External Tell-All Links for ya

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... "Turns out this "blogging about restaurant work" is a niche that I am but one (new, minor, unknown) voice in..."

NOTE and DISCLAIMER : Most of the blogs I've found are full of hard-core, f-bomb cussing, and often mean-spirited rants about how many servers feel about those whom they wait on. Not for the timid, whether you don't like cussing, or just don't like finding how someone else whom you don't even really know feels about you. I haven't read the books below yet, so can't say one way or another.)

The original, mother of them all, is Waiter Rant. Now a book , the guy blogged anonymously as a NYC waiter for four years at what he called "The Bistro" before finally outing himself with the book. And the sequel. And the speaking engagements... go figure.

Also anonymous and quite popular and pretty witty from the few entries I've read, the blog The Bitchy Waiter serves up all that his choice of name promises, and pancakes too.

I Got Stiffed turns out, is a whole "open to the industry" collection of waiters ranting, with posts from all over. My first impression of this bunch? "Hey ingrates .. either grow up, get a job you love and move on with your lives, or just put the money in the bank and SHUT UP, willya?"

The apparently non-anonymous Manuel (accused of being British but is actually Irish) is an immature attention-seeker - according to his bio! - and authors Well Done Fillet - along with his missus! His blog has been mentioned positively by nearly every European newspaper and website that positively mentions such things.

Back to the book scene, Kitchen Confidential by a now very famous veteran chef, tells of the dark underbelly of restaurant life - the sex, drugs, rock-n-roll part of it all - that you either really do or really do not want to know about.

If I am going to choose just one of these books to read myself, it would be Waiting : True Confessions of a Waitress. Ginsberg I'd say "gets it" in a way that I can relate to. Like me, she "came of age" behind her apron, and seems to tell her secrets without griping all the way. Even after leaving serving after nearly 20 years for her publishing career, she returned to waiting tables. Like me, I suppose she's made peace with her lot in life, and more than any other "book description" I've noted in this field, she seems to have developed a sublime appreciation for her craft, for her co-workers, and for her customers that I might call inspirational. To me at least, and that's just from reading the reviews.

I might read it, but then, I don't really want whatever book I may one day write (about my experiences with this industry) to be a copy-cat knock-off either.

I'm not sure where I'm going with all of this exactly, of course, just glad to have "regulars" like you to share the trip with. Sure, eat and drink elsewhere, and if you like, read what others have to say. Professional courtesy demands that I inform you of them in fact.

Experience likewise tells me tho, that If I'm as good, better than, or offer something unique that my competition doesn't, then I know you'll be back.

86 Ruby

Whoa. I lost a co-worker last night. Canned. Fired. 86'd. Extended the left foot of fellowship...

Without too much detail, the two stories I heard first had to with him using a manger's computer code (which he should not have known - much less USED even if "okay, fine" he did know it) to either (a) cut a corner and save some time, or (b) use that same code to possibly steal from the restaurant.

Both are bad. Certain "improper procedures" can definitely get you in trouble, or perhaps fired. Cutting corners happens, but often backfires, I've found. And stealing.. well ... there exists an enormously tempting variety of ways to steal from most restaurants. The thing is, those above you have usually thought of them, personally done them, and/or seen them pulled a few times before you ever tried it, and are now watching for that clever idea you thought you alone figured out to be played out. Again. In short, any manager worth even half of his or her paycheck will eventually figure out what you're up to. And you will be 86'd as a result, every time.

I'm not even going to tell you that I've never stolen from an employer myself in fact. (Or stolen "back" I considered it, for a reason that I at the time felt was justified - perhaps I'll share such details another day.) But it was long ago, and I'm not proud of it either. I've also personally seen time and again that no matter how easy it seems to pocket a little extra cash at work... (a) that it will be found out if you do it with any regularity, and (b) that you always stand to earn more by keeping your job honestly, than you will ever be able to steal before you're found out.

I understand the temptation tho, and feel sorry for those that fall prey to it. And maybe just a tad more sorry for those that get caught.

Like Ruby (not his real name) for instance ... He's been here for years. Heck, the guy helped train me my first week here, and has additionally taught me quite a bit about our products. Whatever the truth of the matter is, I genuinely hope he lands on his feet. 

In honor of Ruby - who's most likely pounding the pavement visiting multiple area restaurants - I thought I'd likewise offer you some reading material (blogs) from servers at other restaurants too, coming up next time. 

Turns out this "blogging about restaurant work" is a niche that I am but one (new, minor, unknown) voice in....

Ladies Pt 2: Yes, this day actually can get worse

Thanks for coming back for Part 2! I had to eat something. 

You must stop here, and first read Part 1 of this if you haven't already, then come back, before proceeding.

My blog. I make the rules.

Please try to ignore the sexy girl on the left below, and read Part 1.

