread:  The General Manager has taken a position on the Expo Line.  General Managers are not supposed to work in the kitchen, they are purely in the restaurant for show.  They are supposed to stay away from us peons, and from his little Demi-Managers that work the floor, safe in the office doing administrative things.  When they get in the kitchen, the General Manager will always get a type of power trip when it comes to the expo line because they always think they know how things are supposed to be.

This GM is no different.  I’d been wondering why a couple of my tables got chicken sandwiches instead of wings, and a table got a gardenburger instead of a cheeseburger.  I’d been wondering why instead of cheese sticks a table got potato wedges.  They don’t look anything alike, especially not on the KDS expo screen we use.

None of that really matters though, because the GM can do no wrong when he/she is working the expo window.  They never send out the wrong food because they are “incapable” of making a mistake.  This one is worse than normal, because he doesn’t just fuck up a couple of times in the shift, he stays on the line and fucks us out of our money all fucking night long!  Not only that, but if you try to ask him the ETA on a table’s food, you get your head chewed off and spit into the ground.

THIS one had the nerve to tell us that he read the tickets correctly, and that we were just ringing in the wrong orders.  We were the ones fucking up apparently, not them.  We were the ones who were ringing up potato wedges instead of cheese sticks, despite the ticket clearly showing the correct order and the inept food runners (all except for one) not caring and still running the food like little Latin drones.

Needless to say, Friday night was Hell.  It was pure Ghetto and Redneck Hell, and I made about 70 bucks on over a thousand of sales because of it.  These weren’t understanding people, they were trash.  I’ll get more into the guest interaction from the weekend on the next post, but there was lots of screaming, lots of cussing, and lots of me calling people “Dick Cheese Eating, Cooze Slobbering, Inbred, Cock Stained Bastards”.  That, among others including the words Dick Cheese and Cock Stain, were regular phrases coming from the mouth of the Ribeye this weekend, along with threats of walking out and quitting to find better work.

I’m not going to quit in the forseeable future, I know that change will again come, that money will get better, and that half or more of these new hire morons we’ve got will be gone.  I’ve just got to be patient.  I’ve been there too long now and done too much to just throw it away.  I’m at least going to wait until I have my dental work done before I do anything, because I think I may try to go into management.

Here are some of the things to look forward to this week, as I’m using this week to talk about the Hell of this weekend.  Some highlights of the upcoming posts:

• “Why da fuck do deez wangs gots bones?  I axked fa da drums, day ain’ got da bones!”
• The Vanishing Money
• More Dick Cheese
• Camel Toes that just shouldn’t have been
• Many dirty little girls that couldn’t have been legal with many ghetto guys that were far too legal
• The Ranch Drinker (did I finally serve Springs1?)
• Finally, Me snatching the drink from the hands of a girl with no ID that looked like she was 12 and thought she was smart.

I’m looking forward to it.  I’m also planning on getting a long awaited Round Table up this week, probably Thursday on that one.  I’m actually off work on Thursday and I can’t wait for it!

See ya soon!

Ribeye