I knew this was coming. There is a beauty of working at a restaurant. I would compare it to high school. Where drama runs rampant and news spreads faster than your table can order their drinks. It has no limits. It's not clear as to why it's so toxic in this setting, but for some reason you throw 20-somethings in a serving environment, and the scandal flows like wine.
I luck out fortunately. I've had the same boyfriend long before I started working here, so there are no work scandals for me. I would even like to say I'm above all it, but c'mon, who doesn't like a good rumor or two every once in a while? Boring day at work? Let's just start talking about what we know around this place. For instance, we've had a girl get knocked up TWICE by a guy (now former employee) WHILE he is seeing other girls (that don't work at the restaurant). For real? How do you make the same mistake twice? I'm not saying I'm just saying...
We've had people fired for not serving Asians ("They won't tip me anyway..." Lord have mercy), female bartenders sleeping with female managers (who didn't see trouble coming from that?), theft, gang fights (mentioned previously), stolen cars, arrests, and more make-up, break-up, and cheating scandals than I can count. Here's where we'll start our lesson:
Lesson #1: Do not date your co-workers.
Okay, yes in SOME instances it is OKAY to date your fellow worker. But think about what you are getting yourself in to. You are at the breeding ground for disaster, where the second these servers, cashiers, bartenders, and cooks are off work, they can be found at the nearest watering hole blowing all their hard earned money. On top of all that they then head to someone's house to get high and sleep around. None of this sounds like a fairy tale waiting to happen. You're asking for disaster.
Which brings us to last night's drama. So one our cashier/food prep Anita (*name changed) apparently started dating one of our cooks Bob (*again... name changed). By dating I mean hooking up. Now usually people don't find anything wrong with this, but I'm guessing there is at least a 6-8 year age gap, with her being closer to her early 20's. So of course she's going to get extremely overly attached, even if they are just hooking up.
At any rate, one of our server's was taking care of a table and the table asked if she could tell cook Bob that they say hi. Of course the server was curious on who these people were, and they said they were Bob's girlfriend's family. I unfortunately didn't get to see them, but it was CLEARLY not Anita's family. So the server went to clarify with Anita (bad idea right?) if she was, in fact, dating Bob, because these other people were here. Anita's eyes became wide and she instantly burst into tears and ran into the cooler. Alright, there is clearly some scandal going on.
Well of course the server runs around and tells EVERYONE what just happened, and some of the other servers mention that they knew Bob had a girlfriend, had no idea he was even SEEING Anita, and to top it off, he has a BABY with said girlfriend. Too much? Yah? I agree. Let's take a breather. [count to ten]
Annndd we're back. That's the drama that unfolded last night. I saw them talking as I left, I'm sure it won't end well. We'll have to see what happens on that one. This is more of a To Be Continued sort of story... I'll keep you posted!
Oh drama... how you make a dull night lively.
Thanks for stopping by!
Always, your server
Friday, August 17, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Parties
I am always a fan of taking the parties that come to our restaurant. Most people bolt, beg, plead, whine, and flip out at the greeter when they start pulling tables together for a party larger than 8. While yes... there is the plausibility of getting a terrible table (wild teens, a disrespectful table, a birthday party for an 8 year-old... cuz THAT always turns out awful, etc.) One of the first nights of serving ever I ended up with a very large party. Probably between 18-22. It was a young girl's birthday and the table was siblings, friends, and a few random family members. They had brought their own cake (usually not allowed, but sometimes it's hard to say no) and as they were cutting up the pieces and handing them out, a piece of cake was flung at me and landed on my forearm. The room, no joke, went silent. Nobody knew what to do... and neither did I. Finally someone walked up to me with some napkins, and instead of wiping myself off, I went to the floor to pick up the mess. I wasn't mad, upset, hurt. I was just confused. What is a new server supposed to do in this situation? Is there a protocol? A rule book I should be following? Needless to say the mother walked up to me, handed me a $20, and said "don't worry, we'll tip you as well." I was like... okay wow. Throw cake at me daily if this is the reward!
Like I said...I like to take my chances. Take a few risks. Which is what I did last night. Table of 17? No problem. Piece of cake.
It was a celebration for a 26-year old (hmm... that'll be ME in a few short months) and it looked like family members. From the elder generation, to the newborns, they were all over the place. Lucky for me everyone could hear well, speak loud, and was more than patient. I even had the birthday boy himself thank me for my outstanding service. I don't think it was OUTSTANDING, but again.. it shows that the parties are worth it.