Not really them. Stole this from  http://theneonteaparty.blogspot.com/2010_05_01_archive.html

The ladies start showing up one or two at a time, which is always a pain, because you have to get drink orders, run back and forth, and maybe "spiel them" again and again. It's like being sat four tables sometimes, which would be okay, except that it's my turn in "rotation" again so I'm also being seated more people wayyyyy out on the patio by the time they all file in, and I am becoming busier than I like now (as far as being able to give good service to all, and stay on top of things). 

Oh, did I say they "all" filed in? That would be inaccurate, as only seven showed up, which means no automatic 18% tip. No biggie (I'm lying). It's seven women, which will most likely (and did) mean separate checks, and - while not trying to be stereo-typical or sexist - it's just a fact that you can ask any server about if you don't believe me.. but statistically speaking women typically tip less than men. Not all of course, I'm just speaking from long-term experience and a generally proven pattern. Again, ask any waiter you want to. No offense meant either! If you're a woman who knows the industry and tips 20%-ish, I'll bet you even know that you're "above the norm." And I'll bet that your servers typically love you and are SO glad to see you again...

What's worse or better (always hard to tell), these are apparently women with TONS of money. They all parked via Valet (which equals several trips for me, to validate them). Most of them have outfits that - even for lunch/day-time apparel - you'd likely compliment and possibly drool over, if you saw them yourself. Every co-worker who gets within 5 feet of the table comments to me on the various perfume odors that cannot be missed. I'm looking at a couple of the the rocks on their fingers and thinking "Wow... that's larger than my first apartment." And so on.

They're all seemingly ESL also (English as a 2nd Language). Columbian, South American, or just native Miami or even Orlando residents, I don't know.  But over the course of the day, a couple of jokes from my co-workers got dropped about the possible amount of drug money that was possibly represented at this table. Whatever. I'm new enough to Florida to not catch on to that line of "humor" or even appreciate it.

Adding to the above detail tho, it's a general fact that despite the amount of money at their disposal, white collar people almost always tip worse than blue-collar. So obviously, my financial hopes for this table and this day are falling fast. Which would be okay, that's just the business... Hey I'm still good (I'm lying again). 

So at this point, my only hope of making any money today remains completely dependent upon the size (as we say) or the "dollar amount" (for the rest of you) of their check(s).

Okay. Alright. So let's go, ladies.

"She and I-i-i-i-, are going to split the xyz salad. No blue cheese on hers, and put mine on the side. Extra for me tho. Put hers on the side for me in fact, hahahahaha!"

NEXT : "We want to split the abc soup."

"A bowl or a cup ma'am?"

"A bowl, but can you split that up for us?" 

"That would be two cups ma'am."

"But we want to split the $8.95 bowl, instead of paying for two cups. Can you do that for us sweetie?"

"No ma'am. Because of the portion size... A bowl is 10 ounces and a cup is 5.. so I have to order that as two cups." (I'm pretty sure about that anyways. Actually, I'm totally making it up, while trying to not let myself get irritated at how cheap they are. It sounds good anyways. I'm going to remain firm, and stick to this story.)

NEXT : "We want to split the mno sandwich. What can we get besides the cucumber thing that comes with it?" (Repeat long list of sides here.) "Okay, I'll have blankety blank" .. "And I want that other thing."

I am not making this up people. I have my order pad from today right in front of me as I type this, to make sure I am reporting this to you accurately and without exaggeration. I will produce it upon demand, if challenged. I'm leaving stuff out in fact, to keep this from being longer than it has to be. What they, and probably you, don't know, is how much time I'm going to have to spend at the computer typing all of these extra special instructions in. The Canadians at 107 are just going to have to wait awhile for me to get back to taking their order. Lucky for them, they've got appetizers coming.

NEXT : "I'll have the chicken sandwich."

Finally - a whole entree!!!

"But I have an allergy to eggs. Does the bun use any eggs in it?"

"Ummmm, I'm honestly not sure. But I will check for you before letting it be served, and leave it off, if so."

"Thank you! What about the sauce on the sandwich? 'Cos I can't eat that either if it has eggs in it."

You see to me allergen issues are of course serious. I mind having to go through this with her less than anything else I've been through with this group so far. Altho it's time-consuming, I am sympathetic, and of course don't want to kill the poor woman, by being lazy and not (first finding .... a task in itself sometimes... and then) checking with the kitchen manager before allowing her to eat anything that could make her sick. Or dead. Those kids on the patio who drained their sodas in about 45 seconds, are just going to have to wait a little bit longer for refills while I look into this.

NEXT : "I'll have the chicken sandwich too."

Wait for it...

Oh, silence? Clearing my throat now, "Any special instructions? 

"No."

If I had time, I would totally kiss her.

