It's mine damnit.

So people think I'm talking shit, telling stories making things up.

Here is the reality, I'm not. I'm being honest. At work I smile nod or at the very worst walk away. So, there is this impression that all though they are free to crack jokes, criticize and generally bitch about anything and everything all the while never hearing an honest opinion out of me about anything. Well, the black and white typed words saved for prosperity can be a little shocking, or a lot shocking. This is not my problem. At work I'm not going to change. Hell, I let Pantry bitch get away with calling me a lard ass. That's her priority, made her feel better. And I had bigger fish to fry. But, by the way. I didn't like it. Hurt my feelings, embarrassed me as does a great deal of things that are said at work. I hope she feels better.

The good news is that my Chef liked it. He said that it was an interesting perspective on what goes on around the restaurant that he generally gets to hear one point of view. Which leads me to think, that maybe just maybe that is why some of the other characters featured in my Internet blog are responding so strongly. It's one thing to tell your Chef that the waitress never fired the damn second course when complaints are stacking up and food isn't moving it's another thing entirely to have your 'get out of jail, the server is the one that fucked up card' snatched away. Poncho likes my blog thinks that it's honest, entertaining and funny.

So, I continue. With my thoughts, feelings impressions entertaining and not so entertaining anecdotes. I'm not changing it. I will however stop featuring a couple of key personalities. Due to the fact that I don't necessarily need them to exist in order to have something to say. There's plenty without.

Moving on to last night.

I was against the wall not my usual station but, it was a seventeen top that was going to need split checks. Javiar split the group up between two servers, I was slated to take ten of them and a few other tables during peak dinner rush. At the last minute he changed it and put me back to my 'forties' station for a twelve top. That turned into a thirteen that turned into a seventeen when another reservataion joined in.

The first split check seventeen was a set menu, set pricing for everybody just keep track of their cocktails, the one I ended up with was not. They all ordered by the glass and beers, played the ring around the rosy with their seats as their asking for Clos Du Bois Chardonnay ordered from the menu, appetizer here first second and third courses. By the way they wanted the bill split by couples except non of the couples were sitting together. I actually had a man holler down the table, 'wave your hand honey so she can see you're with me'. After about the third round of pouring wine and fetching Stella taps I realized that any system I may have been able to concoct got lost about the time I was spooning five sides of mint jelly into ramekins.

Added to all of this was the fact that their order was fast running into the other seventeen top. There was an hour between reservations not enough time apparently. There is a new policy that with larger tables if appetizers are ordered we send them out with first courses and then switch out their soup or salad once they are finished. This is effective for a few reasons. I don't have four escargots sitting while thirteen other people sit and wait for them to finish, It saves time allows the table to move at a more reasonable pace and speeds up the entree fire call to the kitchen which, last night was a priority for me. Had I served them the old way there is a very real chance that thirty-five covers would have fired at one time.

In the end I explained that I was going to split the payment but not the check. It is not our policy to give that many split checks and it would have taken way to much time to attempt it. On a better night, I probably could have taken all the time I needed to straighten everything out and work through it I could have. That was not me last night. In a better world I could have handled it better but, give me a small bit of credit here. The other table had two servers on them. I was doing mine alone. While fielding raised pint glasses six people down on the right as I'm explaining the braising for the lamb.

I'm working tonight another twelve top. Have a dreaded brunch shift on Sunday. I need to go pay bills, the beverage director has asked for my help counting down in the cellar for early next week. And i'm annoyed that wine class was canceled in favor of the beer class. At some point White coats are going to stop glaring at me. My favorite cousin has a much anticipated blind date in a couple of weeks that I need to make time to prep with her for. It's fun to be needed when I'm not wearing a tye.

Not sure if I like this

The whole work people reading my blog. Kind of defeats the point of having a blog in the first place. Let's review the very first post. The idea was to blow off steam, vent tell amusing and not so amusing stories, give my thoughts and impressions in a venue where they would be welcomed and appreciated, which is definitely not in my dining room. All the while maintaining a distance from those that I spend countless hours with.

The definition of my job is to make people happy right? I mean that's what I do. I wake up, eat a bowl of Wheaties, take a shower, run an errand, do my chores maybe go to lunch. Put on the makeup put the hair in a ponytail, button the shirt collar all the way to the top put on my tie, check my pockets for my name tag, lighter, wine key and lipstick and then go to a place where my main concern is making everyone around me happy until I clock out again. My thoughts, opinions and general personality aren't needed or welcomed at work. I never raise my voice, never disagree with any of those little boys that make the food. Is it to much to expect that maybe at some point I might have an independent thought.

