Holy Wine...

I worked a double today. Something I haven't done in months but my sorry self woke up at six in the morning and got my butt over to the Sunday Brunch service. I went home at noon and tried to take a nap. By the way, can anybody nap? I have never been able to. I then went back to work at four-thirty. My first mistake was taking one of those five hour energy shots. People, I'm telling you don't do it. I never drink coffee or at least I haven't since I gave up my two hundred dollar a month Starbucks habit. I have maybe two soft drinks a day my body just isn't acclimated to jolts of caffeine. I had the shakes like you wouldn't believe.

For some reason Javiar decided to take me out of my 'home' We all have our own stations. Old Dog is against the wall, Goose is always in the "hot spot" a station I named after working it on her days off. It's the middle of the dining room all of the tables are split up so you have to circle the entire dining room to get to all of your tables. It is a bitch. Annette is always at 'The Top' the six tables closest to the line, I am always at the 'windows and wall' Two large booths that can fit up to six people the two most popular booths against the windows and the row of middle tables that fit large parties.

Tonight I worked the 'Wall'. I had a slow start. My five top turned into a six so they moved into one of Goose's tables but I kept them. She then took a 'three top' for me to even things out.... at least in theory. They went straight to my 94 Silver Oak. Javiar is running special wines to help clean out the massive cellar on property all bottles that are at least ten years old that have less than a case. At ridiculously cheap prices all of them are a hundred dollars or less. My six top had two Silver Oaks at a hundred dollars a piece the corks were incredibly soft it was a miracle that they didn't crumble in the bottle completely, or a sign that I'm pretty good at opening wines.

As soon as I got the first Silver Oak on the table my four top decided on the Barton and Gustier an eighty dollar bottle before I could get that bottle out I was sat with a four top that wanted to start with the seventy dollar bottle Sangiovese and then I had a deuce that held me hostage until they came up with the 88 Raymond Reserve and then I was sat with a three top that immediately went for the seventy-five dollar bottle of Whitman. I was sitting with four wine presentations. Three tables that needed to order two of which I hadn't had a chance to 'special' My six top had first courses that needed to go out and my four top needed to be cleared of first courses and 're-silvered' for entrees.

I was bombed.

Somehow every table that I had was in good spirits everybody was dining and had at least three courses, the usual.. I needed bread here, water there, taking an order and wine pours. Javiar wants to know as soon as he can seat my last table, my sous chef is yelling at me over a fire that I swear I didn't do. Then as I'm replacing my house wine glasses with Bordeaux one of them bumps into another and shatters into the palm of my hand.

I stood there for a minute I can hear my boss yelling at me "are you cut?" I took off into the bathroom to wash the shards of glass away without digging into my palm my sous chef is hollering "she better not be hurt were busy here". I ended up with small paper cut like slices along three of my fingers and the palm of my hand. I bandaged them up as best as I could and went back to my station I made it through the night, somehow. I ended up selling a little over seven hundred dollars in wine. Half of the 'by the bottle' sales. Good for me!

I think I'm going to superglue my hand tomorrow the band aids are a pain in the ass they fall off every two hours.

Me. Me. Me.

I walk up to my first table. "Hello, how are you this evening?" I don't introduce myself. I wear a name tag. It has my name on it. The name I want you to call me. Not my first name, where I'm from or any other unimportant details.

"So, where are YOU from Rosey?" Really, Rosey is on my name tag.. I don't think so. Only the French around here call me Rosey.

"No where in particular But I moved here from Virginia that was right after Rhode Island which was after Seattle, Portland San Diego"

"but how did you get here?"

It's called a resume and a car.

I had this conversation seven times tonight. Answering question after question,

How long have I been waiting tables?
Eleven years. yes, that's pretty much eleven straight years.

What made you decide to move here?
I was offered a job. I hate humidity so Virginia was over.

what did you do there?
Really? Eleven years of waiting tables, but in Virginia I was
a kindergarten teacher.

How old are you?
Old enough to not want to tell you.

Do your parents miss you being so far away from them?
I've been out of the house for a decade. But, yes.
My parents wish that I was still in my room down the hall. NOT.

I get it. I do. People are curious. Personal questions is a good sign that people think your personable. That's nice. here's the truth. I don't ask where you're from because it doesn't matter to me. Chances are I have either A. Never heard of it. Or B. have lived there myself which will keep me at the table for five extra minutes debating favorite restaurants in whichever place were discussing.

Here's what interests me. Your food order, allergies or preferences, time constraints, wine selections, water glasses, bread plates, and how well you tip. I have had small talk with thousands of people, literally thousands. I have answered thousands of questions over and over again. I would much rather discuss a glass of wine or what kind of cheese is served in the risotto then whether or not my eyelashes are real. (I had that question tonight). People don't need to know if I have a boyfriend. What my favorite cocktail is. Or how well I know my Chef.

I did have a great deuce tonight. 94 chateau Latour and a 94 Napa Cabernet. Insisted that I drink and tell them what I thought. Love when that happens.

I'm tired of people. It happens. A good portion of the time I like people and questions I change my answers based on the table. If you're at least my parents age, then I say that they miss me all the time and I feel horrible but I can't find a job like this one ________ whatever place I decide they're from. If you're accent is nothing found anywhere near the south than I crack jokes about humidity and deep fried creamed corn and my aversion to everything southern. If you're ordering wine I'll give you a run down on what is served best with what entree and point you away from a few of my bottles I don't care for. I can fake laugh with the best of them. In a way it's a kind of customer service based foreplay. Sometimes you're in the mood... and sometimes. Not.

I have aspirations of spending my next day off in a movie theater. All day. There are at least three that I want to see.

Career Decisions..

My Beverage director is holding some wine classes. During conversation he made the statement that about ten hours away you can take the tests for Sommelier. It's something I've thought about for awhile off and on. I suppose my reasoning for not pursuing it has been financial, not enough money to consider it. Or that I simply move on and away from wherever I'm at to consider committing to any kind of new education.

But, here I am. Trying my hand at being stationary and suddenly I want to pursue something new. Need a challenge, any challenge. And, what was intimidating and seemed a bit out of my reach a few years ago suddenly seems like something to pursue.

This could be impossible to achieve, and I may be stretching a bit. But, the boost to my resume would be pretty exceptional job opportunities would open up... the possibilities would be endless. To do or not to do? I'll be talking to the Beverage Director next week, he seems to think that the company that I work for would be willing to kick in some bucks. But, that's not really the point.

I'm bored. Would like a new project a goal, something to work on. I don't foresee myself leaving this business anytime soon. I do see myself getting burnt out of waiting tables at some point. I sure as hell don't care to be a manager or move into the BOH. And I can't think of anything I like as much as I like wine. Perfect fit? Or is this twenty-seven year old waitress over-reaching? What say you my internet FOH crew.. All opinions welcome with open arms. Just as long as you don't say White Zinfadel at any time.

Priorities

Sorry I've been MIA there's valid reason I promise. On Friday my best buddy Chef B. calls me up first thing in the morning.. actually a bit before ten which, for me is first thing in the morning. His stomach hurts... again. About six months ago an infection had sent him to the hospital he knows it's come back as he was warned it would. But, it's a Friday and I know without asking that the idea of him even considering not going to work is not worth mentioning. I do talk him into calling for antibiotics.