Unfortunately my tables were all pretty much lackluster last night. There were the few regulars, with one in particular who brought his four year-old daughter in. He told me her name was Charlie, and Charlie then proceeded to try to DRINK the salt out of the salt container. Oh. My. Lord. For sanitary issues, that's just nasty... but to try to drink it? Did you think it was sugar kid? That somehow that white powdery stuff would magically turn into something tasty? You, dear Charlie, are weird. Just so you know well in advance.
A few days ago ( I think this will tickle your fancy) we had a guest seat themselves at the bar rail. Our bartender is known for being vulgar, crass, lewd, but it's usually pretty funny. She's a treat to say the least. At any rate the story goes she was talking about vaginas (can't even begin to answer the question as to why...) and this man at the rail was completely outraged and felt disrespected. Uh... Okay? You don't have a vagina, and you probably LIKE vagina, so what's the problem? He was so infuriated that he left a long note about his anger, then grabbed the manager and made the manager walk with him to the exit. Settle down cowboy. Is this something that'd set you off? I mean it IS a bar and grill, you ARE in the bar, what are you expecting? A coloring book and crown? This aint (yep I said AINT) Chuck-e-Cheese.
Thanks for stopping by!
Always, your server
Like I said...I like to take my chances. Take a few risks. Which is what I did last night. Table of 17? No problem. Piece of cake.
It was a celebration for a 26-year old (hmm... that'll be ME in a few short months) and it looked like family members. From the elder generation, to the newborns, they were all over the place. Lucky for me everyone could hear well, speak loud, and was more than patient. I even had the birthday boy himself thank me for my outstanding service. I don't think it was OUTSTANDING, but again.. it shows that the parties are worth it.
Unfortunately my tables were all pretty much lackluster last night. There were the few regulars, with one in particular who brought his four year-old daughter in. He told me her name was Charlie, and Charlie then proceeded to try to DRINK the salt out of the salt container. Oh. My. Lord. For sanitary issues, that's just nasty... but to try to drink it? Did you think it was sugar kid? That somehow that white powdery stuff would magically turn into something tasty? You, dear Charlie, are weird. Just so you know well in advance.
A few days ago ( I think this will tickle your fancy) we had a guest seat themselves at the bar rail. Our bartender is known for being vulgar, crass, lewd, but it's usually pretty funny. She's a treat to say the least. At any rate the story goes she was talking about vaginas (can't even begin to answer the question as to why...) and this man at the rail was completely outraged and felt disrespected. Uh... Okay? You don't have a vagina, and you probably LIKE vagina, so what's the problem? He was so infuriated that he left a long note about his anger, then grabbed the manager and made the manager walk with him to the exit. Settle down cowboy. Is this something that'd set you off? I mean it IS a bar and grill, you ARE in the bar, what are you expecting? A coloring book and crown? This aint (yep I said AINT) Chuck-e-Cheese.
Thanks for stopping by!
Always, your server
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Wrath of the Customer
Almost all servers have said at one point or another that everyone in this world should serve once in their life. I'm not talking like "let me bus your table for an hour" serving, but an actual serve shift... or week. Where you have to greet a numerous amount of tables, pre-bus, deliver drinks/food/crayons/etc, check back in, grab refills, offer dessert, and get them out when the customer feels ready. Oh yah, and with an over exaggerated personality because apparently your normal personality isn't vivacious enough for the guests.
Most of us will say everyone should serve so people understand the power of the tip. Which I would agree on. While 20% is NICE, it is not mandatory or necessary. But if we are doing above and beyond for you, give you freebies, or treat your children like the little "god/goddeses" we KNOW they are, then we should deserve something in return. That hourly wage does not pay the bills. Not by a long shot. And speaking as a server who doesn't blow their money on booze later that night, I still say it doesn't pay the bills. Tell me to get another job? 1) I have one and 2) if I had another job, you wouldn't be able to eat now would you?
The other reason we servers make this statement is because then people would understand the flack we get in our day. I used to work at a bank, where I dealt with people's money, and people are more rude about their food. As if I'm purposely wasting their precious time because I can't say hi to them and grab them drinks within two minutes. It's not easy when six tables come in at once. It's not that we are understaffed or the greeter is doing a terrible job, but think about what can happen in a moment. Let's say a table comes in. Sits down in Server 1's section, and while that was happening two people walked in and sat themselves (because again, that lady standing at the front door means nothing) and then sits in Server 1's section again. While all this is going on, that greeter we forgot about at the front door? Well she's one of two greeters and she seats you a party of 12 because she didn't realize what just happened. See how fast it can get messy?