The whole point of a blog is that I don't have to be happy, I don't have to worry about what other people are thinking about me, I get to say whatever I want, run my mouth rant and rave about tables, servers cooks, anything that may appeal to me at that particular point and time. If anything it's cathartic.

Now, here I am with laughing white coats who really enjoy their nicknames. It's going to be a lot less fun for me, having them read it. The blog is called a diary for fuck's sake. I don't think I want work people reading my diary. I'm thinking the blog may become more generalized. Good thing I have over a decade of restaurant memories to draw from.

Wine Class

I forgot to give an update on wine class. For the record I think this is going to be my favorite part of the week. It's just fun. All though information seemed to be a bit of a repeat this week. We discussed common assumptions people make when tasting wines. This was really brought up during the blind tasting. The first bottle was easy, a bottle of Riesling. The second I would have sworn was an Oregon Pinot Noir, everybody thought it was an Oregon Pinot Noir. It was a barberra from Italy. The second bottle I thought, well everyone thought was a Viognier. Instead it was the new house Chardonnay.

The point of the tasting is that wines are more artistry then science. That Vitners are creating more and more original wines that don't necessarily taste or behave like a wine that you've already had. Next week we've been asked to bring a bottle of wine as a 'typical' example of a varietal. The tasting will be blind for the teacher as well as the rest of us.

Fact I didn't know. Barrels are only used a few times and then they have to be replaced. Sometimes they're 'scraped' meaning the inside is scraped and then re-used.

found out.

For some reason my sous chef due to his day off and good mood decided to share my blog with all of the other white coats in my kitchen. Hmmm... So much for anonymity. Even my Chef was completely excited to read it. Therefore here are my new stipulations.

I will post each and every comment that Chef, Sous Chef Blondie, baby face or Drunky wants to post on anything I've written. I will however not be held accountable for said comments. This is my domain. Blog is written largely when I'm in my tweety bird pajama pants. Does not reflect Waitress me. I am who I am at work. But, I do have my own thoughts and opinions. I'm entitled. If anything has hurt any of their feelings or egos I will possibly take that into consideration, but not enough to stop blogging about it. Sorry boys. You pretty much say whatever you want in the bubble of not being in the public spotlight I don't have the same priveledges.

But, remember I started this blog for myself. As a way to keep my own sanity in a place where You're not allowed to be you. My liberation sent into cyber space will not be curtailed.

It's funny. Seriously everything I write about is to possibly get a chuckle out of somebody somewhere.

That is all. Happy reading to all of my White Coats.

P.s. I totally lust after baby-face's bod. Not at all for Drunky's...

See, I can be nice.

Another one for the record books

We all have lists in our heads of things that people have said to us that was inappropriate, rude or just fucked up. I have probably more than my share. Tonight I can add a new one to the list.

Most men are on best behavior when they're out with their wives. It's when they're eating out with other men that I get called 'sweety' or winked at every time I pour a glass of water.

tonight was special. I had a deuce that sat down. The wife pointed out to me that I had waited on her the week before with her grand kids. She then introduced me to her husband who she had brought back for his birthday. He was one of those guys that thinks they're funnier than they are. Nothing specific just a bit of a smart ass.

I bring out their main courses and he asks me if I have any whole grain bread available. these days our bread service consists of a chive biscuit, baguette and a cracker but I went down the hall and found him some wheat bread. As I'm setting it down on the table He looks up and says some comment about gluten.

Went something like this. I set down the bread pick up their bottle of Rombauer and top of her glass.

He says, 'The last time I had to much gluten the waitress had to give me mouth to mouth.'

I fake laugh, we all have a version of 'unfunny tables trying to be funny laugh'.

He then says, 'And if it gets really bad then I'll need my testicles rubbed'.

No shit. I'm not making it up. There is his wife sitting across from him she screeched his name. I walked very quickly away from the table. Now, there's a couple of ways we can play this.

First off, I am a bit of a expert at drunks. This man was sober. Just obnoxious. So, unfortunately that option is out of the window.

The second consideration is that he is a stupid uneducated prick. Which, unfortunately wasn't the case either.