I got a text message right before dinner rush started, 'It fucking sucks to hurt this bad. I have a hundred and fifty covers tonight'. The next morning I get another phone call. This time B is just planning on going into the hospital. He figures he'll start out in the ER but, will be admitted. Here's the part that sucks. His plan is to wait until his kitchen is closed. Figures he'll go in on Sunday. I know again without asking that it's pointless to suggest anything else.

So, I made my own plan. I know that he'll be in the kitchen by noon and that his other white coats show up sometime around one. So, I got my hair straightened, did my laundry dusted vacuumed and then went to his restaurant, my plot was to talk to his sous chef, give him the heads up and tell him to at least attempt to make B. take it easy.

When I walked in the back door took one look at him pouring creme brulee into dishes hunched over looking green. He took one look at me sat on a milk crate and all I had to say was, 'Should I call your FOH manager or would you like to?' I called him explained the situation, called the higher up bosses and told them to send an extra body to cover the night shift. Talked to his Sous Chef and off to the ER we went.

Now, initially the conversation wasn't how bad he was hurting, where and how long it had been going on. Nope. As we were waiting for the doctor we're discussing covers, counts for the property and what early next week looks like in case he gets stuck there more than the two days that the restaurant is closed for. Were talking about his pantry cook, sous chef and whether or not they'll do the prep the way he wants it done.

A bit later conversation shifted to prior shifts, past holidays and Valentine's Day. After those conversations were exhausted we changed it up to reading dirty jokes on my new cell phone, commenting on all the medical personnel coming in and out. Things like, 'I bet she's a vegetarian' or, 'Wow! I Bet her whole wardrobe comes from Hot Topic'

To end the story Chef B. was in the hospital until a couple of hours ago when he was allowed to go home, under immense pressure. He had a theory that the nurses alerted security that they thought he was going to try to run away. He wasn't. Really. He was just spending all of his talking out loud daydreaming about being at home, or better yet, snowboarding on the mountain.

I think it's normal to have your priorities. We all do. I'm sure that if I had a goldfish feeding it every day would be on my list of things to do. I'm sure that a child, or dog, or yard that needs to be mowed would make time naturally in my life and become important. So, maybe it's just the mid twenties, professional restaurant workers without a family or other obligations that make their work environment damn important.

But, it's a little strange that first thoughts are about making sure that people are fed. There are thirty days a month, three meals a day so that's about 90 meals a month. We're responsible for one of them. If you put it that way, then whether or not that filet comes out perfectly isn't that big of a deal. But, making sure that the Restaurant goes round does seem like a very big deal. Even when my best friend could be facing emergency surgery. I understand and wouldn't expect him to 'call in sick'. I get the 'he's the boss' part of the equation messes with things.

As he was being discharged tonight the nurse said, 'Take it easy for the week.' I started to laugh under my breath. It's not going to happen. The closest he's going to come is bringing his crew in earlier to do most of the prep. A little sad, but true.

Good Night and Goodbye

Busy. Busy. Busy. ahh... hello. I'm just one short waitress. I had thirty-eight covers tonight. Sold thirteen bottles of wine, seven fondues, nine orders of escargot. I couldn't get a glass of water to be refilled by anybody. Every time I got my head above water long enough to explain to a table "Where I'm from" I was sat again, and again. It was nuts, somehow I managed to keep from drowning. I made every fire on time remembered every request for blue cheese. I didn't have any substitutions thank god.

My seven top had six no seven bottles of wine including one Italian Sparkling. The head guy at the table was wearing a turtle neck and blazer with a stubby gray haired ponytail. Good looking guy for an older man.

Everybody was 'dining' tonight except one deuce who took twenty minutes to decide on sharing appetizers. I had three men flirting with me, calling me 'Rosy' which I hate. My boss told me that I was 'being lazy' in my service. I said that I was doing my damnedest to keep up at all. Two groups hated their tables tonight, in my station. It's the fur coats I'm convinced of it. Any woman in a fur coat is going to find a reason to bitch.

I'm taking myself to the movies tomorrow. Going to see the new Denzel Washington flick. I still haven't gotten my hair trimmed or my nails done. I'm worried about my White Coat buddy who called me this morning the stomach pains that landed him in the ER six months ago are back. I broke with our tradition of not telling each other what to do and made him call his doctor.

I hate the way it always feels good to be home but I always want to leave as soon as I'm there and then immediately miss it two days later. I could really go with hanging out in my cousins living room with a bowl of ice cream trying to dissect what's going wrong with our love lives over episodes of Sex and the City.

Is there room for a real life on this blog? Am I breaking rules by adding myself the non-waitress to it?

Crazy Woman in Fur..

I had the night from hell. Lets start out by saying getting home last night was a bit problematic. The ten inches of snow that was forecasted dropped on top of me and my four cylinder little car. I white knuckled it all the way home but only drove off the side of the road once. Trust me it was a road to be killed on.

I get to work tonight and the books are filling up. Enough so that an extra server was called in. Javiar leaves me the phone and the book. I have three tables left to be sold and then a second seating is open after 8:30. In walks a group of women in fur coats wanting a table. There was two separate parties. I told them I could take one at 6:30 and one at 7:30. They each take the available reservations. 6:30 rolls around and in walks Crazy lady Javiar goes to seat her at her table she looks at him and says "we weren't told we couldn't have a booth. I want that one" As she points to a booth that's already set for a six top half walking towards it. Javiar explains that our booths are taken until at least 8:30. She then looks around the dining room requesting two other tables that were already sold.

She then spots me and says, "She didn't say we would have to sit here". I look over and politely explain that we can't sit her in a booth that's booked for seven or seven-thirty and that unfortunately when I explained that I only had a couple of seating's for this evening the tables were already mapped. And that this is the best that we could do to accommodate her party.

Crazy woman then suggests that because she walked in before we were open that should give her 'first dibs' on booths. I had had enough. I picked up the three inch thick reservation book flip it to this evenings reservations and show her the date and initials next to every reservation that is taken. Ninety percent of which were made over a week ago. And explain that tables are assigned based on how far in advance they made their reservations. She was the second to last person and I did my best to find her a table.

A few minutes goes by she asks to look at the menu, I bring her a 'sample' of soup to hold her over until the rest of her party arrives. She then apologizes to me for being 'impolite' and asks if I'll bring Javiar over so she can say she's sorry to him as well. I assured her that it wasn't necessary that we would prefer to give every person that comes in the restaurant exactly what they want but, that we were the ones that were sorry for not being able to accommodate her.

That's what I said anyway.. what I meant was 'Fucking bitch I'm not moving a single reservation for you. I'm glad you're in the center of the dining room I hope you choke on the lamb you've already ordered I think you're rude as hell in ugly animal carcass apparel Go screw yourself."

The rest of my night was pretty routine but, Crazy woman threw me off for at least an hour. On top of everything else she tipped ten percent! Wasn't the least bit surprised.

In other news I have a Saturday night off... what the hell do people do on a Saturday night? I'm thinking movies. Except everyone I know is working.