That was my night last night. While two tables were trying to check out, I had a party of nine, and four booths sat before I even had a chance to blink. I've served for quite some time, but it "ruffled my feathers" but I knew I what I could do with it. Then. Shit hit the fan. One wrong receipt paired with a credit card, and it destroyed everything. I was running around, exploding on my fellow servers, and trying to not look like i was a sweaty pig as I taped on a smile and hurriedly, but not too quickly, went to every table to get their order.
Bad performance on my part, leading to bad tip on their part. Unfortunate, yes. Did I move on from it? Of course. The beauty of serving is that even if you've had a bad "round" of tables... there will always be more. And those "more" have no idea that you did a terrible job a mere 10 minutes ago. The trick is not to have the tell-tale signs of defeat on your face. That all-knowing scowl, or the smeared makeup from tears. For my sake, none of those things occurred so I was able to move on.
Unfortunately my last table of the night spent $56.78 and left a crumpled up $1 bill. Good grief. It's an insult at that point. Of course I took it, but it was after I showed everyone and fumed for a while. This table was not affected by Hurricane ServerV nor did their order get mixed up. They were served with perfection, attention, and grace. Yet they were younger and full of attitude. And all servers know that that will never end well. Ever.
And that was that. So much for Mondays, (I knew I wouldn't do well on a Monday) it's too early in the week to have your soul destroyed.
Thanks for stopping by!
Always, your server
Most of us will say everyone should serve so people understand the power of the tip. Which I would agree on. While 20% is NICE, it is not mandatory or necessary. But if we are doing above and beyond for you, give you freebies, or treat your children like the little "god/goddeses" we KNOW they are, then we should deserve something in return. That hourly wage does not pay the bills. Not by a long shot. And speaking as a server who doesn't blow their money on booze later that night, I still say it doesn't pay the bills. Tell me to get another job? 1) I have one and 2) if I had another job, you wouldn't be able to eat now would you?
The other reason we servers make this statement is because then people would understand the flack we get in our day. I used to work at a bank, where I dealt with people's money, and people are more rude about their food. As if I'm purposely wasting their precious time because I can't say hi to them and grab them drinks within two minutes. It's not easy when six tables come in at once. It's not that we are understaffed or the greeter is doing a terrible job, but think about what can happen in a moment. Let's say a table comes in. Sits down in Server 1's section, and while that was happening two people walked in and sat themselves (because again, that lady standing at the front door means nothing) and then sits in Server 1's section again. While all this is going on, that greeter we forgot about at the front door? Well she's one of two greeters and she seats you a party of 12 because she didn't realize what just happened. See how fast it can get messy?
That was my night last night. While two tables were trying to check out, I had a party of nine, and four booths sat before I even had a chance to blink. I've served for quite some time, but it "ruffled my feathers" but I knew I what I could do with it. Then. Shit hit the fan. One wrong receipt paired with a credit card, and it destroyed everything. I was running around, exploding on my fellow servers, and trying to not look like i was a sweaty pig as I taped on a smile and hurriedly, but not too quickly, went to every table to get their order.
Bad performance on my part, leading to bad tip on their part. Unfortunate, yes. Did I move on from it? Of course. The beauty of serving is that even if you've had a bad "round" of tables... there will always be more. And those "more" have no idea that you did a terrible job a mere 10 minutes ago. The trick is not to have the tell-tale signs of defeat on your face. That all-knowing scowl, or the smeared makeup from tears. For my sake, none of those things occurred so I was able to move on.
Unfortunately my last table of the night spent $56.78 and left a crumpled up $1 bill. Good grief. It's an insult at that point. Of course I took it, but it was after I showed everyone and fumed for a while. This table was not affected by Hurricane ServerV nor did their order get mixed up. They were served with perfection, attention, and grace. Yet they were younger and full of attitude. And all servers know that that will never end well. Ever.
And that was that. So much for Mondays, (I knew I wouldn't do well on a Monday) it's too early in the week to have your soul destroyed.
Thanks for stopping by!
Always, your server
Friday, August 3, 2012
Making it Rain
... like I said. We do it for the money. No Joke.