The third being an idiot running his mouth off. Thinking that he could say whatever he wanted because it was his birthday. Which is far more likely.

Here is my point. Somewhere within the first hour they were sitting in my station, being waited on by me. He became comfortable enough with the twenty-something waitress to bring up his testicles in front of her. Now, I'm not an idiot I know that his mouth had nothing to do with me. But, at the same time that isn't my reality. I am not one of those women. I am treated with respect. Dirty kitchen jokes are generally not directed at me. Even flirtatious tables go so far and then know without my telling them, usually that I'm not going to put up with any more.

I felt horrible for his wife. She asked for the check ten minutes later, and had her purse in her lap waiting for him to finish his entree. I wish there was a way for me to let her know that I knew that wasn't her reality that she expected more from him. The second part was my being just plain pissed off.

In a perfect world I could have figured out a way to put him in his place. I can guarantee that his sorry ass will be sleeping on his couch tonight. Small consolation but I'll take it.

Are you always like this?

I walked in to work and immediately was feeling agravated. Anette rubbed me the wrong way, over something so minor I'm not even going to bother blogging about it. I had a weird text message from Goose and Javiar is on burn out.

I got busy. Nothing unmaneageable but the kitchen was hurting due to.... let's call him Dip. My station was pretty straight forward, eight top, two four tops a five and two deuces. By seven-thirty I was full. I had one bottle to decant for my deuce who did the song and dance of where I was from and why I was here. My eight top was shockingly easy.

My five top was great. For the record, I love waiting on gay guys. I'm the Cher, Alicia Silverstone, Kathy Griffin whatever of waitresses. I like the way they flirt with you I love it when they call me 'sweety'. They're happy people, kinder and more considerate than most tables. Friendly but not in a weird way. The two gay guys were having dinner with what appeared to be their grandparents. Gay guy number one looks up and asks me if 'I'm always this nice?'

I wasn't sure what to say. I mean no, of course not. I am not that happy all the time, in fact most of the time I'm not. I like quiet places, alone time, I'm the last person that's going to head out for 'dollar night' on tuesdays. My idea of a good time is my best friends couch and a bottle of wine. It's my day off. I could have made dinner plans, gone to the movies whatever. But, it's been about two weeks since I had a free night. So, i'm in my tweety bird pajama pants watching an Ellen Page movie with my computer on my lap blogging. So, no. I am not always nice and friendly I don't always smile. It's like people assume I live my life in a blue striped tye.

Other things to talk about. We have the return of 'D-Bag' for the record my sous chef named this particular white coat. There seems to be an influx of little boys in my restaurant that can't seem to cook. Talk about really frustrating. Food starts moving at a crawl my Sous Chef is throwing brocollini at the back of their heads.... loud angry voices, just sucks.

My face hurts.

I am on a long stretch. It'll be sixteen days before I have a day off. Only four more to go. I should be writing and blogging and talking about my day endlessly. But, the reality is that I'm sick of work. I have more 'specials' going on that is reasonable. Seriously, an appetizer, two wines, two entrees, two desserts, soup and salad. There is more information being thrown at my tables than is reasonable. Everything seems to cancel out after their eyes glaze over before I'm done saying 1990 Jordan Cabernet from Alexander Valley.

To make it a bit easier to sell I have taken to breaking down the specials. I greet the table with the wine special return with the appetizer and entree specials and don't explain the soup or salad until their ordering. I always like things to say to a table but, this is a bit extreme.

I have a reputation for not liking children. Now, most of the noise I make about kids is just that... noise. Yes, my eighteen top that was made up of eleven kids was a little challenging for me. They kept leaving their seats to follow me around the table while I was taking other peoples orders to change the temperature of their steaks. Not to mention lemonades and Dr. Pepper refills.

I like kids. I do, They're interesting little half people. I just don't like that high pitched sound they make and the crumbs they leave and the part where they start swinging their arms and legs due to boredom of sitting at a table longer than their little bodies are capable of staying still.

On Monday I told my Chef I was thrilled to be back to work... again. I loved that every table was booked for at least a second turn. But, that my face still hurts from the Valentine's Day smile therefore I was taking a pass on the 'grin'. There's this thing that happens when I get busy the smile gets turned on and I forget to stop. When I'm really busy I grin endlessly for hours this of course makes my face hurt. I decided on Monday that there would be non of that. I wouldn't leave work with my face hurting.

