When to Quit?..

I'm not the greatest judge of when you've stayed too long at the party. but, I have had a few 'false starts'. Jobs that just weren't going to work. Here are a few examples. The first I call

'Giving back my paycheck'



There I was. In a position where I need an income boost. So, I boost away and return to the place I previously left behind. And volunteer to work a banquet. Wedding party for fifty. I get stuck doing it alone. Which is not a big deal unless ofcourse anybody needs a water refill. I tack on the gratuitity which was a very weak 150 bucks. (these days I can make that off of a ten top.) The old man takes the check. comments on the half price white zinfadel price his wife ordered. Yes, it's embarrassing but I have at one time or another served white zinfadel. and adds his 'tip' which by the way ended up being a little under ten percent. I take this as a 'thanks for the extra cash yes I know I brought your grandson crayons and walked around your granddaughters playing jacks all night long'.



Enter the purple haired bedazzled sweatshirt wife asking if she can see the check. Its still in my apron. I hand it to her and she comments on the gratuity. Something along the lines of 'isn't this already included?' I say yes, I thought he was adding to the minimum gratuity for these kinds of events. She says fine. I walk off happy that I managed to clear over two hundred bucks.



The next day i'm pulled into the management office. Told that the lady came back a few hours before and wanted to 'take back' my tip. Uh no. But the managers gave her back the extra tip that they now wanted me to return to them. Well, that's enough for me. I don't think so. It's my money. It became my money as soon as a signature confirming that the total on the check was accurate. I'm not returning buyers remorse. Quitting time.

The second I like to call...

THE REALLY FUNNY BOSS

Now, my first mistake was thinking that I can pick up a lunch shift a few blocks away from my main gig. The idea was that they're both very close together. I forget the part where chefs are competitive. They don't like new or old competition and don't like treading on each others toes. My mistake.

The new in town restaurant. A little bistro designed in the fashion of a very nice hospital cafeteria wasn't to my taste but it was convenient. The fun part is the really funny owners. The chef was a cocky little man we'll call Justin. Actually his name really was Justin except he expected you to call him 'chef' saying good morning followed by any other variation and he would look up as though lost and confused maybe hiding out in some remote cabin in Antartica wondering what you could possibly have said. His wife, a very efficient hostess was now running the FOH and she was funny! the job sucked. Wanna know the difference between a bistro and a diner? A bistro calls mayonaise aioli. All of the silverware, glassware and plates were purchased from Ikea.

So, there I am. Waiting on 'friends of the owners' I hate that. It's like having a shotgun pressing into the side of your head. These guys were funny too! ordering two sides of fries and going through about a twelve pack of beer. Loud, obnoxious drunks. Did I mention it was two in the afternoon? At the end of their unhappy hour they tell another really funny joke. Give the bill to Keila. She'll take care of it.

I'm at the printer getting their check Keila comes up to me and asks how her friends were doing. I say fine but they said you're paying? she takes the bill from me and on the bottom writes

fuck off. I stutter say that i'm not comfortable with the profanity she says fine. takes the check back and writes

love keila on the bottom of the check. hands it back to me. Tells me to deliver it and waits to make sure I do. I drop the check. Run away and return to my station a few minutes later to take care of the other six tables I have. And there is the chef, keila and the four top the chef was sitting on a nearby table and they were all laughing at how uncomfortable they made the snobby fine dining waitress. I finished my tables took my money and left.

The third I like to call

I'm sorry it's inconvenient but...

At nineteen I moved to San Diego. and took a graveyard shift at a diner right next to the naval base. I can go on and on about how much that sucked but the reality is that when twenty year olds get drunk at the strip bar and then go down the road for pancakes and to grope the waitress, follow her into the restroom and dry storage, sit on her car to get her attention, take off their shirts to show off new tattoos all the while tipping like crap.

