Day one hundred and eighteen: this never gets old.

I don't know and I don't care how the other residents of West Broadway/ Wolseley feel about the new Subway that just opened up on the corner of Sherbrook Street and Westminster Avenue, but I am trilled. 

I still have yet to do a lick of grocery shopping and there's not much, I assume, that one can make with Bisquick, paprika and a tin of Vienna Sausage. 

Let me be clear when I tell you that the only reason I have canned cocktail wieners in my cupboard is strictly due to the fact that it's some sort of Newfoundland thing so my mom, I mean Santa, put them in everyone's stocking at Christmas. And really, what's a Christmas without canned meat, am I right? 

That all said, a Subway within walking distance is a welcomed commodity as far as I'm concerned. At least it will ensure that I get fed from time to time. How I manage to have a sink full of dishes everyday with a fridge full of condiments and no food, I will never know. 

While the Subway employee's at my neighborhood sandwich shop are alright, there will never be a replacement for the Subway guys in Osborne Village. They're much more personable and they do backflips for tips... still. 

The backflipping Subway guy told me he's movie store locations to Carmen so naturally I had to get my fill of backflips while I still could. 

The thing is, I would have tipped regardless. 

Here's hoping the Sandwich Artists in my neck of the woods start practicing. 

Day one hundred and three: the tax man cometh

I think, for the first time in 26 years (or however long it's been that I've had to file for income tax), I'm going to have to go to an income tax figure-outer person. 


There was a time that my mom had my taxes done by some broad... er... lady, but she's out of commission from an embolism or an aneurysm -- either way, something happened that's left the number crunching to me and I'm not so confident this time around. 


I haven't been keeping track of my tip as diligently as I should have been and now a wave of paranoia has rushed over me because I don't want to accidentally commit tax fraud and have to pay a bunch of fines or worse... end up in the clink. I've seen the Shawshank Redemption many times and as confident as I am in being able to pull off a great escape no one will ever believe I'm as much of a Rita Hayworth fan as Andy Dufresne. 


Sure jail can't be all that bad with the choreographed Michael Jackson numbers... 




Now, I'm not 100% positive but I'm pretty sure provincial and federal jails in Canada almost never have Michael Jackson's choreographer Travis Payne come out to teach some sweet dance moves a la the Cebu Provincial Detention And Rehabilitation Center (CPDRC) in the Philippines and if that's the case I'm not taking any chances with my freedom. 


So in order to get a fair shake at this income tax thing I think it's best to leave it up to the professionals. 

Day ninety one: street cheese

I've worked in Downtown Winnipeg for the better part of a decade and just when I think I've seen it all something amazing happens. Today it was the offer to purchase what I have now dubbed: Street Cheese.


I don't need to tell you how delicious and revered cheese is nor do I need to tell that it's not cheap. What I do need to fill you in on, unless you're already in the know, is that cheese theft is at an all time high.


Some guy walked into the New Shop this morning offering to sell us some blocks of cheese for cheap. Being the cheese connoisseur I consider myself to be I immediately recognized the packaging and had come to the conclusion that this guy had stolen some bricks of marble from Safeway. 


Over the years I've had people on the street try to sell me drugs, clothes, bus tickets, booze, etc. but never have I had anyone try to sell me stolen cheese. 


Obviously his generous offer was declined for legal reasons. I don't consider myself a lawyer, per se, but I do watch a lot of crime dramas -- Law and Order, Law and Order SVU, Law and Order Criminal Intent, Criminal Minds, NYPD Blue, 21 Jump Street, Hawaii 5-0, Matlock, Murder She Wrote, CSI, CSI Miami, 24, Cold Case, Sue Thomas F-B-Eye...  


and purchasing stolen merchandise is against the law and I'm almost positive health inspectors frown on the idea of Street Cheese. 


A friend of mine who is a loss prevention officer at Safeway says that cheese is one of the most sought after items to steal. Cheese and razor blades and I can understand why. Like I said before cheese isn't cheap and razor blades are even more expensive. This is why I don't shave my legs all the time (the cost of razor blades, not cheese). Actually, it's because I'm lazy and it's the winter. 