I don't, but typety-type-type away I go on the computer. Right about now the soups for a couple of them (that I didn't mention above) are coming out, and my co-worker Jake (not his real name, but one of my most and least favorite servers here whom you would already know much more about if I had begun this blog in December)) is bitc.... k'vetching at me for not having soup spoons on the table in time. He's right. Totally my bad. And I really don't want to hear it right now Jake, just shut up bring them the damn things will'ya I'm typing and busy and have to concentrate so I don't kill this lady OKAY?

Ok good, that's done. When I get back to them, it turns out the Canadian family knows exactly what they want, and orders extremely quickly, with absolutely no special instructions. I would like them, except for the fact that they're Canadian. Again not to be stereo-typical, but we American servers know too well that Canadians usually tip even worse than Europeans (a big ha ha, if you're a long-time reader of my blog).

I take soda refills to the kids/family on the patio, and in just the 30 seconds I think (wrongly) that I have to make small talk, I find out they're from Europe. 

I am not making this day up people.

WAIT! I've sincerely learned NOT to stereo-type in all the years I've been doing this and honestly, seriously, really I DO try to give the absolute best service I can to everybody and just let the money take care of itself. Really, that's me. 

Anyways, where I work, we have a food-runner or two scheduled EVERY shift (very different from most restaurants btw - he's one of the people I have to tip out every day in fact). 

He's been running food to my 7-top of ladies - and going back and forth a whole lot himself - and finally I get some sympathy. He says "These -expletive deleted- are asking me me for something else EVERY TIME I go by the table!!!" Yep. That's a fact. They are me too. "More of this..." "Another side of that." And my favorite.. "Can you take this away?" I've tried to remain quiet and calm about it all and just do my job without complaining, but this guy's young.. and now thanks to him word is spreading about about how high-maintenance these ladies actually are... My manager has I think quit judging me for the smaller screw-ups I made earlier, and at this point is both feeling sorry for, and laughing at me, at the same time.

Like any day, I've already got my next three steps (the things I need to be doing, and am kinda behind on today actually) planned out, but now one of them tells me that she needs to leave early, and would like her check. Now. Of course you do... About this time, the hostess (God bless her) tells me about a new table I have. I'm running back and forth for these ladies too much to be able to take the table honestly. Jake's right there as she tells me this. He's greedy - or needy, I'm not sure which. I ask him to take the table, and he does. 

Do you get this? This is my situation... I'm so busy with the tables I have that I know (believe) I'm not going to make much money off of, that when a new table ($$) comes in, I have to give it away.

Okay... she's paid and gone now. I'm nearing being caught up (altho both my tables and my co-workers might tell you differently, considering someone - I still don't know who - had to carry a Sangria out to the patio to the Canadians because I let it sit at the bar awhile, while running the credit card for the lady who had to leave early) .. I've cleared the plates, the silverware, and even the breadcrumbs for these ladies as best I can while they stay and talk .. and stay and chat .. and stay and gossip .. and just overall stay awhile when suddenly (!) about 30 minutes after not needing anything, they tell me that they want to see the deserts (Now) 'cos it's one girl's birthday.

Yeh.. I of course will, but that's gonna have to wait a few minutes, sorry.

Long story short (too late, I know) I spend a few minutes showing off our super-fabulous desert tray to them, and they choose the qrs (with a candle yes, but no, we don't sing happy birthday) and yup, five forks. Five people, wanting to split one piece of cake. Okay, whatever. It happens. Plus one fruit cup, for the one who has the egg allergy.

And then guess what else? TWENTY-FIVE YEARS in the food-service industry, and this is a first for me. These ladies ask me for .. six cups .. of ... Coffee?  No. 2 decafs, 1 coffee, 1 espresso and 2 cappuccinos? No. Which would take a lot of time, sure, but is really nothing new, I'd be okay with that (I'm lying again.)

But no. In addition to their desert order, they would like.. six cups ... of ... hot water. With lemons.

Really? No tea bags? No sugar? No.. just six cups of hot water. With lemon.

WHO DOES THAT? This will take me .. 2-3 minutes that I don't have right now to prepare, what with the saucers and spoons I know will be needed to just make it look right .. and makes me $0, percentage-wise. We can't charge for hot water, can we? Not that I would, but what are you even wanting six cups of hot water for? To add powdered Lipton's Cup-of-Soup to when I'm not looking?? (Hey, I've had it happen before.)

Six cups of hot water .. okay .. and I know I need to do this before the the desert makes it to the table.

Meanwhile, I've been seated again and long story short, Jake snakes it (meaning he greeted and took the table because I was taking too long to get there.. Again, I'd argue that in this case he was right to do so, for the sake of prompt guest service). But again, I just want you to keep in context that I've now lost another table and even more $$ on behalf of these ladies.