My grandmother died. I know that that doesn't seem like a big deal to most. But to me it was one of the worst times in my life. I had relocated to be near her. It was the last few days. the night before she died i get a phone call that made my aunts look at me dissapointed that I would even have my phone with me. I go into the hospital corridor pick up the phone and there's the manager saying that 'I know you're going through an ordeal right now but if it wouldn't be too much trouble could you please work tonight from nine to about four. I'll even let you go home early if were not busy. I mean your grandmother will be sleeping anyway right? I'm sorry if it's inconvenient but I need somebody'

Enough said.

The last I'd like to call..

You thought you could say what to me?

At eighteen I had a new job in a very small diner in a very small town. The owners were great. A little rough around the edges but fun people. There guests were interesting. To say that it was redneck bible belt country was an understatement. The month of December I was given four bibles as tips.

We'll call guy number one Davey. Who after I had been waiting on him for a few months told me to turn around rubbed both of his hands up and down me from neck to knees and said very loudly.. 'WOW! I thought your back would be wet'.

The next guy we'll call George. He was very kind. After my sunday shift I had a habit of sitting at the end of the bar and getting my reading done for my English class before my classes started on Monday. He came over to my side of the bar, sat down next to me and wanted me to know that he 'Didn't mind where my family came from or how they got here. He liked that I was a hard worker, and that I spoke english so well and that I was smart enough to be going to the University'.

my best friend is half mexican. We have been friends since we were twelve. She came into my work to have a sandwich and to catch up. The table sitting next to her got up a few minutes later after listening to her speak to her dad on her cell phone in spanish. They started screaming that if we were going to allow 'those kinds of people' in here they were never coming back.

There were also the odd jokes about my swimming, catholic, how come I didn't have atleast three kids and how long it would take me to find a husband in college.

By the way.. I'm not hispanic. Latin heritage yes but i'm pretty damn American.

Those are my top picks. Let's hear from you? what are your top 'I quit!' picks.

Pissing off the White coats.. Buck up FOH!!

I don't do it. first off I don't make them mad. My sous chef and I have a running joke that were eachothers new BFF's. My Chef loves that I understand what bisque means, think everyone should atleast try the escargot and foie gras and know his sauces and the sizes of the salmon and filet.
I have a great time with my White Coats. We do the whole beer after work thing, we listen to eachother. In general it's not hard. Other servers enter, either filling in from a different part of the resort and make dumb mistakes. firing appetizers to the kitchen. Duh. it's the first thing on the ticket it's going to be up when it's ready. don't get mad when the sous chef cracks a joke, a joke by the way.
He wasn't pissed he just insinuated that you were an idiot. I don't need to hear about it. If you didn't deserve it they wouldn't bother telling you that you're wrong. They don't really want to pay attention to the servers. Trust me. And I don't need to be running around for the night trying to be a filter between the FOH and the Back. It's exhausting. Take it to the manager, i'm a waitress. I already kept the damn table from catching on fire over the fondue burners, decanted the wine, entered the bar order, cleaned up after the busser (now were is that wrong) I don't want to hear about why you think my kitchen is a problem. Fuck off! my kitchen isn't the problem. You are.
And for the big deal. If owners come in the Chef needs to know about it. that's one of the many, many differences between a chef and a line cook. And not informing the kitchen about what is going on in the dining room and not making them aware of potential PIA, VIP and CIP tables is worthy of you getting told off. As a server you don't get to leave the dining room three hours early because you're 'shaken up' give me a break.
And tears... servers are not allowed to cry. I don't care how young or cute you think you are. No crying. If you're a guy.... no. I'm not going to go there. But, if you're a girl it's stupid. It ruins your make up, makes your face red, and you don't have the time to be wasting on that shit. Cry when you get home. Or grab a shot at the bar when you're all done.

End of rant. that was fun. I hope tomorrow is better. I have a big time VIP PIA table coming in. By the way PIA is my favorite abbreviation. Pain In the Ass. It just makes me happy. I've already got two grand worth of special order wine for them. and they want a guy waiter, so my newest waiter will be leading on the table why I stand in the background keeping him from crashing and burning. Fun. Fun. But that's a whole other rant.

