I quit!

I finally did it.

I quit.

I didn't do it in the way I imagined though. I always dreamed it would be a little more like this:

Joanna Quits With Flair
Office Space — MOVIECLIPS.com

I was far more mild mannered, unfortunately.

I just couldn't take it anymore. The hours were sucking my will to live, the demands were outrageous, my body was constantly sore - I felt like I was suffering from some sort of shell shock. There was always an issue when I needed a day off, I could never call in sick (even with a fever), and I feared for my life if I got stuck in traffic on my way to work because if I was a minute late I would be fired. One time I took a 15 minute long video on my phone to prove I was in gridlock traffic so I wouldn't get in trouble.

The straw that broke the camel's back was Easter Sunday. I never requested off on holidays, I worked Fourth of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving Eve, Christmas Eve, New Year's Eve, President's Day, Super Bowl, St. Patrick's Day... I requested off on Easter. EASTER!!! Who really cares about having off on Easter? 

Well apparently a few people because I couldn't have the day off. They scheduled me to open the restaurant after closing the night before (I got home at 3am and needed to be back by 10am). By the time dinner with my family rolled around, I could barely keep my eyes opened at the table.

I get home later that night and check my schedule. I requested off the next Saturday because I needed to visit my aunt who was just diagnosed with early stages of Alzheimer's. They gave me Saturday off, but scheduled me for a double on Friday (without asking AND I would have a 2 hour break in between my afternoon and evening shifts AND i was closing so I would be there from 12pm - 3am) and put me on for Tuesday night which was not even in my availability because of school. I started to have a meltdown.

The next morning (Monday) I woke up, typed up my resume and proceeded to call places that were nothing like restaurants: gyms, health centers, yoga studios etc. I sent my resume to one yoga studio in particular that was hiring. 

I headed into work that night with a knot in my stomach. I did not want to be there ever again.

Who would've known that would be my last shift? The next day (Tuesday) I arranged an interview at the Yoga Studio, got a fantastic position, drove straight to the restaurant and told them I would not be working that weekend. I found and new job and would be starting immediately.

:)

Waiting

Waiting has to be the funniest movie about serving of all time.

Whenever I tell someone that I work in a restaurant they ask if it's like the movie.

In short, it's not. I've never seen anyone I've worked rub a guest's food all over his genitals... but I'm sure we've all fantasized about it.

I used to have this regular guest who would order chicken wings for take out. For some reason she hated me. I did my job better than anyone I worked with at the time, but in her eyes I was incompetent, rude, and slow. Could not be further from the truth. This was when I first started working in the food industry and actually tried to make people happy (eventually I realized people are miserable and I was setting myself up for failure). 

One day she ordered her usual chicken wings, dry, extra well done, no celery or blue cheese, and apparently I left her food sitting so long the wings got cold. (No, I didn't. She didn't wait at all). She proceeded to scream at me for, no exaggeration, 10 minutes. All I did was stand there and apologize to her profusely (for what? I don't know). This all took place in front of surveillance cameras, so everyone in the kitchen was watching a laughing.

This woman continued to order her wings to go, but never wanted to order from me. One day I was in the kitchen packing it up, and just as the thought of contaminating her food crossed my mind, a coworker came to the back and said "Donna requested that you not touch her food."

Lucky her.

Take your rules and shove em!

I just read an article published by the New York Times, Readers Offer Their Own Restaurant Rules that made my blood boil. I have a few things to say back to these readers:

Never, ever serve food over a baby/child. If you scald a newborn, there’s a chance the father will take your life. — Peter

Well, Peter, if you’re such a concerned daddy, get your child out of the way! This is a restaurant, not a playground. There are hot dishes and obviously if your brat got in my way and I accidentally spilled somethin, this is your fault for not having better control over him.

Look at the name on the credit card. When I’m using my card and the check goes back to my husband, guess how generous I am with the tip! — M. J.

M.J., you’re a psycho. What is the difference? Is he so incompetent that he not only couldn’t pay the check, but he can’t pass it over to you?

Do not spontaneously suggest a wine choice. Do not assume a 27-year-old doesn’t know anything about wine. Do not automatically recommend the most expensive, or nearly most expensive, wine. — D

Well, D, if you know so much about wine, don’t ask for my suggestion!