There's just no lie I can tell you that would cover up how I'm really feeling about all this now, is there? Even if I wanted to?

Back to the computer to order their desert. Back to the Europeans for another round of sodas for their kids. Back to the Canadians to clear out their plates, talk a sec, and get a to-go box and their check. Back to the kitchen to make.. six hot waters.With lemons.  The desert for the ladies gets taken out by the food runner, and the hostess comes to me (God bless her, yet again) to tell me that I've been seated again, BUT that she'll give it to another server if I'm too busy to take it right now (like I said, word about these ladies has spread).

I'm feeling kind of in limbo right now. I could take the table, or not. I'd give better service all around if not, but I'd look like a true slacker and a really weak server if I give away now a third table on what seems like to everybody else to be a slow lunch. Based on that alone, I should take it, really.

I look over to the table she's talking about, and it's a "Black-African-American-Negro-Whatever you need me to say" woman and her two small kids. The choice is easy. If I pass on this table, while completely justified because I'm "kind of" too busy for another table at the moment, I'll just look prejudiced. I walk up to them with all that I've got left to offer today, smile big and and welcome my new guests, stating that I'll be right with them. And I'm grateful that the hostess gave me the chance whether to choose this, or not, largely because I don't want to deal with the other servers accusing me of "passing this one" onto them.

Whatever.

Oh, and did I mention that the hostess is also black? She's at least half black anyways. Yeh, true story. How I handled this one could have serious long-term implications on how she feels about and treats me, for the rest of her/my time at this place together. Very good call on my part overall, I'd say.

Then Jake (of all the #$%&ing people) walks by me and says "Oh Guyyyyy..... Your girls need you again..." What now?????? I already put desert forks down .. and a spoon for the egg-allergen fruit cup lady.... "Why?" I ask. Extra plates maybe I'm thinking, but if so, why didn't you just take them to them for me dude? He just walks off laughing. Now what? Errgh!

Against my common sense, I go to see what they need. Another first...

"Can we get this cake cut up? We'd do it ourselves, but I it would look rather messy. Can we get this piece of cake cut into 5 separate plates?"

Okay that's it. I quit. I'm just going to walk straight out the door now, and jump off the nearest bridge. At least that's how I feel. For whatever variety of reasons, I don't. Instead, I pick it up, and finally go greet the lady and her kids who have been waiting.

She's super nice. After much deliberation and not a few questions later (with the cake still in my hand), she finally orders a Mai-Tai. I could've let it slide, but whatever else, I have to cover my ass, and I take the time to card her anyways. She digs it out. Virginia ID. 1977 huh? Whoa. Could've fooled me. 

Ring up her cocktail on the computer, then go back to the kitchen to ask them to cut the cake into 5 pieces, to much loudness.  I would have normally run away to anywhere else after asking this, but I had to make chocolate milk for the kids. Turns out, it's not just me. Nobody there has ever heard of such a request. If I weren't busy, I might've tried to just quietly do it myself, and been done with it. Based on past experience - assuming I'm here this long - I will not live this one down for 6 or 7 years. (I'm still "living one down" from my third week here in fact. Don't ask.) I will now also always be known as the guy who ordered a desert split into 5 pieces. Later this day in fact, I ordered a desert the normal way, and got asked sarcastically by the kitchen "... And just how many pieces do you want that split into?"

I gotta hand it to them, tho. If it were left to me, those five plates would have looked really, really messy. Will (yeh, his real name, giving him big props here) threw out the first desert, and took the time to make me five new thinly-sliced pieces of new qrs cake for these ladies, and gave all five of them a personal dollop of our made-from-scratch whipped cream as well. Whenever I got around to taking it out, it was a beautiful presentation, and all the annoyance aside, I was really proud of the final product. Gonna have to buy that guy a beer someday, now that I think about it.

So work politics aside .. The Europeans are gone now, leaving me a nice $9 on a $100 tab (rounded it to $110). The Canadians nicely surprise me, with 20% ($32 on $160ish). The other Canadians (I haven't even mentioned them here yet) don't surprise me, with a near perfect 10% ($6.60 on $66 and change) so it seems it's all coming down to my ladies now...

Interestingly, one of them takes charge of the whole table. She takes the check, and later hands me 5 cards and tells me exactly how much to put on each one, averaging the birthday girl's total into the five checks. Kind of a pain, yes, but I'm otherwise impressed with not only her take-charge attitude, but her math skills as well. Using a cell-phone calculator, she mathematically nailed it. Things are looking up, other than the fact that I now have to run 5 cards with different totals than the computer tells me that the 6 of them owe (a little over-ride action), while still taking care of the other table (Miss Virginia and her kids).