Restaurant Holidays

I like to think of restaurant as professional families. There are distinct 'types' in these kind of restaurant. the black sheep who everybody likes but just can't quite admit it. The comic relief, the teenager (the teenager by the way can be a forty year old man but there's always one). there's usually a drunk, partier or lush. there's usually a ditz or fashion plate. Somebody without a sense of humor, somebody with priorities that never quite include the job they're doing at present. Somebody that everybody else is kind of afraid of. And the person whose personality puts all the pieces together.

I like restaurant families. It makes the single, restaurant life a little less lonely. Let's be honest. We don't do or understand the importance of holidays. I haven't had a holiday since the tenth grade. That's eleven years of missed Thanksgivings, Christmases, Valentines Days, Birthdays, Anniversaries etc. The importance of those days is kind of lost on me. I mean I get.. sort of. Like family time, creating memories, establishing new relationships forging bonds. blah blah. Last year my restaurant and I stood in the BOH at New Years Eve toasting in 2009. We had a drink of champagne and then rushed back to our stations to re-fill glasses. So, it's not watching kids unwrap presents in velvet dresses, but it's something.

I think the hardest part is other people not understanding. Why is it that everyone else in your family seem to work monday through friday at nine to five jobs. My work week usually starts on Thursday and i'm just setting up my dining room when other people are getting home from their day. So, there are people the white coats, manager other servers. We go out to the movies on mondays, do our laundry on tuesday mornings, have a bed time somewhere north of midnight. It works for us. Actually makes more sense. When the heck do bank tellers manage to pick up their dry cleaning?

So, it works. for now. there just might be a day when I find myself with a mortgage and a kid or two. With a husband who may or may not have a day job. I'll have to figure it out. find a time to have a normal life. Thanksgiving by the way is on Thursdays I've never actually eaten turkey on a Thursday. Usually on Friday, maybe Sunday. But not on Thursdays. I wonder what that would be like. I don't even have a Christmas sweater. My aunt gave me socks last year goofy ones with little bell tassels on the heels. I didn't open up my presents until the 27th. You really can't wear Christmas socks after Christmas. In fact why do people wear Christmas socks at all?

And whats with Valentines day? I mean I know my point of view is warped considering that my first boyfriend was the year after I started waiting tables. But what's the big deal about Valentines day? I mean you get chocolate and flowers, jewelry go out to dinner remind yourselves that you're soo in love. And the next night your back to fighting over the remote control over watching a chic flic with Rene Zellweigger or a football game. All Valentines day means to me is double the covers for the night, double the money. I'm more than happy to go to dinner on the sixteenth instead. But, why or why is it so important to people? Anyone care to explain it to me?

Just curious.

A dying breed.

the professional waiter. Now, this used to be a contradiction in terms to me. Way back when I thought I was going to write the great american novel or win a pulitzer. But, these days this is what I do. I happen to do it well. I understand what it is to work in a restaurant what it takes to make it successful. I am a professional. I don't sparkle in a dining room. I am not a big haired big lipped loud giggly waitress. I don't sound or behave like your second cousin. I am a server. I pour a perfect glass of wine. I always remember to resilver you're table between courses. I will go into an explanation as to why filet mignon extra well done is a bad idea. In general If you are willing I will help you 'dine' in my restaurant.





these days life isn't going so well. My manager has been kicked out of the country. He is now biding his time in Northern Brazil waiting for the embassy to decide whether or not he'll be allowed in. He is not one of my favorite people, I like him well enough but most days by the end of the night I'm heading towards the opposite lounge to have a drink that he is going to. But, he knows his shit. I miss this. I miss not thinking about what is being looked over, put off and generally ignored. Wine ordering, polishing, deep cleaning, menu's being checked for accuracy. Server stations, proper rotation, sidework. I miss the guy who's standing at attention making sure that everything is done.





