I split my pants at work, which was funny for two reasons:
Pants splitting at work is just inherently funny
I was working a split shift
While I recognized the hilarity of the situation I was still bummed out because I felt a little bad about myself. It’s the same feeling you got when you wet your pants in Kindergarten. Remember peeing your pants in Kindergarten? ...me neither.
I felt what I can only imagine Janet Jackson felt like because of her “wardrobe malfunction” during Super Bowl XXXVIII? (I don’t know Roman numerals well but I sincerely doubt anyone will call me out on it.)
Is the Janet Jackson clip still on the internet? I feel like it isn’t but I’m for sure gonna Google it.
Boom!
The Gods of Youtube are smiling down on this worldwide scandal reference and have pulled through, yet again, and why wouldn’t they?
If "pwned" is considered a word then it is only approprite that there still be digital documentation that Janet Jackson rocked a boob on stage during the 2004 Superbowl. I don’t make the rules, I just state the facts.
I suppose there are worse things to fear as far as the English language is concerned. What if emoticons: :) become a part of the hand-written word?
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:
It let's them know I'm a "starving student" and, hopefully, makes me a bigger tip
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.
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."
Hours in a restaurant are unpredictable. I can't make definite plans to go out to a movie because I never know what time I'll get out. Tonight I closed the restaurant. Close shifts usually go to the servers who have worked at (insert real name here) the longest. It's a seniority thing. I'm lucky enough that my front of hour manager throws me a bone every so often and schedules me to close.
My last table left at 9:30 and the other close server still had a few so once I was finished with all of my chores: rolling cutlery, wiping down the counters, wrapping up the expo station (putting away sauces, garnishes, etc) I was able to pose out and go to the movies. It was cheapie night which makes getting out of work in time to catch a flick even more powerful awesome.
I saw Jackass 3D. Technically my first 3D movie, aside from Hubble at the IMAX, which I fell asleep at, and a sweet lazer show at Science World in Vancouver. I've got to be the only person I know who hasn't seen Avitar. I've already seen Fern Gully and that was enough of an emotional rollercoaster when I was a child I don't need to see the grownup version in three dimensions. Not interested.
Jackass 3D was alright. I would have felt the same way if it wasn't in 3D. I don't really care much for the technology to be honest. It was unnecessary for this movie. I think I'm getting too old for the antics of Jackass too. I almost threw up 4 or 5 times, a sure sign that I am growing weary in my old age. Steve-O looked pretty haggard too. Now that he's off dope and booze getting tossed around my a ram or drinking someone's sweat don't seem like great ideas anymore.
Sometimes I forget when I work I am being paid an hourly wage. It can get frustrating not working the money making shifts, say for instance, a Friday night. I try to work as much as I can. I tell the other servers that if they need to get rid of a shift I will take it. The point of this game I'm playing is to make as much money as I can, clearly, the only way to do that is to work all the time.
I offered my serving services to no avail but that didn't mean I wasn't needed in the kitchen as an expeditor. Tonight I was the Expo, the person as I've mention before, who organizes the orders for each table. It was a shit show tonight. There is no other way to explain the anarchy that took place at (insert real name here) this very eve. A shit show.
On a side note, my mom told me I should stop swearing when I write. The rule of thumb is that the only time swearing is appropriate is when you stub your toe. My mom hates swearing. I told her I have to swear in lieu of discussing my intervenes drug use and unprotected sex. She didn't think that was funny.
When I work expo I don't care if I hurt someone's feelings. I don't care if someone thinks I'm rude. My job is to make sure people get to eat what they ordered, how they ordered it, as fast as I can. When a person comes to (insert real name here) there is no excuse for their food to arrive at the table, cold, with the wrong side, 50 minutes after ordering. Sad thing is, that is exactly what happening tonight. As a server working the expo station I can empathize with both the kitchen and the servers. Keeping tables full of hungry strangers happy when their food is taking almost an hour to get to them is exhausting. How difficult is it to make a damn chicken caesar salad? But at the same time, I feel for the cooks that are getting dozens and dozens of orders thrust upon them all at once.
It's on the cusp of a no win situation when a restaurant gets slammed. I say the cusp because there is in fact a winner in this scenario. The winner is the customer. Most times, a manager will comp the food. A comp is when food is taken care of on a bill. That is to say, the customer eats for free. If food isn't comped then a discount or perhaps a hefty gift certificate is given out to compensate for the ridiculous wait time.
Restaurants want your business. If your food comes out wrong or cold or late say something when the manager or supervisor visits your table. If you have a legit complaint you may be able to score yourself some free goods. What's the worst thing that could happen? You get an apology? Just remember the Golden Rule: treat others as you would have them treat you. Be polite.
Three consecutive hours of getting slammed has earned me an adult beverage.
On Wednesdays I have class in the afternoon. I normally don't get scheduled at (insert real name here) so I consider it my pseudo day off.
On days like these I try to get some work done, key word being "try". By work I mean cleaning my apartment.
Keeping my apartment clean is one of the most difficult things for me to do. I am a secret lazy person. I am so effin' lazy.
Cleaning for me is like going to the gym. I know it's good for me but I'd rather watch four episodes of Teen Mom then feel bad about myself after.
I spend too much waiting for my life to start. I used to have such high hopes for myself but those aspirations have since faded away and I only have my laziness to blame for that. It's like I blinked and boom! (Insert my name here)! This is your life. I'm 26 years old, still not finished University/College and I feel stuck on a treadmill (my least favourite of all the cadio equipment). It isn't the worst feeling, I'm sure but it blows. I'm constantly thinking "tomorrow is another day, things will be different by then".
Whoa... heavy right?
I'm putting my foot down today. I will clean and do laundry. I will not rest on my tail only to neglect my personal responsibilities for terrible MTV reality programming.
Step one: sign up for laundry time
Each floor in my building has a laundry room. A FREE laundry room. This fine feature adds to the overall coolness of my apartment. There is a schedule posted on the wall that allots for each suite to have a guaranteed 4-hour slot to do laundry. I've been here since May 2009 and I just signed up for Wednesday evening from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. I use Gain because Gain smell is the best smell of all laundry soap smells.
I usually stick to smells that fall in the Gain Laundry Detergent category. Rainshower, clean linen... those are the air freshener smells I like. Country Apple, Lavender Breeze... gross. Same rule applies with the tree-shaped car fresheners: new car scent is the ultimate car freshener. I used to stick the tree in the car vents when I drove my mom's car around so she couldn't smell the cigarette smoke. But she knew... oh she knew.
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.
The type of people that eat at (insert real name here) are a mixed bag. We get people from all walks of life including a lot of seniors.
Seniors love (insert real name here) and the 10% discount we offer them. And I love seniors, most of the time.
I know when I have a table of blue hairs there is a good chance I won't be making much money but the majority of the time seniors are the best tables to serve. It doesn't take much to make them happy and more often than not seniors are up for a laugh.
There's a old gal that comes in a few times a week. She normally gets booze of some sort then something for dinner. The bill is never more that $15 (after her seniors discount) and generally she leaves a looney on the table. I have served her several times and senility has made her, some might say, bat shit crazy but she's just happy to have someone to talk to I think.
9 times out of 10 seniors will order water with a particular menu item, that if I were to be more specific, the secret identity of (insert real name here) wouldn't be much of a secret.
When a seniors walk through the door they know just as well as I do what's for lunch and/or dinner. The consistency makes my job easier.
This isn't to say that there's not the occasional old bag or grumpy old asshole who can suck the joy out of the room for the hour they park themselves and their walkers at one of my tables but that can be said about anyone, regardless the age.