WAIT STAFF PLEASE DON’T EVER EXTEND A HAND FOR A HANDSHAKE!! This falls under the category of never touch a customer but this issue needs to be specifically addressed. It suggests a level of familiarity that is inappropriate and I have zero interest in touching the hand that is exposed to all of the dirt, germs and yuckiness of dirty plates, food etc. — Michael

Michael, I don’t know how else to say this: You’re an asshole! Servers are people too, and if our hands are good enough to serve your food then I promise you won’t catch cooties from us. Don’t worry I don’t want to touch your disgusting hand anyway, you sorry excuse for a human being.

Don’t take the final sales slip or payment before the guests leave. I find it outraging when a server takes the completed bill (showing my tip) before I’ve left. — Keith T.

Keith, if this is happening you probably should have left 30 minutes ago. And you’re probably so outraged because YOU’RE CHEAP.

NEVER, NEVER approach a table carrying dirty dishes from another table. — Tammi

Well then, Tammi, stop bitching about how you’ve been sitting for a whole 5 minutes and haven’t seen your waitress yet and maybe we wouldn’t have to go to such extremes.

Have no television, or always have seating nowhere within view or earshot of one. Not everyone  cares about “the game.” — Brad Willett

Well, uh, don’t eat at a sports bar!

My biggest pet peeve of eating out — when the waiter asks you how everything is while your mouth is full. How can you possibly answer?! I can’t help but think they do it on purpose. — ECA

Oh yea, I sat across the room and watched you take a mouthful before I came over to do my job.

And please don’t say, “Are we ready to order?” I didn’t invite you to eat with us. Also, please don’t squat down to take our order. If you wanted to be a baseball catcher, you are in the wrong business.  — Trudy R.

I guess your name is Trudy cuz you’re oh so RUDE-Y. And by the way, your server doesn’t want to squat down to take your order and see your ugly face at eye level; management makes us do this at certain food chains.

As always, people are outrageous.

Waiter Rant

When I decided on a blog topic, I thought my idea of talking about my experiences as a server was so original. Well apparently it was not.

Waiter Rant, a blog turned book caught my attention when I was telling one of my sever buddies about my newest creation.

One entry that really struck a chord with me was 50 Signs You’re Working in a Bad Restaurant. These are some that I’ve personally experienced:

2) You start working Friday and Saturday nights the first week. (That’s because waiters quit with alarming regularity.): Weekends are a privilege since this is when servers make the most money. But it’s so true, when you work at a terrible establishment, they are in dire need of bodies on the floor. This often causes more harm than good. They don’t know what they’re doing so they get in the way of the experienced servers, they make mistakes causing the restaurant sales to suffer and making for many disgruntled patrons.

9) The employee bathroom is so gross it would just be better to just have a hole in the ground: I worked in one restaurant where the employee toilets were so bad, several times throughout the day I took the risk of getting fired to use the guest bathroom.

11) The owner’s banging the hostesses. (How déclassé): Maybe not the owner in this case, but our assistant manager (in his late 20s and married with three kids) constantly flirted and sexually harassed the 16 year olds working at the front desk. Truly disgusting.

13) Employees threaten each other with physical violence: Serving really gets to people. You can be the nicest person in the world when you start, and turn into a misanthrope over the course of a night. Your coworkers essentially become like family to you, so they get on your nerves just as much as your family does.

15) Owner, GM, or chef screams at employees ALL THE TIME: Our GM once flipped an entire tray of food over because he was so pissed at his employees.

16) Owner, GM, or chef makes fun of a staff person’s significant others: This one drove me crazy! I actually worked with my boyfriend so it made it 10 times worse. The manager once called my boyfriend “impotent.” The result was not pretty.

17) If a waiter makes a mistake the kitchen staff would rather go on a power trip and watch the server squirm instead of fixing the problem. Of course, the customer suffers: Story of my life. This happened to me on a weekly basis.

19) You start drinking more: I noticed that a lot of the people I worked with went out to the local pub for drinks after work – every night. I joined them only occasionally. Shockingly the people who went drinking nightly seemed a lot less stressed during the shift. In the case of waiting tables, drinking is the answer.