I am now the one. It happens in restaurants. I told a friend of mine recently promoted to Chef of a dining room who's concerned about not having a sous chef. My advice is to hire away. Pay what you're allowed to pay. It won't be long before whoever that person in your kitchen who is going to have you're back shows up. Becomes apparent those dynamics occur organically. The best working relationships happen that way. I regress, I am now the one. I worry about linens, liners for plates, having enough sangiovese to get through the weekend. I worry about the floor maps, the count on tarts, the list goes on and on. the only difference? I'm paid by tips. I make my money on the floor. Once service starts, i'm not paid or told to worry about all of the extra shit that isn't my job. But, if it's no thought up it's not going to be done.





Or i'll hear my favorite phrases.. "we can do it later when we have time". Now, really. When is there ever convenient times in a dining room. It does not exist. If you don't rip it off fom areas that shouldn't be neglected it's never going to happen.





"good enough for now" what does that mean exactly? good enough is a contradiction in terms. Like shaving one of your legs and then walking on the opposite side of your friend based on what direction you're going.





I understand that i'm a bit on the anal side of things. I like to know that things are cleaned orderly, organized. I like knowing where everything is going to be and then being able to find it. I liked stocked shelves. I like knowing the experation dates on cartons of cream. I like knowing that the wines are kept in their temperature controlled closets. What sometimes confuses me is the line of when I'm being unreasonable in my expectations and when other people are lazy slackers. I can't always tell. So I bite my tongue bide my time and go in for self appointed chores on my day off. But damn it the closets need to be 86ed and nobody else wants to do it. Am I going crazy or just responding to lax standards that don't make me feel like a nineteen year old boy going to a frat party but rather like a grad student that's just bought four hundred dollars worth of text books that has decided to flunk out.



I am a professional. And i've learned a bit of a lesson. I want something more. I think I need something more. A way for me to put my spin on things.

Hostility.. hospitality.. what's the difference?

There's always, or almost always one miserable person in the restaurant. Now, if were lucky the miserable person is in the BOH and doesn't intrude more than absolutely necessary in what happens in the dining room.

Now, the miserable person can be anybody. from anywhere doing any job. They can be a hostess, server, busser (it really sucks if it's a busser.) Manager, Chef, sous chef, line cook pantry cook. You name it.

currently my miserable person is a pantry cook. The girl who makes the salads. (on a side note women in a kitchen is still weird to me. Kind of foreign and unnatural. Like those thirty something divorcees who help themselves to the mens room at concerts and sports events. You just kind of wonder why? Why are they there? Why do they want to play with the boys? and last but not least, can they really keep up? this is wrong,, wrong. Soo wrong, but you kind of have to wonder. Now realistically it makes sense for a woman to be in the kitchen. That's where my grandmother was, she made incredible banana bread. My favorite aunt is known for her mashed potatoes. But, they're in their kitchens at home. With a recipe book in front of them and soap operas in the background. It's a far cry from the hot, loud, cramped kitchens that I've been around in my professional life. But things are changing. A lot. When I was younger I knew one woman in one kitchen in five years. A flat chested lesbian who used to say that, 'her tittys are steamin'. But these days it's different. women are there. In their white coats, and they rock. Hats off to my French Sous chef from last year. Awesome cook, amazing woman. Has me convinced that that is exactly where she should be.

Back to hostilities. You know it's bad when the 'fuck you' and the 'god damnit' gets replaced by actual screaming. But it happens. this girl has picked fights with everyone. I do believe i'm the last person that she hasn't brought to a screaming rage over salad dressings or re-fires. Not that she has a lot of refires. She's a little slow, on average around two minutes longer than you think they'll be. I know this by the clock in my head. That silent buzz that pulls you to the line when it's time to get your food. The food is good, usually. It's the anger over getting orders at 5:59 when the dining room opens at 6:00.. Never mind that the line is out the door for six oclock reservations and sitting people a few minutes early is going to make the difference. There's eighty covers that have to move from six oclock to eight oclock. that's an average of twenty people per server that you have to have done in two hours. Three, maybe four courses. But, hell the panty girl wants another cigarette before she makes any salads.