Miss Virginia by the way (buzzing from her Mai-Tai) right about this point needs some personal advice. Turns out she's experiencing this really strange sensation after a few days in Florida. She tells me her symptoms, and I confirm for her that "Yes" this sounds like "sunburn" to me. As a black woman, she's not used to this exact type of pain on her face, arms and shoulders.. No, not at all. I tell her all about Aloe (and give her directions to the local Wal-Green's) and about hot showers too - and the science behind why hot showers can help her, to boot.

Meanwhile, the other ladies can now see me paying more attention to this one woman than I am to all six of them combined (while they're waiting for their cards back from me, okay, yeh), and NOW a couple of them are acting ansty? After being here over 2 1/2 hours you suddenly have to leave?

So.. Kind of winding this down (not sure yet), I bet you're looking for the big happy surprise ending.. like where the take-charge girl slips me an extra $100, right? Or $50? Or even $20. Yeh, me too. Well, this is real-life. That didn't happen. She used the calculator to figure out 15%, and they all left me $3.63 on their vouchers. Nobody left behind a diamond ring or anything either.

For just a second, it's hard not to feel gypped. 15% is fine, but expectations can be a tricky thing sometimes. The day started with me "expecting" to make 18% from 8 people, which could have easily been a $300 check. 15% on about $130 is a far cry from that. But I'm too professional (and by that, I mean jaded) to let this bug me for long. I have to keep things in perspective. These ladies did not come to our restaurant to pay my bills. They apparently didn't come because they were hungry either! No, they came to celebrate their friend, and I can tell my inner dialogue monster that wants to rant about things to just shut up. I need to be grateful that I work at a place so nice, that women of this stature would choose to come here, and trust us with their special event. There's only a thousand other places in Orlando they could have chosen from, and they look like they could afford them all.

Another thing - the take charge lady? Maybe she knows her friends don't know how to tip, and maybe that's why she took charge of everything and told them how much to tip me - to make sure I was taken care of. I gotta consider that.

Anyways, when lunch slows down here, servers need to check with our manager for permission as to whether they can "go have a smoke" or "go ahead and order something to eat now?" They all knew what kind of day I'd had by then, and today I asked the manager, "Is it okay if I go have a nice cry now?"

I was just being funny tho. It's been twenty years or so since you people literally made me cry ... I mentioned that once already.

OKAY .... TO BE TRUE ... NO, this is not by any means a "typical day" for me. It was rather a-typical in fact, which is why I'm still here writing about it.

And you're still here reading about it?!? 

Wow, thanks. 

I don't need you to feel sorry for me or anything. It's the lifestyle I've apparently chosen, and what I've reported here is just ... what happens. I do want to thank you for hanging with me this long, and for hearing me out tho.

Okay, Miss Virginia, btw, left me ten bucks on thirty-something... well over 30%.. for those of you still looking for a happy ending.

Today was "a" day, and not unlike many others I've faced. And I'm still doing it.

And so are millions of other servers too.

If I could impart anything right now, it would be

Next time you go out to eat, don't forget to look at who - and what's - behind that plastic smile.

And have a great time too.

Y'all come back now, y'hear?

Ladies from HELL & The Worst Day EVER

"Can I get you anything ELSE?!?"

I am bordering dangerously closely today to crossing the line and breaking my own rule about not complaining about my customers in this blog.

In fact, several hours ago while living this situation (and yes, while kind of writing about it in my head... I do that a lot now), I had already decided that I WAS going to break this rule and just totally "Grrrrrr!" RANT ! Today (Real-time btw, not 3 months ago) was the kind of day that turns waiters into stress-buckets, alcoholics, people who are completely indifferent to your needs, and who are smart-alecks, a-holes and people-haters.

But I've chilled out since then. I'm off, have run some errands (the bank, post office, Wal-Mart) and am home now with the work-day hours behind me. I only want to share the story with you because the particular details are so unbelievable as to be laughable. Seriously, go ahead.. Relax, and get some laughs at my expense. This one's on me.

The FIRST irony is that I ended my last blog entry with how I couldn't wait to "show this place what I've got." In contrast, I can only hope that even the people who witnessed my job performance today (especially management) will soon forget about it. Because I totally sucked. I was two or three steps behind where I needed to be the whole afternoon. The Biblically-based phrase that "Pride comes before the fall" (more detail)  is quite applicable to me today, because apparently I needed a painful day like this to keep me humble.

The second irony is that early on, I was planning about maybe writing (if at all) about what a great day today was. I mean, I came in a few minutes before 10am, my other "opening" co-workers were likewise early or on-time for once and already setting up so I had an easy start. The kitchen manager asks "Are you hungry?" and points to the French Toast, eggs and bacon he's made for us today. Yes, I work somewhere that does that for us occasionally - twice a week, at least - they call it "family meal." So from all early indications I'm already thinking "Wow! Best day ever!"