Here's a little more insight into my life. I am a double agent. Well, not really, but you see I have a day job (that pays those pesky student loans) and then I serve a few nights a week. The hard part about serving is there isn't really a set time you leave. You start your shift at let's say 3:30pm, but if it's busy, you are trapped until 11pm or even 1am. On the flip side, if it's a beautiful summer night, and there's a sports game playing at home that evening, you could be done as early as 7pm. Do you see the dilemma?
Not only have I pulled an 8-hour day from that morning, but I also pulled an 8-hour shift that night. And let me tell you something. It. Was. Worth. It. Sure, my eyes feel like they are bleeding as I sit in my reddish chair (fitting don't you think?) and I try to clear the haze that covers my brain, but at the end of the night, I walked with so much money it'd make a girl on the corner blush. Maybe that's a bit dramatic. Whatever.
I would have to say that my favorite part of last night was when I pulled up to work. I was on the phone with my boyfriend, trying to catch up on our day before I headed into job #2, when I got out of my car and noticed something bright pink on the car adjacent mine. I quickly said my goodbyes to the boyfriend and pulled up my camera to take a picture of the gloriousness. This is the place I live folks. Where we can throw about our undergarments wherever we feel necessary. Which leads me to Exhibit A:
Yep. There you have it. The glory of restaurant life. Would you ever see that at your 9-5 day job? My guess is no. Unless you work at a bra manufacturing plant. Or Victoria Secret. The assumption is that this is a prank played on someone, but I like to imagine it's a girlfriend this guy once had who was furious that he broke up with her or cheated on her, and she wanted to get him back by reminding him of the nice rack she has.
As for the craziness at work, I pretty much blame the Olympics for the hullabaloo. While I do, in fact, love the Olympics, it's like these people have never seen anybody do any of these things. Hellloooo.... go to a highschool. They do gymnastics there. Basketball? My God they have 8 months to dribble that ball around. NOW it's interesting? False. Beach volleyball? Didn't you play that last week with some buddies and some alcoholic refreshments nearby? Oh and of course, YOU OWN A TV. Go watch it at your house.
Well, besides the Olympics and the bra car, the only other people I had there were even remotely interesting was my I'm-going-to-kiss-you-on-the-neck-and-pretend-it's-my-breakfast-and-devour-you couple that was awkward and I tried avoiding eye contact at all times, and then some people from the South that apparently travel around and install carpet in big office buildings? I said it had to pay well if that was their job. Could you imagine? You travel around.... for carpet. Not because you are in a band or you are famous, but because apparently the state that needs carpet doesn't have someone that can do it correctly.
We'll see what drama unfolds next week...
Thanks for stopping by!
Always, your server
Here's a little more insight into my life. I am a double agent. Well, not really, but you see I have a day job (that pays those pesky student loans) and then I serve a few nights a week. The hard part about serving is there isn't really a set time you leave. You start your shift at let's say 3:30pm, but if it's busy, you are trapped until 11pm or even 1am. On the flip side, if it's a beautiful summer night, and there's a sports game playing at home that evening, you could be done as early as 7pm. Do you see the dilemma?
Not only have I pulled an 8-hour day from that morning, but I also pulled an 8-hour shift that night. And let me tell you something. It. Was. Worth. It. Sure, my eyes feel like they are bleeding as I sit in my reddish chair (fitting don't you think?) and I try to clear the haze that covers my brain, but at the end of the night, I walked with so much money it'd make a girl on the corner blush. Maybe that's a bit dramatic. Whatever.
I would have to say that my favorite part of last night was when I pulled up to work. I was on the phone with my boyfriend, trying to catch up on our day before I headed into job #2, when I got out of my car and noticed something bright pink on the car adjacent mine. I quickly said my goodbyes to the boyfriend and pulled up my camera to take a picture of the gloriousness. This is the place I live folks. Where we can throw about our undergarments wherever we feel necessary. Which leads me to Exhibit A:
 |
| That's a solid C cup right? |
As for the craziness at work, I pretty much blame the Olympics for the hullabaloo. While I do, in fact, love the Olympics, it's like these people have never seen anybody do any of these things. Hellloooo.... go to a highschool. They do gymnastics there. Basketball? My God they have 8 months to dribble that ball around. NOW it's interesting? False. Beach volleyball? Didn't you play that last week with some buddies and some alcoholic refreshments nearby? Oh and of course, YOU OWN A TV. Go watch it at your house.