I've taken to having my cellphone in my pocket waiting to hit the send button until exactly six oclock. Pathetic.

There's also the manager and his bad day. Table cloths are a short on one side of the table. There's a spoon missing, the water glass doesn't have enough ice. You name it. On a bad manager day anything can and will turn into the restaurant equivilant of a heart transplant. It's all life and death. After a few years this goes away. Atleast for me. What happens is going to happen. The restaurant will open and eventually the place will close whatever happens in the between time. Well, it's just going to be. don't worry, there will be a tomorrow.

And then there's the hostile customer. They stare you down like you're getting some kind of satisfaction by not being able to give them A-1 sauce. Actually, I am but only because you're an idiot. I love the table that is convinced that your wines are kept three degrees cooler than they should be. They comment on the napkin folds being soo much nicer at the last place they ate. And are very unhappy you can't pull oysters rockefeller out of some magic hat.

I have on very rare occasions been the hostile one. I've been put in just about any and every situation imaginable. from the private club I was bartending at when a drunk told me that he was circumsized to the diner I was at that had the sailor sitting on the hood of my car because I wasn't giving up my phone number. People can suck, in a major way. A middle aged waitress once told me to just 'smile' She taught me how to spill water on someones lap but not make a big mess out of the table. granted, I haven't been put in that position in about seven years but at the time it saved me. Over and over again. In case anybody is wondering if you ever go into an all night diner, drunk in the middle of the night and get water spilled all over you it's never an accident. And you deserve it.

Fucking Up.

I just used the word fuck as a title for this thing. I'm halfway convinced that nobody else is ever going to read it. Therefore I can say fuck fuck fuck. guilt free. This makes me giggle to myself. Just a little bit. as a server you become very used to watching your mouth.

This can be a challenge the second you step into the back of the house you might as well be on a Naval ship, or a strip joint in Vegas. It's dirty, very dirty in the back. Shit fuck damn flies around your head like mosquitos in the summer time. But the most common is 'fucking up' This holds so much meaning can encompass so many different things. It's like buying a vowel on jeopardy. when you hear 'fucking up' in a restaurant well, there are more potential meanings behind it than just about anything else you can think of.

I fucked up tonight. In my own defense I fell the night before ended up in the ER, sprained the ankle I had surgery on last winter. I'm messed up. It has however become fairly routine for me that anytime I see a doctor they give me drugs. I'm not talking prescription strength ibuprofen i'm talking serious narcotics here. As of right now if I were to find a street corner and 'sell off' my stash I could pay off my car. Too bad it's illegal and I have a certain paranoia about getting caught. So, guess i'll have to continue to make my payments like the good law abiding citizen I am.

As to the fuck ups. I'm not that waitress. There's always one. The one that orders things wrong, fires early or late, opens the wrong wine, crashes plates on the way to the dining room. You get it. That is not me. I don't make mistakes. I have a system that never lets me down. I repeat people when they order cocktails and wine. I do not forget. Yeah, sounds a bit like ego but I'm entitled like I said, I don't fuck up. But, give the girl half a percocept and all kinds of strange things can happen. I ordered those cocktails, went to the bar picked up the beers for another table looked at the cocktails and left them there. I spilled the sparkling wine while lighting the fondue burner, ordered a soup instead of salad. Fired tables too early. Fired a table too late. Thank god my English impaired busser was paying attention.

So with the exception of one spill my tables didn't notice. It's almost like it didn't happen. Except I know it did. Drives me crazy even at 1:20 in the morning I'm pissed. My white coats will now be suspicious of me for the next few days. the cocky twenty year old intern making salads will think he's got one up on me. It just sucks. I will now go back to work tomorrow and do it better, the way I usually do it. Without the percocept. Ibuprofen will be fine.

The Perfect Down

As a server we all have our ideals about what a table should be. What and who we want to wait on. this varies from server to server and Restaurant styles. In 'Turn and Burn' they want you in and out sit down. Order one beverage one entree ask for the check and then leave. So that they table can reseat the table. This is the place where deserts are cheap, wine is cheap, appetizers are for sharing and take too long to eat.