Street Cheese, it's a living. 

Day fifty seven: inappropriate conversations in the workplace.

Mom, it's probably a good idea you skip this one. 


I was out with a friend for coffee the other day. She was telling me about her new job and the people she works with. She couldn't believe how wildly inappropriate some of these gals were, talking about weed, on the job. 


In the restaurant business, the majority of conversations are wildly inappropriate but seem oddly normal. For example, a few of us were having a discussion on how you'd think there would be more cures for incurable STDs. Pardon me, STIs:

"I hope they find a cure for herpes, the pool of people to have unprotected sex with is getting smaller by the day."

 The key is to save it for the kitchen or at least not to speak so loudly that your tables hear. Sex, booze, drugs and gossip aren't the only thing servers, cooks and bartenders talk about but they seem to be trending topics among those in the service industry. 


I asked a server friend of mine the kinds of things that get talked about at his restaurant and this is what he told me:

Him: Mostly one night stands. I stole a girl's glasses once. 

Me: You stole them? Did you give them back?

Him: No I kept them, mine broke the same night. 

Me: And they just happened to be the same and/or close enough prescription? Talk about lucky. 

Him: Right time, right place. 

Me: That's a pretty good score. Glasses are expensive, unless you order them online from China I suppose. 

**Please note that I do not condone stealing glasses.**


Clearly, I've become desensitized to the inappropriate conversation but on the bright side,  at least I'm no so far gone I am unaware of it. 

Day fifty six: it's all in the cards.

The New Shop is the polar opposite of (insert real name here). (Insert real name here) has a children's menu and the New Shop has tarot card readers.



The New Shop has been around for decades and has changed hands a few times as far as owners go, but the tradition of tarot card readings has remained a constant.


I thought it was a goofy idea at first but they book up faster than Usain Bolt runs the 100 meter, which is really fast. Less than 10 seconds? Are you kidding me? I get winded after running half a block.


I decided to get a reading done today. I had to see first-hand what all this hullabaloo was about.


Here's my reading in a nutshell:


Did I grow up on a farm? No, but I shouldn't be surprised if I find myself going horse back riding in the next six weeks.


Everything I've been working towards, all the stepping stones I've put in order and all my "hard work" will come together in six weeks.


I am left-eye dominant and, like 15% of the population, prefer when people communicate to me through it.


I have a younger brother who isn't here. No, I have an older brother who lives in Vancouver.


I will take a trip in the next six weeks.


She talked for a while about the left eye thing and how my brother and I are the best of friends will always have a spiritual connection. That's when I realized by "not here" she meant in the physical realm. Well my brother isn't dead and sure we're pals but that's probably because he lives in another time zone.


$10 of my hard earned tips for that sage advice.


So obviously I'll get them done again.

Day thirty two: tricks of the trade

Every now and then I'll let it slip to a table that I'm still in school. I like to do it casually rather than blurting it out like I've heard other do. 

There's a pretty even divide of people who work at (insert real name here) that go to school and don't go to school. There's a few like me who have been doing the post secondary thing for the better part of a decade, career students if you will, kind of like Van Wilder but not at all like Van Wilder: 

Mentioning to my tables that I'm in school serves two purposes:

1. It let's them know I'm a "starving student" and, hopefully, makes me a bigger tip
2. It opens up the door to my favourite conversation topic: me. 

Cheap trick? Perhaps. More tips? Not always. But it doesn't hurt. Now before you pass judgement, let me tell you a story of a friend of mine and how he takes the art of subconscious trickery to a whole new level. For the sake of anonymity I won't tell you his name or the place he works but I will tell you a little trick he plays. 

This friend of mine, we'll call him Chet, has been a server for a few years. Every now and then Chet likes to let his table know that he is a single dad with two children. Fact of the matter is Chet still lives at home with his parents and these children he speaks of are non-existent.

Here's how he does it:

Table: Sorry for the mess. 

