Good tables.

My world is all rose colored glasses tonight. I liked my people. Strangely enough we had more walk-ins then we usually do. I say on an average night that we can add forty percent in walk-ins than what are on the books. My station was looking weak. The manager is a creature of habit. The same routine exists for him night after night. What this means to us servers is that our stations rarely change. I always have the booths on the close wall (the thirties, the forties that I hate because they're only used for large parties and the two booths against the window. One and two)

In general my guy is a pro. We start out with the same amount of covers each and regardless of whatever amount of crazy happens during dinner we almost always end up within a few covers of each other. this is exactly as it should be because we run on a tip pool. some hate the concept of tip pool. But, I can tell you that most nights It's pretty much even. Our busser gets a pretty good chunk, the bartender gets a cut. And the rest is divided evenly. What this means is that even though I managed to put a bottle of wine on every duece I had tonight they were only forty dollar bottles. But, Verna (not her real name) managed to put that wimpy little french Pinot noir worth seventy-five bucks a bottle on her five top. The table went through three bottles and then insisted on buying my white coats their own bottle. I love this table! My kitchen loves this table. Smart, smart people knowing who to suck up to. But, Of course because of the price of wine on Verna's table she made a larger amount than I did. We did the same amount of work, had the same standards of service.. (even though she's still using her knee to prop the bottle on as she uncorks it. this makes me smile to myself. After six months I'm almost ready to give up. I stood in the back and made her open ever 'by the glass' selection that we needed for a week straight, she still uses her knee.)

But, we deserve the same amount of cash. Tomorrow night I'll be busting out the Silver Oaks and she'll be rolling in the Rombauer and fondue as entrees. I digress.
I loved my tables tonight. I love four course tables, before dinner cocktails white wine with appetizers and salads red wine (even though it wasn't my choice) with entrees. Deserts all around. It makes me happy, gives me something to do and in general I like people who like my menu. And in my first four tables there wasn't a 'split' anything or a repeat order in the bunch. Every table had something different from everyone they were dining with. The Brits even called me by my name. Not in a weird way but in a way that told me that they acknowledged that I was alive. They told me a funny story about being in Colorado and the screw top on a bottle of wine stumping their waiter. I told them about ordering a sparkling wine only to have the server pull out his wine key to open it. We laughed. Good times were had by all.

I had a few deuces. Nice couples who were nice to me. Not a demanding one in the bunch. They lifted their water glasses for me when it looked like I was reaching to fill them. They passed me their bread and butter plates after I grabbed the first one. They all ordered desserts. One lady asked where I got my hair done. One gentlemen ordered a second glass of wine because he said I was 'too cute' to say no to. Maybe because he was sixty if he was a day and his wife was smiling at me but it wasn't creepy. I enjoyed my gig.

Wow, I suppose part of me should say nights this nice are few and far between. I do get asked at least once a week if I have White Zinfadel. I go through periods where I have a run on 'split entrees'. I get behind things get a little cluttered in my work areas that drive me insane.

My sous chef cracked a joke about buying me a Christmas present from Victoria's Secret and I made a comment about those great copper pans his wife is so found of. We made plans to go to the movies. The new editions to the line have decided that they want to get to know me. Weird but whatever. Just be prepared answer any question you ask. Ending with my old white coat stopping by to see me even though he had worked a fourteen hour shift and we were on the phone the night before. He still bothered to come by and let me know how much he liked his new pantry girl, and what he thought of his new creme brulee (not going to add the extra sugar tomorrow night). We sat in the closed lounge next door and had a half an hour of conversation.

In general slack is almost over. The season starts in eight days. I have a new Dan Brown novel that I can curl up with to go to bed tonight. People liked my hair said please and thanked you. Didn't ask for one substitution. Oh yeah, now I remember. I really like my job.