This lasted until my first table ordered a glass of Berringer White Zinfadel.........

My face still hurts.

I had a table tonight that kept calling me Rosy. I really don't like it. To familiar somehow. But, they ordered well good wine, good food, paid attention to me when I spoke even the kid was well behaved.

In other news I've decided to go ice skating tomorrow. Haven't been since before I broke the leg, I think it's technically considered a winter sport, which... is forbidden by the well meaning orthopedic surgeon. I'm going anyway. I miss my 'girls'. I could really use a night with my cousin on her couch and a lunch with my best friend. We do this thing where we try to find a spot in whatever restaurant we go to that is as far away from children as we can get. Damn conversations never stay G-rated. I'm really needing that.

One down one to go

I have to be at work in nine hours. But, here I am trying my best to wind down sometime before four in the morning. My sleeping habits are ridiculous.

The big boss was at work tonight when I got there. He came up to me said that he hopes my evening will go better than last night but that he was going to be returning in a few hours to check.

We were busy. Well over a hundred on the books to begin with. All five servers were on tonight, something that hasn't happened since New Years Eve. My tables were smooth, no issues aside from the new bread service that my little brain can't seem to remember half of the time. Good wine sells. I ended up decanting four bottles for myself and two for other servers. I had a British couple that loved everything. And I do mean everything. From my accent, which they thought was charming and sounded very much like I was educated, whatever that means. To the wine selection they asked me to make to the cracker things that are in the bread baskets.. It was one of those 'smile until your face hurts' kind of nights.

On and on it went. When nine oclock was coming around and I was just starting to think about getting started on sidework I had four new tables. One VIP and three deuces. Everybody was dining tonight, everybody was drinking. I think the holiday weekend is in full swing. Tomorrow is supposed to be a bit busier. I don't have a day off this week. Need to do some laundry.

For the record I'm not a huge fan of Valentine's Day. I would much rather get flowers on a Tuesday in January than on the one night a year when boyfriends, fiances and husbands everywhere are reminded weeks in advance that they have to remember to be romantic. So, for me it's not a big loss in my private life. As for professional me I love the holiday. It's packed full of deuces that are 'splurging' Everyone else has stars in their eyes, I see the stars in their eyes and think dollar signs.

About last night

The covers were at about twenty. I was annoyed at the four servers scheduled I wanted somebody to be sent home. My bad, seriously. Oops. We did almost ninety covers I had another eight or so bottles of wine sold. A lot of late tables and more than my share of middle aged men who 'had one too many at the show'.

For the record I don't actually think I've gone out to drink all ready drunk. Who does that? And then tells the waitress for two straight hours that 'Were not always like this' in that slurry martini soaked voice. Like I can't recognize plowed when I see it. Like your eyes opening and closing slowly while I'm presenting your bottle of wine doesn't register.

Most of the time I don't mind to much. But, I do warn the boss that I have a table that is a little over their limit in case their behavior switches from annoying, dismissive and obnoxious to the 'scary hostile drunk'. I have no faith in people to not flip that gin fever switch and suddenly start acting like a reality t.v. superstar.

One of the downsides of working at a resort is that there isn't necessarily an issue with people driving cars, therefore the justification for refusing alcohol service goes down quite a bit. Around here as long as your not puking passing out or making an ass out of yourself we'll pretty much allow you to continue your vacation uninterrupted. Sucks for me but, that's the way it is. I had quite a few tables like that last night.

Holiday weekend, I'm planning to make some money over the next few days I volunteered myself, sort of. To work the dreaded Sunday morning shift. But, with any luck it'll be worthwhile.

On a more personal note my private life is causing me no ends of frustration. I'm to old for 'boy confusion' To busy to deal with my baby brother and he's obnoxious behavior. I knew it was a mistake to return my mothers phone call. My cell phone is causing me issues, and I just want to get off of property for a little while. Breath deeply over a glass of wine with my girls that all reside hours away from here.

Have a Happy Valentines weekend everyone! Or like me 'break a leg' would be more accurate. Make money, be busy. Have a good time.

Class

So, the new food and beverage director has begun our wine classes. Attendance is voluntary the first class was in my dining room on Tuesday. Here's a couple of things I learned.

1. The higher the alcohol content in a glass of wine the warmer the climate it was grown in. How do you judge alcohol content? You look at the viscosity (legs) on a glass of wine.