Changing it up

I didn't realize it initially but there's another blog on her that's name is very close to the one that I picked at random months ago. so, I'm changing it up a bit. My web address for now is staying the same but the title is going to be different. That's all.

The New Computer has arrived!!

I have a couple of days off, very excited to not see my dining room for a solid forty-eight hours I'm currently in my cousin's living room three and a half hours away from anything resembling work. I stopped by Office Depot and picked up my brand new laptop that I am typing on as we speak. This makes me completely happy. That and the pizza hut buffalo wings and cheesy bread that's for dinner. I have some lunch plans at the very illustrious Carls Jr. with my friend who took the mommy track. Good for her! We can catch up over plastic wrapped cheesecakes while her rug rats play in the indoor gym toy thing. New things to come.... later.

To Grat or not to Grat

First off yesterday wasn't the disaster I thought it would be. At least not for me around me was pretty much a hurricane but I survived it moderately unscathed. I ended up at my White coat buddies condo eating restaurant left overs and watching Death Proof and ranting about our work environments and how we don't like anybody. Was fun, good for us and I ended up making it home sometime after three in the morning.

Old Dog and I had another... debate. This time on Gratuities. It seems that she feels as though I'm a hard ass when it comes to tipping I always err on the side of caution and I rarely order things for my tables to 'work the system' and give them a better deal. People may appreciate it but they're not all that aware of it. And leaving off a soda, or a 'split' entree charge doesn't help me make money. People tip on a standard precentage. End of story. They may give an extra five percent if they like you a little more but, that's as good as it gets.

The fight/debate was about 'corkage fees' One of her tables brought in a couple bottles of wine. In my restaurant there's two ways to charge for corkage the first is 'corkage fee' the second is 'service charge'. Service charge is gratuity added on to the bill twenty-five dollars a bottle. I never, never leave this off. That's like taking a twenty dollar bill and throwing it in the trash. Of course I'm going to want the money.

I don't believe for a moment that any table is going to tip extra if you don't charge them for the wine service and it sure as hell won't be better than adding on the tip yourself. Old Dog feels as though i'm greedy and that charging people when they're obviously trying to save by bringing in cheaper wines isn't 'nice' and that what goes around comes around. Therefore we should assist them in their cheap night out and at some point we'll be rewarded for it.

Hmm... Nope. No matter how I work that around in my mind I'll take the fifty bucks that should be added on to that check. If we didn't run on a tip pool than fine, I'd let her be 'generous' with her money all she wants. But, that's not how it works all tips are shared and divided evenly. We all have to be consistent I sure as hell won't skip the service charge when that same table comes in next week if anything she's causing long term issues of not following protocol. I'm always going to be on the side of my money. Call me crazy, but wouldn't you?

In the end Javiar split the difference on the 'to charge or not to charge' debate and added on one service charge. I know that I may seem strict unbending but I have never been in a situation when a 'cheaper' check equaled a 'bigger tip'. It's just not realistic.

Anyway, opinions people? Say you love a table they're funny and personable and order well are you going to forego a guaranteed tip or are you going to play it safe and get as much money as you can? Have you had experiences when giving people a good deal has paid off for you as a server?

I should Stay Home

Do you know that feeling when everything is off? I'm waiting for the shoe to drop the mirror to break whatever. Maybe left over from last night But, I had the worst nightmare last night and I'm waiting, and waiting for whatever ickyness is about to descend on my life. No idea what it is or when it's going to be but, everything about waking up this morning is telling me I should just stay in bed. I only slept about five hours, I woke up with my feet at the head of my bed goes to show me I didn't sleep well. I'm completely nervous.

I should call in, except I never call in. Old Dog is working with me tonight with Ginger. It's much better when Goose or Anette is there.. Old Dog and me without a strong buffer can be... icky. There's a geriatric ski club that showed up last night. Everybody over sixty-five. Now, that's going to be fun to wait on. My Chef is off which means Baby-face, Drunky and Blondy are all going to be there. Usually it's just two out of the three. Yikes! I don't feel like doing this. And I swear something is going to go wrong. Big time wrong. I just want to know what. The good news is that there are dollar beers in my future at some point. Except I still don't feel like hanging out with Brazilians.

I should stay home. I know it's a huge mistake to leave my bedroom. Here I go...

Damn it.

Grabbing me is not allowed

My first table of the night is a four top. Grandma and grandpa with German sounding accents granddaughter whose skirt is reminding me that the eighties are coming back in style and the dad whose face I've already completely forgotten. I go through my specials determine that they'll be drinking cocktails but no wine remove their extra glassware before I can move on Grandpa goes to grab my wrist. I very subtly move just enough out of his way to suggest that he just verbally tell me what he would like. He then half stands up grabs me by my shoulder moves me the six inches back towards him sits himself down and takes ahold of my wrist.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Really? Is that why you're going so far out of your way to play 'grab the waitress' My smile got very bright and I chose not to acknowledge that remark.

"yes sir, I'll bring two olives each for the Ketel One.

The dad says, "he's harmless don't worry about it".. Hmmm.. harmless for you. You're related to him and therefore beholden to put up with him. I however am a waitress. If I move slightly that may suggest that I don't want to be touched. It's not necessary. You already have my attention.

Why do people think they can do this. The closest I come to touching any table in my dining room is helping to take off or put on coats or a touch on a hand to ask if I may take a plate away without interrupting conversation. That's it. I don't hug people goodbye. I don't do 'air kisses' unless your one of the Brazilians or a Frenchy and I know and work with you. I'll shake hands.

My 'employee' table with the birthday card (basically free meals for two without alcohol or gratuity) She left the bulk of the tip on the check that she was just signing. Javiar of course couldn't let it go so I lost twenty bucks.

I had an escargot night. Every table ordered one if not two orders. Grandpa Grab hands hated it. Apparently there was too much to it. He didn't read the part on the menu that said that there was garlic, pesto butter and curry. They asked if anybody else complained I looked around my station that had plates of escargot on every table and said 'No, it's very well received, you are actually the first time I've heard that somebody hasn't liked it. But, I'll be sure to let the Chef know.' They didn't like that at all and told me not to say anything.

I'm not finding much funny these days. I'm tired of Portuguese every single night half of everything that is said in my dining room is in a language I don't understand. I'm tired of all of the conjecture on my love life it's been ongoing for months now. Really? I don't want to hang out and have ice cream at eleven-thirty well, that translates into I have a date. I couldn't possibly have a life or plans that doesn't revolve around a man. Or heaven forbid I just don't want to be at work anymore.

The tip pool is annoying me this week. I've done the bulk of the carrying. This means that I add up what I make at night in my head it's pretty easy to keep track and then when the end of the night when tips are divided out and you find out how much you made there hasn't been one shift that I haven't made quite a bit more than I've actually received. Anette is the next closest to me but still, I've been losing money quite a bit. I'm sure this will turn around at some point and it will be Goose's turn to take a loss for days on end.

I got busted apparently out of the three newer kitchen guys I only mess up on one of their names. I thought I messed them all up. In my head they all blur together. Blondie, Drunky and Baby-face. Apparently I call Baby-face Blondie or Drunky but I always get Drunky and Blondie's names right... oopps.