Chet: *Laugh* Aw this is nothing, you should see the mess my kids make. 

Boom! Instant boost in tip. Chet is also a nanny, or a man nanny... a manny. So if he has to tell a story about his "kids" he has a bevy of anecdotes all set to go. 

A tip of the hat to Chet I say. 

Day twenty four: serving to spec.

At (insert real name here) there is a specific way servers are expected to serve their table. It goes a little something like this:


1. Greet the table and take beverage order.  

"Hi my name's (insert real name here). I'll be looking after you this afternoon/evening. Today/tonight we're featuring (insert appetizer here) and (insert two beverages here). Can I bring you something to drink while you look at the menu?"

What I actually say:

"Hi, my name's (insert real name here). I'm looking after you this afternoon. I can't promise this is a good thing but I'll do my best. What can I bring you to drink while you scope out the menu?"

Generally, when the table has been seated the host or hostess has already told them about the feature drink, the soup of the day and the feature dish. I see no point in wasting 45 seconds by repeating verbatim what has already been said. 

Sometimes a table will ask me what the drink special is to which I respond "all of the drinks are special everyday." Special and feature are two completely different things. Special implies there will be some sort of discount while the designation, feature, is simple a trick to push Bahama Mamas and Irish Coffees on unsuspecting diners. 

I then tell my table I don't want to start off our server-diner relationship on a foundation of lies. 

2. Bring out drinks, take appetizer order. 

"Can I start you off with an appetizer? Tonight we're featuring (insert appetizer here)."

What I actually say:

"How are you making out with the menu? Do you want a couple more minutes?"

3. Bring out food. 

4. Check back. 

"How's is everything tasting? Is there anything else I bring out for you right now?"

I try to wait until everyone at the table doesn't have a mouth full of food to go over and ask. As a diner I find it a little annoying when I have a mouth full of food I'm asked a question. 

5. Clear plates, take dessert order. 

"Is there anything else I can bring out for you right now? Coffee? Tea? (Insert dessert name here)?"

What I say:

"What else should I bring out? Dessert? Second dinner?"

6. Bring out dessert and/or drop off the check. 

"When you're ready, I can take cash or credit at the table or debit over by the bar."

Then I hope for the best. 

Day twenty.

More often than not when someone hears that I'm a server the first question that comes out is "have you seen Waiting?!" To which I respond, "yes."

Most people who have never been in the service industry assume they know how it works for having seen this movie:

There is some degree of truth to it but there isn't any tampering with food at (insert real name here) or sex in the bathroom or male staff showing each other their genitals. It just doesn't happen like that. 


There is one thing that hold true though. Steak. We sell a lot of Steak at (insert real name here) and quite often it comes out wrong. Now, most of the time when it comes out wrong is due to the fact that most people have no idea what the difference is between medium rare, or medium or medium well and so forth. Here's a little chart to show the difference:

The rest of the time when a steak comes back is because the broil cook screwed it up by not paying attention or for the sure fact that he or she doesn't know how to cook meat. It's frustrating as a server because my tip depends on the broil cook's ability to make a steak right. 

Day eight.

When the temperature hits 26 degrees in Winnipeg in October it makes for a slow day/night at the (insert real name here). 


Today I worked a split shift. I walked into the restaurant 10 minutes before my lunch shift only to find that almost my entire section had been seated and the tables were already being served. It blows, big time, when you get into work and there are limited tables to be sat. This means less money to be made by me. 


I ended up serving two tables which left me with enough cash to go sit on a patio for my two hour break with some of the other servers working split shifts. 


We got to talking about a party happening tomorrow night and who is invited and who isn't. Servers, cooks, bartenders, essentially everyone in the restaurant industry is notorious for drinking, drugging and whatever unsavory acts you can think of. I fall into the drinking category. Because I didn't make some drinking money I'm sitting at home on a Friday night plucking my eyebrows and watching old reruns of Law and Order -- why that show was cancelled after two decades of crime fighting I'll never know. I guess I'll have to check out the new L.A. franchise. Back to my point... I worked 6 hours today and walked out with a whopping $35 minus the $15 I spent on a couple pints in the sun. 