25) There aren’t enough teaspoons so you hoard them in your apron so you’ll have enough to do dessert service: I gave up on this and started using tablespoons.

31) Management tells you to work sick. (Good evening, I’m Typhoid Mary and I’ll be your waitress tonight): See previous post, “Managers.”

50) Waiters tender their resignations by screaming “Fuck this place!” in the middle of the dining room floor on Saturday night. Classy. Could be me real soon: I’ve seen it a million times, and I have to say when you watch someone else do it, you feel empowered.

Men, please stop hitting on your waitress.

A few weeks ago I had a 70 year old grandpa grabbing at me, telling me how beautiful I am, and asking me if the women in the restaurant would like to be with an old man like him. NO, they would not.

Then he starts using his poor little grandson in his advances: “Oh little Johnny thinks you’re so pretty, don’t you Johnny?”

I read this pathetic article on AskMen about How to Date the Waitress where the author touts about how many servers and bartenders he’s dated.

Give me a break. I don’t care how much you think you know about “cracking the restaurant code,” I always find men who hit on me while I’m at work to be sleazeballs.

The best is when a guy barely tips you and then leaves his number and a little love note. Not to sound like a prostitute, but you definitely didn’t pay enough for this, buddy!

Guys need to realize that I basically get paid to be nice to them. And, if I play my cards right, I get paid extra to be extra nice. Of course I’m going to laugh at your jokes, even if they suck. Since men are stupid, they assume this niceness equates interest. So they continue to hit on the waitress, and unfortunately the waitress is obligated to play along because her job is hospitality, not reality.

Belligerent

A few weekends ago I was going about my usually business when a rowdy group of four sat at one of my tables…. Correction, a group of four with one rowdy member.

It was a Saturday night, so the restaurant was packed, as usual. I would say we were on an hour wait, at least. Oftentimes when patrons have to wait for a table, they start by having a few drinks at the bar.

The gentleman at the table ordered our 32oz glass of Yuengling, and one for his buddy as well.  The guy just seemed boisterous by nature but the women they were with were very quiet, and preoccupied with the infant they brought along with them.

I left the table to put the drink orders in, and returned to get their appetizer order. I was greeted by “Where the F*ck is my beer?” I explained to him the bar was very busy, but the bartenders were working on it. He proceeded to ask me again, to which I gave the same response.

I came back to the table to drop off plates for the appetizers. Now, granted the drinks were taking a little longer than usual because of how crowded the restaurant was, but it couldn’t have been longer than 10 minutes. He curses me out once more, tells me to get his beer, and I snapped.

I said, “Sir, you see those people behind the bar? Those are bartenders. Notice: I’m not standing there. I’m standing here. I don’t pour the beers. They do! I can’t get your beer but I bet they’re working on it right now.”

“Well I hope the food comes quicker than the f*cking drinks,” he retorted.

I recently read a story about a waitress who was assaulted by a Maryland state trooper in a similar situation.

According to the waitress, the trooper first complained that his food took too long to arrive, and was then angry that his chicken tenders seemed undercooked. Finally, when he felt that the waitress took too long to pick up his check for processing, he allegedly hit her in the arm with the check presenter.

People take dining out way too seriously!

My wonderful guest continued to make inappropriate comments throughout his meal. I just shrugged it off and avoided the table. Then it all came together in the end. He must have enjoyed one too many at the bar because when he took a sip of his drink a completely missed his mouth.

He was a drunk, belligerent mess.

Managers

I've noticed a trend in managers of restaurants -- they are idiots.

I've been super sick since Friday. My voice is practically non-existent, my body is aching, and I'm really, really tired. I was scheduled for a double on Saturday but there was no way I was going to make it through. I called out for the morning half of the shift to which my manager reluctantly obliged (he probably only said yes because the sound of my voice scared him).

I showed up to the evening shift looking like the walking dead. I'm sure any guest sitting at my tables wished they could have any other server than queen of the snot. And I mean... I really couldn't blame them. I wouldn't want some sick little twit breathing all over my food either. I begged for them to send me home. I clearly wasn't faking it; I was visibly and audibly ill. They would not. 