I need a drink and some time away from co-workers. I think part of the problem is my realization last month that I thought I'll be staying put for the foreseable future. I don't know how to stay somewhere. I don't know what it's like to make long term plans in one location. This is the part where I start to feel trapped and like I should be somewhere else anywhere else. This may or may not pass. I think the point is to do what I don't necessarily do, that is to say I'm going to try to 'commit' Creapy but if other people can do it why can't I? It's not like I'm getting married I'm just not submitting resumes to new gigs. I'm keeping a job fifteen months and counting I have now beat my record by sixty days. How do people stay? I'm not being sarcastic how do people stay in one job in one town month after month year after year? Don't you want new people or a new apartment to re-decorate? don't you get bored knowing the grocery store down the road or the movie theater? Don't people get burned out?

How to Keep Your Sanity

Your six top wants to know why they can't have a four person booth by the window. Your chef has added three garnishes to the soup that you're serving all night long. Your busser forgot to cut anything but white bread. Your manager is tired and has given you four VIP tables within an hour of each other. Your fellow server is half an hour late and another server is fighting with her boyfriend. Your pantry cook still hates you and is hung over.

Here's what I know. On my good days I'll barely notice snarky comments, moderate hostility, people wanting you to invent a way for them to have Foie gras, or tells you they don't need a list they want a bottle of that wine they had that one time at that place with the oysters... When I'm on my game I don't even bother to play twenty questions I sell them one of my favorites, It'll be there new favorite that's what the last waitress did after all.

On my bad days I roll my eyes so many times I'm afraid there going to be stuck like that. Nobody can see that I'm doing it, it's actually my favorite form of passive aggressive behavior, the new grill boy cracking jokes about it being my turn to be in the weeds has me contemplating throwing a bottle of White Zinfadel at him. One bottle down, one less in the world to get on my nerves.

Here's what gets me through. My girl Anette will laughingly tell me how impressed her table is at the local Chardonnay that non of us can get through a glass of much less a whole bottle. My Sous Chef will crack a joke about my love life. Nodding his head towards the twenty-two year old intern as I hum the Mrs. Robinson song. And I know that my best buddy is a text message away. He'll give the appropriate groans at how 'spicy' the bouillabaisse was for my seventy-year old woman. He'll understand my frustration with forty dollar bottle thirty year old Bordeaux with corks so soft that they crumble literally in my hands. It makes me feel better.

I know without a doubt that I'm going to be in my fluffy robe at some point tonight. With a cup o' noodles and a new netflix at one in the morning. I love that the boss was the one with the restaurant nightmares the night before. My last one was disgusting. I was being held hostage, sitting on the piano with a tray full of empty glasses that people kept coming over taking off of the tray and then demanding that I get off of the piano and refill them. Did I mention it was morning in the dream like seven a.m. Not that I'm actually awake at seven in the morning but the principal of being at work at seven in the morning was probably the weirdest.

I stay out of restaurants on my day off. I'm much more likely to order a pizza or make a run to Subway than I am to volunteer to sit in a dining room dissecting food and service. I like the movies for winding down. I like comfy sofas sandwiches and wine at home. call me crazy but I don't want to see a uniform unless I'm wearing one. My face hurts. Literally my cheeks hurt from the smile that I wear all night long.

I don't feel the least bit bad talking about customers, tables or anything that I over hear at those tables. Most of which is completely boring. Your dog had an ingrown toe nail, your sisters son is dating a bi-sexual, your dandruff shampoo isn't working as well as it used to? Nope, we don't care. But, if you caught your babysitter getting it on with her boyfriend in your hot tub or you just bought that itty bitty little vibrator that the television commercials have been showing lately. Well, that gets repeated. If you drink six vodkas every server knows how many you've had. If you sent your, well anything back to be re fired.

In my head I'm thinking that there's a new movie out that I want to see. I need to get my bangs trimmed and my nails done. That I think I'm going to go buy the new laptop If I can just get a handle on all of that technical shit that's like a whole new language featuring me, the village idiot, that doesn't know which processor is shitty and which isn't. Any advice out there will be welcome. I'm taking notes on slips of paper my plan is to dump them all out of my purse at Best Buy go buy a c.d. or two and then come back to the twenty-year old salesman magically pointing towards my new computer. A Laptop that is pretty turns on quickly burns cds and dvds doesn't crash, doesn't cost over nine hundred dollars doesn't weight a ton and in a perfect world comes all ready to go so I can turn it on and continue my ebay shopping, blogging and finally download my photos from October on.

Oh, yeah. I need to get that second bottle of Rombauer for my third VIP table. Tomorrow I'm taking a flat tire to be patched to the tire fixing place, getting the nails done, buying bobby pins and then going to work. Where all of my tables will be nondescript tourists all of my coworkers will be in glowing good moods and I will like every single person that sits in my station.

Bi-Lingual

I have three Brazilians at my job. Anette, Carlos and Javiar. Anette is German extraction, Javiar mostly Italian and Carlos more or less Portuguese. But, they all speak Portuguese. Now for them this is a bit like a 'get out of jail card' they can and do say whatever they want whenever they want in the dining room.

On this particular evening it was Anette, Old Dog and myself waiting tables with Carlos as our busser and Javiar as our manager. We were slowing down to a crawl by the time my last table, a six top.

Let me explain they were pretty people. Three twenty-something gentlemen, actually twenty-one barely, twenty four and I'm guessing a year or so shy of the drinking age. The daughter was a very attractive young lady. And of course while I'm choosing an oaked Chardonnay for the table Anette and Carlos were having a conversation about their 'new husbands' Or rather Anette was choosing the cutest of the group. I return to the table and notice nothing amiss they were very polite easy in and out felt like I was waiting on a deuce.

They tipped correctly I was finished with the dining room and moved into the back to start my closing chores and then it happened..... not sure how. But, it turns out they have dual passports their father who wasn't present is from Brazil the four young'uns are bilingual. Perfectly with no accent in either language. Hehe.. hehe... hehe... haha.. haha.. haha..

I was concerned at least initially Carlos and Anette have mouths on them. Separate, they're not so bad. But, the two of them together. In English they can make me blush, in Portuguese YIKES!! I'm of course not held responsible for anything said. (I only know how to say the dirty things.)

Anette promises that they didn't say anything too extreme and that the family was amused rather than insulted. I sang Mrs. Robinson to Anette for the last hour (she's pushing forty).

I'm going to assume that everything was okay. But, hell I couldn't understand what was actually being said. Lesson learned my South American friends.

Kicking Puppies

Goose has been having a bad time with Chef. Not so anybody would notice overly much except her. It's taken me awhile to believe her. She made a mistake a couple of weeks ago I barely remember it but it was something about soup that was 'too thick' that she served to her last few tables. This of course made Chef unhappy that night. I assumed that he would be over it in a day or two. I mean, seriously? Soup? Two weeks later?

Last night there was a problem with an SDR that she either didn't catch or didn't hear about. The man that Javiar knew to be a PIA ordered the Pheasant which has bread crumbs in it. The whole plate can not be executed with any allergies. We all know this. It was in the meeting we had when the menu rolled out. She gets the plate out of the window and comes up to me a few minutes later and asked me about a gluten allergy with the Pheasant... uh... yeah... there is. It can't be done without. I had an 'oh shit' look on her face and debated momentarily on getting involved or letting her take care of it. But, then my table needed more wine so I left it for her and Javiar.