It's been kind of slow lately, but I get the good news that I have an "8-top" (party of eight) reservation at Noon which is awesome, because here 8 or more means an automatic 18% gratuity is added to the check (which should be pretty big given that many people. And in case you didn't know.. I'm a waiter, which means that I live and pay my bills - or not - on a percentage of how much people actually eat and spend). So an 8-top reservation means that I'm looking to make quite a few bucks on this otherwise slow day.

Gee, could this day get ANY better?

The answer to that question would be "NO... No, it's only going to get worse from here."

Continued in Part 2 .. Probably tonight ..

If you haven't already, enter your e-mail to subscribe.

brb

Magical Movie Moment: "Are You A Bartender?"

You know how when you're watching a movie, and the character either sees something or just turns his or her head away.. and the the movie goes back several years to a "defining moment" of their life - a moment that is crucial for understanding who that person is?

I think we all have a few events just like this in our own lives, where something happened or something was spoken.. or we made a very specific choice that irrevocably caused our lives to go one way, and not another. 

I call these "Magical Movie Moments," and this is one such story...

1989, Nashville Tennessee. The restaurant was "Major Wallaby's." Because of some debt I'd accrued when I was young, dumb and full of bad ideas, I found myself working an exhausting schedule of two waiter jobs at the same time. And like most of us in the restaurant business do eventually, I was experiencing a phase of major burn-out, and was desperately needing some change in my life. I approached management at both jobs, requesting to be moved to a bartending position (a position usually highly coveted amongst young wait-staff, and hard to get into because of the comparatively low turnover rate, combined with the very few available positions). Without directly threatening to quit per se, I did tell both managers that I would go to work full-time at whichever job gave me a bar position.

Turned out, the Nashville Ruby Tuesday I was working days (lunches) at would be needing a bartender soon due to an upcoming busy season, and agreed to begin training me! A very corporate environment, I was soon enlisted into training alongside Sam, Kerry and Julie (the more experienced and currently full-time bartenders) and given a big fat training manual full of policies and procedures, along with page after page of recipes to learn, and a schedule detailing which written tests I would have to pass, and when. My daytime training shifts turned into standing at the "well" pouring water and juices into our jiggers for practice, while watching "the real bartenders" pour real drinks. Occasionally when a manger wasn't around, they'd even let me pour a real drink as well - albeit only when closely supervised.

I'm still working at the other place all the while this is happening. Like I said, I'm so burned out on waiting tables that I've requested to simply be allowed to "expo" on our busy Friday and Saturday nights. That's a shift where (at this place) you remain in the kitchen mostly, and receive plates of food from the cooks as they come up, placing them in specific order (according to where guests are seated) onto larger trays for the servers to run to their tables the moment all entrees are completely ready to go. It's stressful and extremely fast-paced yes, but you're not dealing personally with hungry weekend guests at all, which is what I most liked about, and needed from, the position at the time.

The Friday night started chugging along as usual, except that I kept hearing snippets about the bartender (Trey) being late, and things were getting busy up there. This is where the magical movie moment begins, btw.

Our floor manager comes into the kitchen on this busy Friday night and calls my name. "Guy" he asks "Are you a bartender?"

Thinking only about my other job, I tell him "Well, I haven't taken my final written tests yet, and I've not been allowed to..."

"GUY!" He snaps. "That's not what I'm asking you." He's standing not a foot away from me now, in his pressed pink shirt, trademark suspenders and bow-tie, looking me directly in the eye over his glasses. He repeats the question.

"I'm asking ARE.. YOU.. A BARTENDER?"

Oh. What he's really asking me sinks in. Ladies reading this likely won't get the significance of this moment so much. But I know my guy readers already do. For men, what we do for a living (what we produce) is very tied to our identities, and self-perception. From what I can tell, he has a pressing need, and I'm being offered a field promotion, IF I will rise to the challenge being presented this second only. Also, how we men respond to certain crisis situations, or how we perform and come through (or not) "in the clutch" resounds in our confidence levels and self-esteem for many years to come.

This is why 22 years later, this magical movie moment remains still so firmly etched in my soul, in such detail. 

To date, I'd never set foot behind this restaurant's bar. It wasn't permitted. To date, I'd never "solo'd" even a slow lunch shift as a bartender. My mettle has never been tested in this arena. Nonetheless, I have a male authority figure six inches now from my nose needing to know RIGHT NOW whether or not I am the answer to his immediate problem.

I still remember my spine straightening and my lungs and chest expanding before looking him directly back in the eye, completely understanding the question now, and answering him with an easy exhale. "Yes." I respond. "Yes, I am a bartender."

He smiles and says "Then get up there. Trey's a no-show. We need you."

It would be fair to say that I was too "in the moment" to give you an honest evaluation of how I did that night. I can only honestly tell you that I walked up there not knowing where a single bottle was or how to use the bar's computer, AND that I worked my ass off non-stop for the next four hours. But Trey was fired for not showing up that Friday night, and just like that Major Wallaby's offered me a big fat raise to go full-time there. 