I'm not sure what I did to warrant such torture, but I stuck it out. Not only is forcing me to work bad for my health, but it's bad for the restaurant's health is several ways.

1- I'm spreading my germs around to my coworkers who will later need to call out.
2- I'm spreading my germs around to guests and
3- a mopey, drippy looking server isn't exactly representing your restaurant in the best light. People are going to think it's a dirty place. We all know dirty and food do not mix.

I decided before I left on Saturday night that there was no way I would be showing up on Sunday. I called to let my manager know I wouldn't be there and I could not believe the hard time he gave me. He told me I could not call out unless I found someone to pick up my shift. I can barely muster up enough voice to speak to him, but  now I have to call half the staff to see if they'll work for me. Ok. I can actually live with that. I called everyone and, of course, they could either not work or didn't answer. I call him back and tell him to which he responded "Ok well take 2 tylenol, gargle with some salt water and get your ass in here." IDIOT!! I am not coming in! 

Then... are you ready for this? He says the most unprofessional, out-of-line thing... I seriously thought I was hearing things. "Well maybe if you weren't out all week drinking you would be able to come in for your shifts."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't drink. And even if I did, I didn't know laryngitis was the sign of a hangover - oh wait, because it's not, IDIOT!

This is just the tip of the iceberg of the stupidity that is restaurant management.

I actually heard one story of a girl getting fired for writing about her job on facebook. It's actually pretty funny.

I guess we know why I'll never be sharing my name on here ;)

The Camper and The Drowner

When serving, you meet so many different types of people but there are two that I run into frequently that I could definitely do without...

The Camper

Servers refer to people who sit at their tables for an extended period of time as campers. You serve them drinks, appetizers, entrees, desserts, and after about an hour of serving them, you drop the check off. The camper pays, but two hours later is still sitting at your table.

In busy restaurants, most servers get a 3 or 4 table section. Friday night I had a 4 table section. At one of my tables sat a party of 4 very self-involved guests. These people barely wanted to engage in conversation long enough for me to take their order. Every time I checked on them I felt like I was a bother [makes me wonder why you came to a restaurant if you didn’t want your waitress to do her job]. After they seemingly wrap up with dessert, I ask if they would like the check to which they respond, “You can bring the check, but we’ll be sitting here for a while.”  They wound up sitting at my table for 3 hours, which is practically half of the night.

What gets me about campers is that they don’t understand the economics behind serving tables. They will sit at your table forever and a day and still tip based off the check total. Campers never realize that in the time they’ve been sitting there, I could have had at least two more parties sit there and make approximately $10 in tips from each.

So my Friday night campers, true to form, tipped an 18% gratuity after sitting there for three hours and when the night was over, I wound up taking home the same amount I did on Saturday night with a three table section.

The Drowner

This one always makes me laugh, and insights usually rude responses from me. The drowner looks like they are literally drowning: one hand straight in the air flailing around to get the server’s attention.  If you go out to eat, please never do this. It is absolutely rude. Some variations of the drowner would be the snapper, the whistler, and the yeller.  It seems people often forget that they are neither the only people in the universe nor the only guests in the restaurant. There is no need to embarrass yourself, drowner, to ask me for a simple glass of water. I’ve already checked on you three times during the course of your meal, and I will most likely be at your table again in a matter of minutes. Take a deep breath.

In case you were wondering, when my guest did this over the weekend, I actually laughed in his face and asked him if he was drowning. He didn’t get it at first but when it hit him he sheepishly said, “Ha, you’re so funny.”

I love kids... but not at my tables

I don't know how to say this, so I'll just come right out with it.... PLEASE CONTROL YOUR CHILDREN WHILE DINING OUT.

I have to say the worst shift to work at a restaurant is Sunday lunch. Not because I'd much rather be sleeping in, or because I'm still recovering from my Saturday night rager turned Sunday morning hangover, but because of the countless families bringing their children in for lunch.

Along with these children come several annoyances. Loud noise would be one of them. "Oh yes I'll take my burger with a side of WAHHHHHHHHH" (that would be a baby breaking into a cry so loud it makes you consider retreating to a bomb shelter). Not only is it difficult to take your order with all of the noise, but it's also keeping me from providing my other guests with great service. People usually go out to unwind, not to have your crying infant deafen them.