Javiar wasn't pleased. There was also a thing about a fridge being unplugged in the back of the service station. Why Goose unplugged it I didn't want to explore. It wasn't on purpose, of course. But, chef was the one to notice. Sucks for Goose.

I think the stress of knowing that Chef isn't happy is causing Goose to be a bit nervous.. I'd be nervous too. He can be intimidating. So the goof ups are mounting and the little ones that wouldn't necessarily be noticed are under a microscope. The whole damn thing is making me nervous. And feels a bit like kicking a puppy. Part of me wants to say, "hey Chef look how teeny and cute she is. don't forget the accent. The accent is funny.. can't you just laugh a little?" I don't think that would help.

And good-bye Bud. Transferred away somewhere on the mountain this week. I knew it would happen before he was transferred into the Restaurant. But, again. Like kicking a puppy. He sincerely didn't understand that he wasn't keeping up. he was convinced that his smoke breaks through out the night weren't that big of a deal. His lack of teamwork was a 'personal' work style. And the general lazy personality wasn't on the radar. Not going to miss him much. But, if it was up to me Old Dog would be long gone and Bud would still be leaning against the fridges talking to pantry bitch when there was an hour of polishing to get done.

As for last night. I had generally weird tables. A four top that didn't seem to want to order asked a lot of questions about entrees and then shared appetizers for dinner. Asked me to stop pouring their wine and literally shoo'd me away from the table twice. Then thanked me profusely over and over for their wonderful evening... huh?

Then the Australians who wanted Australian wines. This confuses me a little. You come all the way from down under. And then insist upon having the same crap that you can have in your own greasy spoon down the road. Order a Washington wine for fucks sake? Take a shot at Napa or Alexander. Experience something different. They also asked for schnitzel. When I said, no. We don't have it they said. "Can you just ask if the kitchen can make it for us it's her birthday".

"hey Sous can you pull some schnitzel out of your ass for my PIA seven top?"

"Sure, Rose give me a second"... as he laughs and continues to plate up entrees.

"I'm sorry sir we can't make a schnitzel this evening"..

Our second growth forty-eight dollar bottle Bordeaux tastes disgusting and looks 'murky' There just isn't another word for it. I wondered momentarily if decanting would help. But it's really bad.

I learned a new Portuguese word that can't be repeated in polite company and probably shouldn't be repeated in impolite company. Sad that of all the foreign languages around here I only learn how to invite somebody to screw in the bathroom of a bar. But, I can say something similar to that in three languages. Don't suppose I can put that on my resume?

Remember when..

My best friend who still lives in the town I went to High school in has been running into people we knew a decade ago. At last count there was the fake id sporting recreational coke head turned mommy with two kids, an ex husband living at her dad's house. The Bi-sexual hostess with the teeny tiny voice hair down to her knees that couldn't quite control her eating disorder, and the 'least popular' cheerleader who's working at our favorite greasy spoon breakfast joint. Two or three kids she wasn't sure since said Cheerleader pretended not to recognize her.

I remember my job in high school probably better than a lot of the other ones I've had since. Mostly because we were all young, all free to do what we wanted when we wanted.

We partied, I killed tequila one fuzzy night with a cook and good looking James I remember us all working very, very drunk the next day and the day after that. I have truly never drank as much ever again. I still can't smell a Margarita without my stomach rolling. At seventeen I had this little apartment with Shannan, the twenty year old waitress who hung out at the Stinker gas station after work every night until four in the morning. We had one of those roll away beds in the living room as a sofa.

My lunch was served out of a never ending bowl of french fries kept on the line and bowls of cucumbers with vinegar off of the salad bar. I paid rent... barely. Went to school most of the time. Learned how to roll a joint but never smoked it. Kept cheap wine that I drank out of the bottle while watching re-runs of Roseanne. I had one towel and one washcloth and a can opener for my tomato soup. All of my kitchen utensils were bought at Big Lots. We had four spoons, four knives four forks. One Spatula one frying pan. It was the most typical existence for my age group. My cook made me a beer bong in my kitchen for my first party that resulted in the roommate knocking a hole through the wall.

And we had Amanda and Cody move in for two months because they were 'broke' The roommate and I spent half of the time on our roll away 'couch' While Cody tied up the phone line and Amanda turned my bedroom into their personal little cave. When they left they emptied our groceries out of the cupboards and took all of the 'good' uniform shirts with them.

I remember loving every minute of it. Being free of curfews and home. My car started half of the time. The bumper was tied on with a really big rubber band and if I stopped to suddenly it would fall off at red lights I would then jump out of the car and shove it back in place before the light turned green. I spent a lot of time at Blockbuster back when we still watched video tapes, had a mild flirtation with a trucker that turned weird before it turned bad.. What was his name again?

My boss had a stupid nickname for me and nine years after I quit he would probably recognize my voice over the phone. I never said no to any shift for any reason. He took amazing advantage of that. It still makes me a little embarrassed at how bad that job was. I quit. When it was time to go to school. Moved on to slightly better restaurants and have worked my way gradually up the chain since then. Good memories, mostly.

It's funny to think back on those days. Remember how much fun there was how free I was. Nothing bothered me. I ditched out on Thanksgiving dinner with the family to go to a poker game. couldn't afford a cell phone, fought with my mother constantly on my lack of direction. I knew my direction. Freedom. Independence. Nobody getting in my way telling me what I was going to do. I was going to travel but really live in places not just go for a week or two. I was going to have as many pairs of shoes as I wanted. And I was going to change the world. Write a book be special some how. I had no idea how I was going to be different from everybody else but I was.

I am free and independent nobody tells me what to do, I have lived everywhere and traveled waiting tables is good for that. I have more shoes than I'll ever need well, people don't really change the world they just control their own. As for the book maybe someday... I count the years by restaurants and places I've lived, twenty to twenty one I was in San Diego twenty one to twenty two Boise twenty two to twenty three Northern Idaho twenty four I went to Africa, twenty five Virginia twenty Six i'm here.

Re-Fire hell.

Jesus. My count was two steaks and a salmon. Anita had at least three plates, Bud one, Old Dog three and two dropped entrees off of her large party. Goose had it easy with just one moderate problem.

All of this can be traced directly to one white coat on the line. He's young, and really kind of sweet. The former boy that got put in the corner a couple of weeks ago.

Here's my problem. I have to make my money when people are in the dining room. My goal is to have them back at some point during their week long vacation or if they're local traffic to have them remember and return. One steak that wasn't cooked through can kill my repeat business. One white Coat, hung over or to tired from being on the mountain all day long can fuck up my tables, and damn it all my surgeon wants his sixty bucks this month.

I can do my part. Use all of my experience and knowledge to get through a shift. But, if my food is continually fucked up It won't matter how 'cute' my accent is. Or how great my wine selection was. I'm going to be screwed.

end of rant. Sorry folks. I'm actually crossing my fingers that Chef gets good and fed up and stops giving him second chances.