And well, while I hated to do it to them (they'd been SO nice) .. "Good-Bye Ruby Tuesday."

So what makes me think, or write of this now, you might perhaps be wondering? Or not.

Present day again. I'm standing at the bar the other day, for what is fast becoming to me an increasingly inordinate amount of time to have to wait for a couple of drinks for my table.

My co-worker (stuck in the same situation) turns to me and asks "You used to be a bartender, right? Why don't you just go back there and make them yourself?"

I turn to her, thinking privately to myself "USED TO BE???" and somewhere between blithely and condescendingly (altho I truly meant neither) I reply

"I *am* a bartender. Bartending's not something you do. It's either something you are, or something you're not."

A slow smile spreads across her lips. She's been in this business a long time herself, and she slowly nods, acknowledging that I'm right. I can tell - altho she's never personally seen me bartend - that my over-confidence and easy answer tells her beyond any shadow of doubt, that I am one. Her eyes are still asking me to go make her drinks for her, in fact. But it's not allowed.

Instead, I wait patiently for my drinks... and for my chance to show this place just exactly what I've got.

I don't know what to call this one

Here's the originally intended first part of my previous blog entry "Training Day." Once again, I had to cut it, because it was too long...

In fiction writing (novels, movies, etc) there's this phrase "Willing Suspension of Disbelief." 

Maybe you've heard of it, maybe you haven't, but it's a philosophy you subscribe to, whether you know it or not.

It's the subconscious price of admission you routinely pay to almost every story, by turning off the part your brain that would normally make you say "No wayyyyyy!" and thus, not be able to enjoy the story. 

Willing suspension of disbelief means that you're okay getting into a story where - for example - a simple pair of glasses can completely disguise a guy to the whole world from being easily recognized as his alter-ego - even by the female reporter who has kissed both the public figure and the "secret identity" many times over during the history of the series. 


To enjoy the story, you willingly suspend your natural inclination to dis-believe that such a "plot device" is remotely possible. I.E., you DON'T reflexively say "I call bulls---!" every time Gilligan wears the same clean outfit on every episode, or even notice that Bart and Maggie Simpson haven't aged in twenty years. You do it all the time really - like when you're watching a movie where chipmunks or vegetables talk, or when you agree that space travel is even possible (nyuk, nyuk), for the sake of the story.

Hope you don't mind, but I'm going to ask you to give me "just a smidgeon" of that kind of love in this blog as well. 

Not that I'm making things up of course, but it's just that I have a mental backlog of stories from my new job, where it seems that in playing around with the narrative in my mind, I've found I don't want to waste a lot of time saying "Okay, this happened to me 3 months ago, when...." Rather, since they're all so recent, I'm going to share a few stories over the early course of this blog as if they just happened to me. Like I did previously, with Training Day. But only those stories relating to my present job .. none of these will be more than 3 or 4 months old - okay?

Maybe I'm weird, but I'd feel guilty not disclosing this to you.


Okay, thanks. Here's a quickie example, which would probably fit in the "Bleep My Waiter says" department:


I'm waiting on these two older (than I) ladies from somewhere up north today on the patio. Whatever it is, they're totally digging me. Whether it's my charm, good looks, or just that they're IN FLORIDA (!!!) sipping on the high-end $15(!) margaritas I recommended, I don't know. But we're really "vibing" well. I'm in one of those very rare table-side moments where it seems I really can say or do nothing wrong.


They're splitting an appetizer, and get down to the last piece of "flat-bread" (a product that helps otherwise normal people enjoy consuming raw tuna). They go to break it in half, in a way that reminds me of breaking a Thanksgiving turkey wishbone. Just as they're breaking it, I reflexively say "Make a wish...!"


They snap it in two, and I look at the one that has the larger piece. I don't know where it came from, but I just randomly (like I used to do years ago, without much thought of the consequences of what I say) announce to her, "Nope. I'm still married."


They fall out laughing. I realize what I've said, get a grip on the fact that they love me for it, and silently thank God that I still have a job.


One says, "You are totally on your game today, aren't you?"


"She's right," I think to myself...


It's true. I'm in Florida, working on the patio, getting sun and laughs and making money too. There's just something about working here that brings out reserves I either never knew I had, or that I have somehow forgotten.


While I sorely miss bartending, for now, this waiting tables job is good for me.


I push my glasses a little further up my nose, and hope that nobody recognizes me.

Training Day

10:00 am - I'm here to report for my first day of training as a new server.

Typically, restaurant training as a server is fairly monotanous, and especially so if you've already been a waiter somewhere else. While I understand the need to cover all bases with new hires, one place I worked, the training consisted of 5 days of the manger reading the ENTIRE manual aloud to us, before we were ever allowed to wait on a table!