While everyone else is out enjoying payday Friday, I'm at home drinking some old beer I found in the back my fridge, probably from last summer, called Gulden Draak. Tastes imported. 


Back to my original point: a party with coworkers. In the six or so months I've worked at (insert real name here) I've learned who I like to socialize with outside of work and who I don't. There are the duds. These are the people that are annoying, boring or just young pups that  I don't have anything in common with other than my place of employment. They rarely are able to hold their liquor and haven't read a book since the 10th grade. 


There are the party animals. These are the people who get blackout drunk and make asses of themselves. Sure they're good for a laugh but the sad thing is those of us not lifting up our shirts on the patio at wing night or trying to sleep with every dude we work with, are laughing at the party animals, not with them. More often than not a party animal will come into work after a night of ridiculous antics with their tail between their legs and avoid eye contact because he or she acted like a hot mess the night before.  


I like to spend my time with the chill crowd. These are the people that can hold a good conversation as well as their booze, like to have a chuckle and don't spend their time obsessing over the happenings of the restaurant. 


In my 26 years on this earth I've learned a thing or two. One being: never get drunk in front of people from work. Save your sloppy it for the nights with friends that have known you for years and will accept your shenanigans with open arms because you've done the same for them. 


We'll see what happens tomorrow. 

Day five.

Sunday night and again tonight I am not serving but rather working in the kitchen as an expediter or an expo. An expo is basically the person who makes sure there is a lemon wedge on your fish or a sprinkle of cilantro on your salad. He or she is the go-between of the kitchen and the front of house. Sure, not all restaurants have an expo but for the ones that do the job is all the same. Get the right right food out to the right tables so that it looks good and it's hot. 

Sunday night I somehow defied the laws of physics when I was wiping off a plate to be sent out. The plate broke I saved the steak but when anything glass breaks around food it means the grub must be chucked. No one wants to run the risk of a bloody massacre. Picture a tiny bit of broken glass stuck in the food then tearing apart the diner's esophagus to that of ground beef. A highly unlikely scenario but you never know. In a circumstance like this, dropping food on the ground or breaking a plate, the kitchen has to remake the dish and sometimes the whole table. Almost always the server whose table has now been delayed gets pissed off and that generally effects how much I get tipped out at the end of the night. She was okay with the remake since her table really appreciated us not sending out a glass shard steak. 

I think that it was later on I told her to "shut up and get out of the kitchen if all you're gonna do is stand there and get in my way" that, let's call her Dumb-dumb, decided not to tip me out. Dumb-dumb is a prime example of what not to do as a server. I will get to some of her greater performances one of these days. 

I don't mind working expo as a favour every now and then but the problem is that in doing so, I am losing money. A night working in the kitchen means I don't make any tips other that when I get tipped out by the servers at the end of the night and those tips are definitely lacking. Between the nine servers working that night I made $8 as opposed to the $40 or so I would have made on a slow Sunday night. 

I don't mind working the occasional expo shift since it is a welcome break from being out front. I get to wear jeans and a hat, joke around with the line cooks and yell at people. I think I should be making more money an hour if I work an expo shift to compensate for what I'm not making out front.  

So in the interest of keeping track of my tips here are Sunday night and yesterday's stats:


(Sunday)

• hours worked 3.38   
• tips earnerd $8.10

(Monday)

• total sales $147
• tips earned $21.50
• hours worked 1.98
• tip out $4.41

We'll see how I do today. 

Day two.

I went grocery shopping today before work. I wish I would have had enough foresight to bring my reusable shopping bags with me because then at least I'd only buy as much stuff as I could fit in my bags rather than the 8 bags of food I ended up with. 


That was the last time I ever go shopping without a list but with only a wallet full of cash. I spent $70 from the $120 I started the out with this morning. 


Today was nowhere near as busy at yesterday:

• total sales $29.30
• tips earned $6.00

I had to tip out the kitchen $1. 