As for the rest of the night.

I had a deuce tonight that ordered the wrong wine. He didn't like my cheap Pinot Noir. I immediately take the bottle away and promise to return in a moment. I grab a better Pinot. Something that had a shot in hell of balancing with his Pheasant and her Pork and for kicks a bottle of my new Cabernet. I poured samples from the Cab, the woman didn't quite understand why I would bring a different wine altogether. But, Points for me they both loved it. The man said that he should have asked my opinion in the first place.

And, I was snapped at. Not really. But, this guy had his hand in the air snapping his forefinger and thumb together. Not my table but I stopped in my tracks, and stared with my mouth slightly open and my eyes as wide as they would go without looking like a freak. The man turns around, apparently he was snapping his fingers at a baby sitting on the woman's lap.

"did you think I was snapping for you?"

"yes, I did. Your hand was in the air and you were snapping while holding your wine glass in your other hand. Is there something wrong with it?"

"oh, no. I'm sorry I probably shouldn't snap my fingers at all in a Restaurant"

"Just as long as you didn't need anything".

It's kind of funny except the part where I became instantly pissed off. The whole heart pounding biting my lip pissed off. damn right you shouldn't snap your fingers in a Restaurant, or anywhere not involving brass instruments. Just the suggestion of it makes me a little crazy.

I had a Vegan tonight. told her she got the same plate that Woody Harrelson ate last week. She was thrilled.

My six top left almost a full glass of the Stags Leap Petite Syrah in the bottle for me. They said so. One of my favorites.

In other non work related news I want to see the new Vampire movie out and that Leap Year movie. I want a Colby Callet c.d. and my favorite lip gloss is almost empty and my lighter is running out of fuel.

Need to do a little shopping.

Nobody is getting any... bored coworkers.

I don't think anybody in my dining room is getting any these days. Here's why.

Everybody is very well rested but not happy about it. They are all very interested in my well.. non love life. My sous chef cracks jokes about my whereabouts on Christmas Eve. I didn't tell anybody where I was or who I was with. I blogged about it a little bit. But, pretty much decided on the drive home that nobody would really be interested in who I had a glass of wine with and where.

My Sous knew 'some' of the details before noon the next day. It took him a few days to let me in on it. But, apparently before I was out of bed it was all over the place. FOH doesn't surprise me. Were servers, most of us are friends whatever... My girl Anita accuses me of flirting with every white coat that shows up. Not true, even remotely but she's bored. And hasn't gotten laid in eight months. How do I know that? Again, were servers. Servers talk it's in our job description 'Must be able to pick up and respond to any social situation'

One of the new White coats made a statement that I was 'off the market'... huh? I'm not. Not technically but is it really that interesting? My busser has been telling me 'To think like a Brazilian' For those of you that haven't experienced Brazilians that means to drink a lot of domestic beer and cheap liquor, embrace the PDA and make sure you go home with somebody. Anybody.

Now, I'm not really insulted by all of this. But, when my damn Chef asks me how 'My man is?' When I respond with that 'assumptions are like assholes' saying he responds back 'Yeah I deserved that' but, I saw him this morning and thought I'd ask. Really? My Chef is married has two kids. He has five white coats under him and he's making the time to come into the dining room an hour before service to grill me because he had obviously overheard bored server conversations. Let's talk about one of the new white coats who sent out raw chicken because he was to busy crying into his cellphone because his girlfriend caught him cheating red handed and was dumped instead of my non love life. Again. I sure as hell wish there was more to talk about than one cheesy Molly Ringwald movie moment weeks ago. But, whatever. Nobody I work with is getting laid, reading a book, watching CNN, reading a paper or magazine. Or doing much of anything other than dissecting my love life...

I have done a very good job in recent years of keeping non working me away from work. for fucks sake I don't even go by my first name on the job. But, somehow things are snowballing on me and it seems to be getting worse and worse. Javiar was telling me about a weird dream he had that featured me. Leaving the Resort because I was knocked up.

Now, why this is fun for me. I kind of like people thinking that there's more to my life than there actually is. The reality is that I've been re-reading Dan Brown novels, watching netflix, I made it to visit my family last week. Bought a new pair of boots. I've been shopping for a new laptop and almost have a clear idea of what all those terms mean. But, hell. People think I'm having sweaty sex in an empty dining room in front of a fireplace, or that I'm halfway to a new rock on the 'good hand' It's kind of fun. Especially the part where I smile and find something else to do, neither confirming or denying any of the shit they're thinking.

This of course keeps the conversation spinning around me. But, I attempted denial early on. It Didn't get me anywhere nobody believed me. And, the rumors also involve my best friend. And, if he doesn't care I don't. I do think that it does have the power to complicate any new and upcoming developments but since that idea just makes me feel a little tired and moderately annoyed I'm not completely opposed to leaving things as they are.

Now, the question is. Why? Granted I know that this kind of 'I wonder if' conversations are not exclusive to restaurants but they do tend to be a little more extreme in my own little world. And how would you play it? I have this little fantasy where the best buddy walks into my server alley lands a really good Grey's Anatomy style kiss on me and walks out leaving chef, Sous Chef, Javiar and the rest of the crew with their mouths hanging open and I very calmly act like it happens every night and I'm going to go pour another glass of Cabernet for my family of five. I then 'volunteer' to leave early and head straight for the parking lot. Show up the next night like I have no idea why they're asking me how my night was. That would be fun.

But, that's not my life. I'm usually in my tweety bird pajama pants and fluffy robe within an hour of being off of work. But, maybe that's what they're waiting for?

My time off and 'Fighting'

This week is slow. Holidays are over vacations ending it's a bit of downtime for the next week or two. I volunteered to take Sunday off, I was already given Monday free so I hop in the car and go see some friends and family for the belated Happy Holidays visit. I hadn't seen anybody since October. My restaurant is also closed on Wednesday. yeah, me! I have time this week. I did some shopping, got my Christmas gifts. Listened to my cousin's 'interesting' stories about her Internet dating. And chatter about her horse, I don't know anything about horses. Not that iteresting I get it. She has a horse. At one point I wanted to hear about the 'almost cute enough forty something year old skinny guy in Vegas rather than bits and halters'

I listened to the best friend cracking jokes about making me laugh into an asthma attack. Heard all about her Molly Ringwald sappy moments she had with new boyfriend during the course of the holidays, hell I had one myself so all is fair. hers, however are complete with four new orgasms.. she's counting and not one is the same as the last one. I'm happy to see her so.... happy. It's my blog folks. If my best girlfriend tells me about orgasms I can write it on here. Don't worry she gave me the details, actually texted me with them while I was at work I'll leave that part out. GO KATIE!

I Bought my ten year old niece a pair of boots with horses on them for her late Christmas present. Went hunting for that damn bottle of wine that I still can't find. The best wine store in the bigger city is shut down. There I am staring at a discount t-shirt shop when it used to be floor to ceiling wines and all the glassware and misc. items that go along with the pretty grape juice in the pretty bottles with the fun labels. Damn. Damn. Damn. And I'm late getting back home for tentative dinner plans with my friend. Damn. Damn. Damn.