"This is the history of our restaurant... These are the presidents and officers of our corporation... Your uniform consists of the following ten items... Guests must be greeted within 2 minutes of being seated... Any guest appearing under the age of 30 must show valid ID for alcohol purchases... Serving alcohol to minors can land you and the establishment into trouble and will result in immediate termination... You must offer 2 specific appetizers by name before proceeding to the dinner order... Salads must be brought half-way through the appetizer... Never argue with a guest, but go get a manager immediately if any problems arise... Desert menu must be placed on the table immediately when clearing the last entree ... blah blah blah blah blah blah blah" -- complete with written tests on ALL of the above, and so much more.

However, it took awhile to sink in for me how many ways this place is really like no other I've ever worked. That's true in lots of ways, really, but ONE (as I've shared here before) is that we don't hire people who don't have a lot of serving experience already. In fact when I interviewed (and this was music to my ears after being told "Not hiring" so many times after moving here to Orlando) the manager literally said to me "Actually we're not hiring, but I'd be stupid not to hire someone with your experience and personality..." Wowsers, I needed that then, pretty badly. So that's how this place rolls. I did not realize however, WHAT a difference this would make in the training process...

So I'm introduced to my trainer, Bo (not his real name) who's been there several years. Bo looks a little sleepy actually, is looking around for a coffee cup, and had not yet been informed that he'd been "assigned a trainee" today. "OH. JOY..." just oozes out of his eyeballs as he sizes me up. (I've trained before, many times. We all hate it. I understand that he's less than glad to meet me at the moment. Really, I do.) The news wears off and he says "Okay, well..." and points, telling me to "Set up the beverage station while I ..."

Wait a minute. Did he not hear me right? I politely squeak out that this is my *first* day here .. thinking that maybe he needs to show me some stuff (!) rather than just telling me to start setting up a restaurant I've just walked into for the first time - while he goes and drinks coffee and works on whatever? Hellll-oohh??

And then I get the wake-up call. He looks at me completely non-plussed, and says "You would not have been hired here, if you did not already know how to set up a beverage station."

Light-bulb. I'm starting to get this place now, and answer him mostly confidently, with maybe just a slight question mark in my voice "Make coffee and tea, fill up the ice bin, put the soda machine together annnd .. cut lemons?"

"And oranges..." he replies "We also serve a flavored tea that gets an orange." And with that little reality check out of the way, he begins showing me around the place, for reals. Just now with the understanding that he will not be holding my hand through the experience.

(Bo's gay by the way, and doesn't mind me saying so here. It doesn't take long to figure out anyways. He's not a flamer tho, more of a manly macho type that doesn't have many gay friends (he's since told me) and that all the girls at work are still crazy about anyways. I only even mention it to ask you now to re-read what I said above, but now add just a touch of fag to the voice and inflection ... "He looks at me completely non-plussed, and says "You would not have been hired here, if you did not already know how to set up a beverage station."" Makes a little difference in the telling, huh?)

Bo even had me "splitting" a table of 17 with him my very first night, telling me to take food and drink orders, and ring them into the computer - before ever being tested on the menu. I'm thinking "Okayy... I just hope they don't have any questions..." They didn't. They hardly spoke English in fact, so it was cool. And it's not like Bo wasn't there with me the whole time, either. The point is, here you kind of get "just thrown in" and are expected to start swimming, so they can see what you've got. The "lifeguard" (trainer) is apparently there more for the customers' sake, than he is for mine. If I sink, his job is to rescue the customers from the clueless trainee.

The whole vibe of this place is very affirming however. I'm treated like an adult and a professional, with some trust that I'm either experienced enough already to know the right thing to do, or smart enough to ask the right questions. The clear message conveyed is that I've "already proven myself" to the staff and management, the trick from here is not to blow it. Professionalism clearly abounds (down to sweeping bread crumbs off the tables and neatly re-folding guests' napkins if they leave the table for any reason, I learn) but they're not interested in micro-managing or nit-picking my every move, either, which is quite refreshing.

After all the years I've worked for large corporations (Ruby Tuesday, Olive Garden, The Melting Pot, and of course Cattle Baron for 11 years - and this IS a huge corporation btw - just different from others in so many ways) that after this first day of training I actually came home and told my wife:

"Man, I need to RELAX! I am way too uptight for this place!"


I'm reminded of the Billy Joel song lyric "You can't dress trashy 'til you spend a lot of money" .. Maybe in this industry, you can't relax until you've worked your butt off. I've paid some serious restaurant dues in my day tho, and I realize I was hired mainly because of who I am, and that I am already considered an asset to the company, rather than being hired because they were short-handed and going to hire whoever walked in next.

It's a nice feeling, really.


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