Well, besides the Olympics and the bra car, the only other people I had there were even remotely interesting was my I'm-going-to-kiss-you-on-the-neck-and-pretend-it's-my-breakfast-and-devour-you couple that was awkward and I tried avoiding eye contact at all times, and then some people from the South that apparently travel around and install carpet in big office buildings? I said it had to pay well if that was their job. Could you imagine? You travel around.... for carpet. Not because you are in a band or you are famous, but because apparently the state that needs carpet doesn't have someone that can do it correctly.
We'll see what drama unfolds next week...
Thanks for stopping by!
Always, your server
Thursday, August 2, 2012
We've Seen It All Before
Yes. It's one of THOSE blogs... the one that tells you what it's really like to be a server (waiter/waitress, depending on where you are from) in this century. These blogs deliver rants, rages, praises, stories of children, of overly affectionate lovers, of first date awkwardness, and anything else you could think of. Maybe they even liven it up and tell you a bit about what REALLY goes on with the kitchen staff (let me tell you now... it's not as bad as they make it seem in Waiting).
I think that's what this is really. One of those typical blogs, but hopefully with a twist. I've been blogging since 2005, and while my personal blog is random and haphazard, this one has a direction and a focus to it. I'm ready to dangle my feet into the pool of internet users that are dying to know more about the restaurants they choose to visit.
While I'll never name the restaurant I work for (would never want to put a job/company in jeopardy) I will be open, honest, and blunt about the stories I share. Be ready for some stories that will have you burst out laughing at the office, or grimacing in disgust and agony as you really learn what it's like to serve.
Life As a Server:
Serving. I don't think there is anything that is more depicted by the cliche a "love and hate relationship" better than this. I have served for three years now, and spent at least ten years on top of that working in customer service. Believe me. I've been through it all. I've had cake thrown at me, almost been in a gang fight (gave my shift away that night, lucky me!), dropped countless amounts of food, pretended to be romantically involved with regulars (lord knows why), been touched inappropriately, yelled at, kissed on the cheek, and left so many notes, I wouldn't even know where to begin.
It isn't all fun and games however. Some days are terrible. Some days make you want to drop everything and leave without ever looking back. I mean seriously people, deducting my tip because I forgot your PICKLES? Oh, and don't forget the frown face that accompanied a note on the bottom of a boat for food saying "you forgot my pickles." You're clearly ignorant. And if you are that desperate, go BUY some pickles next time. Or, better yet, how about asking more than just that one time in the way beginning of your order? I promise I had no intention of forgetting your pickles. Honest.
There are good days. Great days actually. Days where you are told you've done an amazing job, that you handled the party of 30 with grace and politeness that they've never received before. There are the days where they are so happy with your service, they need to speak with your manager right away. And the table that says nothing, but leaves over 20% for the tip with a big grin on the bill. These are the days we live for.
Why do I do this, you ask? People. I'm drawn to people of all kinds. They all have stories, they all come to eat at this same place and bringing them altogether in a room like this... well there's something amazing about it. And hey, let's be real for a minute. The money will always bring servers back. I can't count the number of servers who say "This place is a black hole and I hope I die so I don't have to come in tomorrow" or "God I hope this place blows up tomorrow" or even "I swear to God I'm walking out and never coming back." Don't worry... they pretty much ALWAYS come back... and pick up a double when they do. They come back because they know they need the money, and that's it's fast and easy to make. You are short $30 for your rent this month? Pick up a shift and you'll be flying high.
Now, my knowledge is a bit limited. I don't work in an upscale restaurant, or a unique jazzy Office Space-type place that makes me wear "flair." Nope. No flair here. I don't even get to work at a mom and pop's place that can be discovered by Guy Fieri from Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. It's just a regular serving job in a regular city in a regular restaurant. But the stories are not regular.
What will I leave you with so that you are drooling wanting more? I guess I'll leave you with two stories. The first is about a note that was left to for me once. I remember the day clearly. Night I should say. It was busy, and I had at least five or six tables... all needing, all wanting. The table I meant to close out was two younger gentlemen, probably in their early 20's, and had just eaten a massive amount of chicken wings (traditional, not that pansy boneless stuff). I didn't realize until later than I charged them the wrong tab, which actually made their meal a lot cheaper than they were probably expecting. This may have been the reason they left me this note, or they thought I was a young pretty girl who was serving them. Whatever the reason, they felt the need to leave me this:
It was pretty entertaining to say the least.
I think that's what this is really. One of those typical blogs, but hopefully with a twist. I've been blogging since 2005, and while my personal blog is random and haphazard, this one has a direction and a focus to it. I'm ready to dangle my feet into the pool of internet users that are dying to know more about the restaurants they choose to visit.