I bought Goose a t.v. tray at Walmart. She wanted one so I picked it up for her. drop it off after her work night and got another earful of Old Dog and her latest. Actually kind of glad I wasn't there for it. The fight this time is about one server going home. And Javiar in his misplaced wisdom has told Goose and Old Dog to decide amongst themselves which one it will be. Now, Goose is normally the malleable one. She doesn't raise her voice doesn't pick fights usually backs down from any confrontation. She wears pale pink lipstick and a lot of floral. She's sweet. I on the other hand sport a leather jacket (it's amazing!) My lipstick can change three times a shift I don't fight with anybody but I don't let people talk to me poorly either.

And then There's Old Dog. I suggest that we get rid of the half dozen racks of white wine glasses that are still hanging out even though we stopped using them before Christmas (red wine is being used as a universal) This is a pretty simple statement but, not good enough for Old Dog. She has to pipe up. "I think we pour to much wine with the bigger glasses". Really? You can't pour a six ounce glass of wine? You can't determine by the bottle how much wine you have just put into a glass you can't find the curve in the glass that signifies a portion? Really... The point is that there was a comment she could make to disagree with something that somebody said. I comment on the napkins that are folded to carry hot plates to various places in the dining room are being left everywhere (small pet peeve of mine) and that we wouldn't fold so many if they found their way back to the original starting point. Not a bad comment. But, again. There was disagreement.

Last night the 'who's going home' debate was accompanied by more than Goose's fair share of hostility. She is assigned a Sunday shift for the massive brunch every week. That's an "instead of" shift so Old Dog thinks that she should leave. Old Dog has taken one turn leaving. It's on the board. Goose is at two and this time she's not backing down. She's not going home to paint her toe nails rather than risk a fight with Old Dog. I'm liking this chic more and more. Good for her. Unfortunately things escalated. The 'international' employee card was played. The fairness of temporary employees vs. permanent ones brought up. Nothing was said with any sense of fairness or respect. But, when all was said and done Goose stayed and Old Dog went home. Good for her. I'm not sure just how much things are going to escalate. I have chosen my strategy. I stay away from her avoid as much interaction as humanly possible. We don't discuss our mornings, I don't ask about her day job or kid. She doesn't ask me about my love life. It's a bit of a stalemate.

Strangely enough Goose is taking things over a bit. She comments on the clock every day when Old Dog walks in twenty minutes after the rest of the crew. She goes about her business moving things back the three inches after Old Dog's adjustments. It's a bit entertaining for me, as well as a bit disturbing Goose is good and mad and hostile with it. Haven't seen this before. She defends me after each and every cutting remark that is made by Old Dog. A few of the other servers have also 'chosen sides'. This I don't know how to respond to. What used to be a 'Old Dog doesn't like Rose's cleaning' Is slowly turning into something else. I think it's going to be counterproductive. I said it once before when a server becomes unpopular in a dining room things never go well and there's usually disaster. I can kind of feel it coming on. Not sure when or how but it's like waiting for a storm. I just want it to be over with already and I wish I knew who would be left standing. Time will tell. Will see if there's any chunks missing out of me when all is said and done.

Kick Ass Call-in Shift

I was given today off. I got up late and decided to take the hour and a half drive to the closest shopping center. I walked into JcPenny's My eyes all lit up at the 70%off signs everywhere... and my phone rings. Ginger is sick. Javiar doesn't want Bud for whatever reason. And can I be there by the time the dining room is open. I grit my teeth say of course and pack in my shopping spree. I swear quietly to myself all the way home.

Get to work with ten minutes to spare. Look at the map. I have a seven, a six, three deuces. And one open table at first seating and two on the second. I'm going to have some business. My tables are fine. I have a couple bottles of '91 Bordeaux that goes out to my seven top that I decant. My six top are drinkers. Makers and diet tall. I'm off to a pretty good start. The kitchen is moving, my tables are paced out perfectly. It's smooth, I feel good. And then Javiar tells me that my Far Niente VIP table is coming in. This is one of 'my' tables. I take them, Always. They have two hundred dollar bottles of wine. They like me. Usually it's the couple and maybe two other people. Tonight they're seven. Javiar tells me that they probably won't be going for the expensive wine because they're a larger party. They sit down and I begin by pointing out the changes to my wine list to the man. And I jokingly tell him that the Beverage Director tried to take away his wine but I revolted and made him leave it on. He loves this and immediately orders. As I'm decanting the Cab the guy sitting next to him says... "hey we get a show with the wine". Oh, yeah It's Woody Harrelson. Who by the way is a Vegan. I got the Chef to make him a three course meal without using any dairy or meat products. His girlfriend looked to be about nineteen years old but, she was completely sweet. As was Mr. Cheers bartender himself.

My VIP guy was trying to impress so I sold four hundred dollars worth of wine. My table next to them asked me if I could get our piano player to play the Cheers theme song. I explain that there are rules. I'm not allowed to call any one by name, ask for autographs or show that I recognize them.

I had a moment of panic when one of the other guys grabs the check. VIP Guy never has sticker shock the $750 bill wouldn't phase him. He always leaves me twenty percent. I've seen him go over a grand four three people and he still leaves me twenty.

Old Dog in the back feels that they should leave at least two hundred bucks. I explain that they're a solid twenty percent but usually not much over. But, they're famous right? They should leave more. I walk away. As predicted VIP Guy pays, leaves his twenty percent writes down the name of a bottle of wine I had last week and says 'see ya later'.

Old Dog says that the tip was shitty. I respond with, "next time you can take them and see how much they leave you". She shuts up. Reminds me that I'm supposed to show her how to decant wine... again.

I had an awesome night. Granted Woody Harrelson is not Philip Seymour Hoffman but, I sold good wine had nice tables and had perfect service, the kitchen was smooth. Not one problem came up. Can't ask for more than that. Javiar is trading me a day off so, he promises no matter what I can take Monday to myself. Not a bad night for a day off.

So, let's see.. my tally of famous folks.

Eugene Levy
Richard Dreyfus
Robin Williams
Arnold Schwarzenager (spelling? i'm not googling it)
the Baldwin brothers
Candace Bergman
Bruce Willis
All of the Republican governers. That was acually kind of scary. Me, in a room with fifty republican politicians.... My aunt laughed her ass off when I told her that Jeb Bush was drinking granny wine.
and the musicians that did the Hotel California song.

Crash and Burn

My ten top didn't show up. Followed by my eleven top cancelling. It was shaping up to be a really shitty night. I talked Javiar into sending Bud home. He said that either Anita or I would be off tomorrow night and I didn't want to go home to sit and do nothing if I could make plans for tomorrow and actually accomplish something. there seems to be a hierarchy on which Javiar disperses time away from the restaurant. Poor Bud, he gets sent home early New Years Eve, he's sent home on New Years day and he's not even scheduled on a Saturday night... Is he not seeing the signs? I'm not telling him. Ginger the newest server gets a day off, Goose as well. It's down to Anita and I. Neither one of us were scheduled a day off. I suppose that means that were the favorites?... However it works. I may or may not work tomorrow.