If you have ever been in a dining room and your courses are laid out in front of you like cabooses on a train with five minute intervals between you are in a 'Turn and Burn' restaurant. The servers don't make much it's all about quantity getting as many people in and out of your station as fast as possible.

In a little higher caliber of dining the servers want your check as high as possible. Gratuities are based on percentage. It's the same amount of work for the server to uncork a forty dollar bottle of wine as a hundred dollar bottle. We want you forking out the bucks. The forty dollars will garnish, in a perfect world an eight dollar tip. The hundred dollar bottle should be twenty bucks added on. Do the math. Spend the money.

For me the perfect table are diners. We all know what a diner is. A table who walks in, has cocktails. Orders a bottle or two of wine. Asks my opinion and actually takes it. By the way were not stupid. Ninety percent of servers will go midway through the wine list. If the pricing on the menu is between forty and one hundred and fifty. we are going to suggest the seventy dollar ballpark. We don't look greedy, we are accepting that you may not be willing to shell out the big bucks so we're going to compromise with you. Try it sometime. It's pretty standard. However if you go over the hundred dollar mark the fancy wine glasses come out. A decanter will become involved. You'll get a show and immaculate wine service. You get what you pay for.

I love when people order course after course. appetizer, salads, entrees deserts, coffee and after dinner ports. A table used to turn and burn service will order wine by the glass a salad and entree. Their ticket will be under a hundred bucks. The tip less than twenty. On a table that is dining. That check can go between two and three hundred bucks. Yes there is extra service involved you need to tack on an hour maybe a little more to the table. But, you can't get through another cheap table in the same amount of time so you want every table that you have to count. Fifty bucks easy, on a table who is dining. You only need five maybe six of those a night and things are looking beautiful.

We will chat with you. Tell you where were from, what are 'real life' looks like. That can be anything from the aspiring photographer, to classical guitarists, to wanna be dental hygienist. There is almost always a back story to your server. Something so simple, as "I have three kids two in college" to, 'I have a goal to live in every state in the Northwest'. You'd be surprised.

Servers are smart people. On average even with the three dollars an hour we make servers can pull in a couple of hundred dollars a night, more if things are going well. But, in order to do that we have to be able to multi task more things going on than you can even think about. five maybe six tables at once each at a different place in their meal. One table is on cocktails another at wine, another at appetizers, another needs us to run across the restaurant to get skim milk. another has SDR's (Special dietary requests... aka allergies) up to our necks that we have to sweet talk the white coats into. Deserts need to be brought out. Waters our at the halfway point on two tables, another one needs to be cleared and silverware re-set for the next course. And of course a retired couple wants to chat with you about their day sightseeing and wants to hear the abbreviated version of your life story. You barely notice that we have just brushed your diatribe on the sweet breads you had last month off. And moved you on to the foie gras we're serving.

Don't be mad. We're handling you. Trust me you want to be handled. If you're not being handled your service is slow, constantly playing catch up. Your water glass is empty, dirty dishes are in front of you and you're almost ready to give up on desert before your server returns.

A bad night can happen to anyone. No matter how good you are. It doesn't take much. A re-fire, (entree sent back to the kitchen). A table that wants to chat. Or doesn't want to listen to you and makes you repeat the specials six times only to be sent away for 'five more minutes' By the way that five minutes can kill a server. On a night when the diningroom is booked things are scheduled very tight. A slow table can back up your entire station. Make things feel like you've been triple sat even though theres fifteen minutes between reservations.

We need those fifteen minutes. We have to move on. The kitchen needs things spaced out at a reasonable time. A six top that runs slow will run into our other five top. and somehow your server ends up taking care of eleven people at the exact same place in their meals at once. Not impossible and a good server will keep you from noticing. But the white coats will remind them. A week later, white coats never forget. Especially when entrees are being fired (the five to eight minute notice given to a kithen when you're ready for your entrees) one on top of the other.