While I'll never name the restaurant I work for (would never want to put a job/company in jeopardy) I will be open, honest, and blunt about the stories I share. Be ready for some stories that will have you burst out laughing at the office, or grimacing in disgust and agony as you really learn what it's like to serve.
Life As a Server:
Serving. I don't think there is anything that is more depicted by the cliche a "love and hate relationship" better than this. I have served for three years now, and spent at least ten years on top of that working in customer service. Believe me. I've been through it all. I've had cake thrown at me, almost been in a gang fight (gave my shift away that night, lucky me!), dropped countless amounts of food, pretended to be romantically involved with regulars (lord knows why), been touched inappropriately, yelled at, kissed on the cheek, and left so many notes, I wouldn't even know where to begin.
It isn't all fun and games however. Some days are terrible. Some days make you want to drop everything and leave without ever looking back. I mean seriously people, deducting my tip because I forgot your PICKLES? Oh, and don't forget the frown face that accompanied a note on the bottom of a boat for food saying "you forgot my pickles." You're clearly ignorant. And if you are that desperate, go BUY some pickles next time. Or, better yet, how about asking more than just that one time in the way beginning of your order? I promise I had no intention of forgetting your pickles. Honest.
There are good days. Great days actually. Days where you are told you've done an amazing job, that you handled the party of 30 with grace and politeness that they've never received before. There are the days where they are so happy with your service, they need to speak with your manager right away. And the table that says nothing, but leaves over 20% for the tip with a big grin on the bill. These are the days we live for.
Why do I do this, you ask? People. I'm drawn to people of all kinds. They all have stories, they all come to eat at this same place and bringing them altogether in a room like this... well there's something amazing about it. And hey, let's be real for a minute. The money will always bring servers back. I can't count the number of servers who say "This place is a black hole and I hope I die so I don't have to come in tomorrow" or "God I hope this place blows up tomorrow" or even "I swear to God I'm walking out and never coming back." Don't worry... they pretty much ALWAYS come back... and pick up a double when they do. They come back because they know they need the money, and that's it's fast and easy to make. You are short $30 for your rent this month? Pick up a shift and you'll be flying high.
Now, my knowledge is a bit limited. I don't work in an upscale restaurant, or a unique jazzy Office Space-type place that makes me wear "flair." Nope. No flair here. I don't even get to work at a mom and pop's place that can be discovered by Guy Fieri from Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. It's just a regular serving job in a regular city in a regular restaurant. But the stories are not regular.
What will I leave you with so that you are drooling wanting more? I guess I'll leave you with two stories. The first is about a note that was left to for me once. I remember the day clearly. Night I should say. It was busy, and I had at least five or six tables... all needing, all wanting. The table I meant to close out was two younger gentlemen, probably in their early 20's, and had just eaten a massive amount of chicken wings (traditional, not that pansy boneless stuff). I didn't realize until later than I charged them the wrong tab, which actually made their meal a lot cheaper than they were probably expecting. This may have been the reason they left me this note, or they thought I was a young pretty girl who was serving them. Whatever the reason, they felt the need to leave me this:
 |
| Extra Points for trying right? And sorry ladies, can't give you their phone number! |
Story number two, well... it's not really a story per-say, but more of an anecdote. The restaurant I work at has a full bar, so we do get a lot of interesting requests. Some drinks my bartenders have never even heard of (although we haven't heard of a lot). One day, I get a table of two women. They are loud and obnoxious and I knew from the moment they walked in and waltzed themselves to my table that they would be trouble. (pssst... did you notice that person standing by the door behind a stand? Yeah, she's called a greeter and she would just love to seat you!) While their lack of respect boils my blood, I paint a smile on my face, and in the most chipper voice known to mankind, I ask them what they would like to drink. No joke, this is what the woman said:
"I would like a margarita."
Me: "Oh yes, perfect. Would you like an original or a flavored ki--"
"I want original."
Me: "Sure thing. Blended or on the rocks?"
"Blended. But make sure there is no ice."
As far as I know, that.just.doesn't.work. You cannot blend liquid. It's ALREADY liquid. I proceeded to tell her that this is not possible. Not that I wouldn't do it, but that it literally is impossible to have a "blended" drink without ice in this matter. She continued to be trouble. But after this, you almost have to feel sorry for the people who don't understand... well anything.
Alright, that's enough ranting for today. My goal is to share stories of the serving world as often as the ideas come to me. Be on the lookout!
Thanks for stopping by!
Always, your server
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