And then my night starts. I take over a four top for Bud. I get a six top, a five top, two deuces across the dining room due to Old Dog being to busy to handle her station. One of the deuces orders a Jordan Cabernet (nice bottle). The other one wants champagne because they missed champagne last night.. and wants to know if I had any and if I like it?. Why yes, yes I did. With my coworkers.. For the record I hate the stuff. Champagne is right up there with Muscat, Sunny Delight, Smirnoff Ice and Tang. I just hate it... Nice tables, the two deuces, easy tables. good tips.

My six top was great, except the one woman going through four cran and sodas. I hate those kinds of drinks. I have to go through the bar to get them. It's three bucks and free refills.

My five top has vegetarians... Soup as entrees, we don't like this soup. You get the idea.

My other five top is in some kind of a hurry. They were the last to be sat. I'm already running eighteen covers before they show up. And the kids want dr. pepper. For the record, teenage boys and soda? Were talking refill after refill... Kills me.

And then the kitchen crashes. I'm talking crash and burn. The line is halfway exposed to the dining room. So, the sous chef yelling across the line for the two line cooks to verbalize fires back to him Is being heard by my entire station. They can hear him telling the servers to move away from the slide. Nothing is moving out. One of those typical nights where all the tables ran together, it was bad. One of the new line cooks comes up to me and says that the Sous Chef needs to calm the hell down. Yeah, maybe except.... That was my fire you dropped you dipshit!! My table. My hundred and eighty dollar check.

The soda pop five top is asking me for an ETA. I tell them. There is one other table to be plated before you are. That translates into about seven minutes. And I bring more refills.

Did I mention we 86ed on Pork. I had two tables that had to re-order. they both went to entrees that are a faster cooking time. Small things.

I'm on call tomorrow. I took the inventory sheet home with me to hi-light everything we have on our wine list vs. the rest of the property it'll make Javiar's job easier, and to be honest. I don't want to go tomorrow and help. I can do my share in my pajamas at home. Turn it over and maybe catch a movie.

and now for the dirt. Javiar told pantry bitch to 'shut the fuck up' she went home early. Goose told Old Dog that she isn't capable of playing nicely with anybody else. Old Dog has this running joke, all on her own that I ride the broom to work. She says this every night during close. For six months I keep telling her that I'm going to come up with something equally funny to say to her on a nightly basis. she claims that she's a sensitive soul and it would make her cry. I found her stashed dinner salad on top of clean linens in the closet, determined all on my own that that was just weird and took it out where it promptly got ate. She's like one of those pigeons, leaving a trail of shit behind her everywhere she goes. Anita and I cracked jokes about neither one of us 'getting any' for the holidays. Sous Chef is getting a day off tomorrow. chef has decided he needs it. Damn right.

I made and cancelled dinner plans within a three hour period. best friend is annoyed, convinced that I'm never going to get away and she's holding my Christmas present hostage. Next time. I'm starting to worry that nothing much is funny these days. It'll get better, I hope.

New Years Eve

Happy New Year!! I spent New Years drinking champagne with Chef, Javiar and the other servers. "CHEERS! We got through the night" I then proceeded to go home, get into my fluffy tweety bird pajamas, crawl into bed, read a few chapters out of Dan Brown and I was well and truly asleep by one in the morning. I began getting the 'Happy New Year' text messages for the rest of the night. My best friend called to tell me that along with her New Years Eve kiss the new boyfriend officially loves her... awwww....

The menu for last night was awesome. I was impressed. Good for chef pulling out all the stops. Oysters Rockefeller, foie gras, ahi tartar. and then Lobster Bisque a citrus salad. And then Duck Breast, Scallops with shrimp risotto, and Filet with sweet breads. on a side note I asked Bud if he understood the menu. "yes, he says. Of course it's easy".. Okay I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt. Then Javiar is saying, "ask him if he knows sweetbreads".. Jesus. why me?

"Bud, do you know what sweet breads are?"

Bud, "yes. I said I did didn't I." and he's snarky about it.

"okay, what are sweetbreads?"

Bud, "bread that's been cooked with sugar"...

I love my life sometimes.

We were given very small stations tonight. I have a four top at six. A ten top at seven. A six top at seven-thirty and a four top at eight. Service has to be impeccable. It's a hundred dollar a plate dinner, which is fairly expensive for my neck of the woods. A four course dinner. Amuse Bouche, appetizer selection, soup or salad selection, entree selection and a dessert.

My first four top is a little family wanting to know the discount given because their daughter is a vegetarian. During all of the explanations about tonight nobody, and I mean nobody gave me any indication about how I was going to serve somebody who won't eat foie gras, oysters, filet, scallops, lobster sweet breads and duck. the only thing that doesn't have meat is the citrus salad. Even the amuse is quail egg and sausage.

I go back and ask Chef what he can do for my table. I just see the 'dammit' alarm going off in his head. His response, "I'll fake it. I have no idea right now"..

I can't say that the Chef is going to 'fake it' for her hundred dollar meal. I tell the table "Chef is going to create a menu based on the ingredients he has available to him this evening".. On the check I just write 'sub vegetarian on every course. Whatever. They have a bottle of Gewurztminer with them. and insists that I taste it. It's damn near as bad as the Muscat, Like fermented fruit syrup. But, I pretend that I can drink a whole damn bottle of it given the opportunity go into my back station and wash my mouth out with water.

My ten top wants substitutions. And they've brought in their own wine. A gigantic bottle of some house red. The lady is impressed at how well I opened the bottle without propping it on the table, so was I. Except I can see the cork. It's bad, I don't have to taste it or smell it. The cork is wet all the way to the top, very wet. for some strange reason everyone at the table wants to sample the vinegar wine. This is kind of like people tasting the sprite that ran out of syrup. I bring them a bottle of Stags Leap instead. I get halfway through the wine presentation when my six top VIP arrives. Javiar wants to give them away. I like this table. I enjoy waiting on them. "I'm keeping it!" I say as I head over with the wine list. "I know them Javiar they're not going to want a menu for twenty minutes I just need to get their cocktails on the table I have time". True to form I was right. They give me a little popper with those crepe paper hats inside and the jokes that make no sense.. Something about an elephant and a penguin...

Now, no matter how much time you have there is always a situation when you could use an extra pair of hands. Mine is usually when clearing courses for a table. To make three or four trips back to a table to clear away every last bread plate and left over fork. It comes in handy to have somebody anybody give me a hand. There is Bud, five feet away true to form waiting on his courses at the line. I don't ask him to give me a hand this time. Simply let him watch me make trip after trip from my ten top. He pretends not to clue in. This reminds me of the commercial with the five construction workers. One is digging a hole and the other four are watching the hole being dug.

I have the last table of the night. Thankfully no substitutions, SDR's, bad wine. No problem. Sometimes tip pool sucks. For me, last night tip pool bombed out. I made a bit over six hundred dollars. My cut on that was three hundred and fifty. Oh well, I carried last night. Tomorrow it'll be somebody Else's turn.

Happy New Year! This holiday season is officially over. No more carolers, christmas trees, red and green ensemble outfits. In a perfect world the fur coats would also disappear. I can now get back to normal business, oh.. and I have a day off! Wednesday here I come. I'm driving to Walmart, any Walmart. Going to the movies, and out to dinner. In that order.