I've only got an hour to kill because I offered to start my dinner shift early. I'm hoping that if I'm not going to make any money from tips today, I might as well get the hours in. Yesterday I hit overtime and a repeat is the goal tonight. Fortunately, servers in Manitoba, and all over Canada for that matter, make minimum wage. Yesterday, minimum wage in Manitoba went from $9/hr to $9.50/hr. Somedays, including my tips, I make $25/hr. 

I doubt this will be the case tonight. I can already hear the speculation as to why (insert real name here) isn't busy. "The Bomber game is on tonight at nine, I bet a lot of people are staying home to watch it." 

Yeah right. 

Winnipeg Blue Bomber fans who are staying in to watch the game are for sure not the reason (insert real name here) will be dead. (Insert real name here) will be slow tonight because there is no way I'm gonna make sweet, sweet cash two nights in a a row. It never happens but it would be powerful awesome if it did. 

Go Blue Go. 

****Update****

Bombers lost. Boo. 

Day One.

Today, I officially started living off of my tips. 


I worked a split shift. The lunch shift, which for some reason I call a morning shift, started at 11:30 and lasted until 3:15. Rarely do I work past 2 on a lunch shift. Longer shifts mean more tables and more tables means more money for me:

• total sales $466.32
• tips $61

The evening portion of my shift started at 4:00. 


Tonight was one of those nights that being at work was a lot of fun. I had no problems with my tables, guests laughed at my jokes and when food went out late, as it tends to do when (insert real name here) gets busy, my tables understood and didn't get upset. I think I was as Zen as I could be considering that I was at work. 


When a table is pleasant to serve it makes my job easier. 


A good section is pivotal in having a good night, too. In my opinion, good section is close to the windows and had both booths and regular tables. 


A section is the area of tables in the restaurant a server is assigned to wait on. 


Of course I forgot to write down my total sales and tips I made but my guess is about $700-$750 and $80. 


I decided that I'd go an meet a pal from work at my neighbourhood bar. In oder to not blow 60  bucks on booze, I'm taking $20 for a couple of beers and the rest goes in the savings jar. I don't understand why, until now, I've never only brought out some cash rather than all the cash I had. Maybe I'd have more to show for my summer of non-stop working if I had used this method earlier. 


Only bring out some cash is also nifty device to help me snap out of patio season mentality and put me back into reality. I can't sleep away my mornings because I was out having dinner or drinks or dinner and drinks with friends like I did in the summer. Now I have to limit myself and --gasp-- budget. 


Tonight, the sky's the limit... up to $20. 

Tips earned: $140

Tips spent: $20

The Task

As my seven (going on eight) years of post secondary education comes to an end so begins the inevitable repayment of my student loans. Six months ago I started working at a restaurant and like most servers I know, I vowed to only live off of my tips while saving my paycheck. Believe it or not the cash in hand I left with everyday got spent as did my paycheck. 

It stops now. 

For the next six months, and perhaps for the first time in my life, I will live within my means. That is to say, I will live on the tips I make from the tables I serve everyday. 

I don't have any intention of revealing my name or the restaurant I work at. I think it goes without saying that if I did I might not have a job and that would defeat the purpose of this little experiment. I will, however, share the details of my experience in the Winnipeg restaurant industry and day-to-day struggle with living on a budget. 

Let me preface this all by saying being a server is great most of the time. To me it feels like a game. A table comes in, gets sat in your section and you spend the next hour or so molding their dining experience. The object of this aforementioned game is ultimately to meet, even exceed, expectations for that coveted 15% gratuity. 

Serving is unpredictable. Some nights you can work your ass off, have some laughs with a table, feel like you've truly earned your keep only to take a look at the Visa slip left on the table and realize those sonsofbitches left you $5 on a $200 bill. Other nights you can spill an entire tray of waters all over a family (which I've done... twice) out celebrating grandpa's 72nd birthday, consistently forget to bring out the glass of water Mom has asked for several times and feel as if you'll be lucky if they leave you anything. Then, as luck would have it, they leave you $20 on a $90 bill. 

To that I say, game on.