2. A greenish tint on a glass of white wine suggest a young wine.

3. Banding in a wine (various shades of color) suggests age.

Just a few things that I found interesting. So, you know the scoring that is given to wine from Wine Spectators. Yeah, there's no logic to that. It's just men sitting around judging a glass of wine like you would a wet t-shirt contest. I guess I wasn't so far off for ignoring those scores.

To end the class we had a blind tasting. Two bottles were brought out wrapped in tin foil and we all gave our impressions of the varietal, vintage and where it came from. For the record I nailed both of them with the exception of vintage. The first a California Chardonnay the second a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.

Here's why I love this. Hello, information folks. Learning the components on how to judge a glass of wine is fascinating. Being in a room when the subject of conversation is wine is fascinating. And surprise of surprises I have a pretty good palate.

Another tidbit I learned. Out of eight restaurants on property mine has the highest wine sales by a very large margin. When it was broken down by server I am the highest. How weird is that? And how kick ass, I'm not going to lie my ego is floating on air.

I'm going to love this!!

The Hot Spot

There are set stations in the Restaurant I work at. We all have our own tables that we work on a regular basis. Goose's station is something I refer to as the 'Hot Spot'. Basically the dining room is divided out into corners with the middle tables as one station. It's larger than the rest roughly seven tables with two of them being for parties for up to ten.

I hate the Hot Spot. Your tables are blocked off so you can't get a visual of your entire station without lapping the dining room. Not to mention that half of it is considered 'dead tables' Meaning the least desirable in the dining room, the last to be sat. So, when you are running an almost full station with large parties and everything fills up suddenly you have three new downs that are all mad that they can't have a window booth or have been waiting.

My normal station is the window booths and large wall booths. I would rather take the station I'm used to, comfortable with than other parts of the dining room.

On top of that I had a little four top in between my two tens and three deuces whose food took forever. I kept going to the window and looking at the line of chits there were six orders fired in front of mine.. damn it. damn it. damn it. I needed that damn order. I must have mumbled under my breath. 'jesus' which of course sent my sous chef off who called me a mealy mouthed bitch and told me 'fuck you too'. Damn embarrassing but there I am, waiting for the last of my plates trying my damndest not to cry. Not the 'wimpy girl you were mean to me tears' but the 'frustrated angry I hate my job tears'. I didn't... cry. Just for the record I didn't cry. Came damn close to it.

Followed up by my morning shift today I got there on time. The time Javiar put on the schedule. Which was off by half an hour. So, I was late... sort of.

Work again in a few hours. We will supposedly be busy.. maybe. To be completely honest I would rather be dead and have a little breathing room. But, business as usual. Life is feeling monotonous lately. At least as far as work goes. I have wine class on Tuesday, Monday off. Need to file my taxes. blah blah blah.

Winning Loser

My station was dead six top no-showed and my other tables were pretty boring. I had an old man who ordered the pork I set the plates down and turn around to grab a water pitcher when I come back he starts yelling at me.

"This plate is dumb you should tell your chef that he should let us choose between a vegetable or rice or something I don't want this."

I'm shocked ask him why he doesn't want his food and if it tastes bad he then tells me that he's mad that there are french fries on it which means the Chef put two kinds of potatoes on the plate. I look up at him and say, 'those are onion strings as a garnish'.

He loved the onions once he had put them in his mouth and thanked me for the suggestion three times.

I helped Ginger out with a wine order for her seven top. I pointed out the Mondavi I had served the night before the gentleman says 'yes, lets give it a try' the woman brushes his hand says under her breath 'Are you sure dear... she's kind of young'

Really? what the fuck? I bring the bottle over and set it on the table I know from last night that the corks are incredibly soft but the wine is just fine. She then insists that I pour tastes for three of them and they spend the next five minutes smelling it and trying to determine if it's corked or not. I finally grab a glass from the side table and pour a taste for myself. Tell them that it's actually really good and I'm glad they all ordered the beef to go along with it.

She then spends the next few minutes complimenting me on the fact that she's decided I'm not an idiot. Hmm... thanks. Thanks a lot.

Sometimes winning feels a lot like losing.

Beer class tomorrow something about showing us how beer is made and going through some general knowledge information. I don't know my beers.. the only beer I like is drinking my buddys Black and Tans at the halfway point when the harp and guiness mix together.