A growing trend that's been spreading in some restaurants along the east coast is banning children under the age of six from dining. ABC actually broadcasted a piece about it last summer:

Why, oh why can't my restaurant implement this ban?!

Aside from all the commotion, what's with parents letting their kids run around restaurants like they're in a playground? A server buddy of mine told me that last weekend, a family waiting to be seated let their five-year-old go play at one of her dirty tables. Not only is that completely unsanitary, you're also making the server's life 10 times more difficult. I mean, it's hard enough to carry around hot plates so heavy you practically need to be a body builder to lift them, but now we have to watch out for your munchkins running about as well, because GOD FORBID anything falls on your kid. Then it would be the server's fault, right? WRONG. It would be your fault for not keeping control of your child.

The next issue: children are picky eaters. Most restaurants have children's menus that accommodate the underdeveloped palate. This worked for me when I was young. My mom would give me options OFF OF THE MENU (I'd usually settle for a grilled cheese sandwich with French fries). But now I've noticed some new parenting styles ::cough cough:: [giveyourspoiledbratwhatevertheywant] ::cough cough:: that make life far more difficult for everyone.

I had a parent demand that our kitchen make his little precious spaghetti and meatballs. I explained to him that we didn't have that on our menu. The kid threw a fit! The father wouldn't take no for an answer, so I wound up modifying one of the dishes on the kid's menu, a hamburger, to almighty hell. Hamburger, cooked well, no bun, cut into small pieces, sub side of fries for buttered noodles (which is not even a side, but a dish all in itself), add side of pizza sauce... ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Be a parent. Tell your child he is having a hamburger or he's having nothing at all. I bet that would put an end to his little temper tantrum.

But my BIGGEST issue with kids eating out would have to be the mess they leave behind. Food all over the table, coloring books, crayons scattered about, plastic kids cups with the lids off and liquids dripping out. And then I get yelled at by my boss after they leave because the table is a disaster area... 

Please people, if you want to take your kids for a fun night out, go to Chuck E. Cheese. If you're looking for a night on the town, call a babysitter.

Tipping

Hi Everyone!

I’d like to welcome you to PatientlyWaitressing. In this blog you will learn about etiquette when dining out, be entertained by anecdotes of my serving experiences, and realize that this job just isn’t as easy as it seems.

This week I would like to talk about tipping. It’s why I’m in the business, and it’s how servers make their bread and butter.

I should start by saying I’m very good at what I do. The reason is, I enjoy making people happy. When someone tells me he doesn’t want tomatoes on his sandwich, I make sure there are no tomatoes. When a guest asks me to make her five-year-old’s Shirley Temple “fancy” on New Year’s Eve by putting an orange and umbrella in his kid’s cup so he can feel like a grown up even though I’m taking care of four other tables at the moment, I do it. Why? BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY.

Now, when I go through all the hassle to listen to your special instructions and take special care that everything arrives to you perfectly, please thank me by leaving the appropriate tip.

Don’t know what the appropriate tip is? Here are some guidelines from eHow.com’s article “How to Tip a Waiter”:

1. Tip 15% of the overall bill, minus the tax, in most cases. Depending on the service, 15%-20% is the common range.

2. Tip an extra 5% (a total of 20%) if the restaurant is a highly rated establishment or if a large party is dining and the gratuity is not automatically added to the tab.

3. Add the gratuity to the overall bill, which includes alcohol but does not include tax.

4. Consider scribbling a note on your check if you wish to acknowledge someone on the staff who went out of his way for you.

5. Leave a lesser tip if you are unhappy with the service. A word with the server, in addition, is also appropriate.

As far as I’m concerned, Rule #5 should never apply to me. I dine out often (4+ times a week) and I know what bad service is. Even on my worst night, it’s just not something I provide. When I do something, it is my personal mission to do it AT LEAST above satisfactory. Now granted, “above satisfactory” is a relative statement, but I surely did not deserve what has been handed to me over the past week.

Saturday, Sunday and Monday were the worst nights of my serving career thus far.

I shall begin with Saturday. From the moment I walked through the restaurant's doors it was a hectic. I was dealt with at least one party of 10+ all night, along with three other tables. If you think about it, that's around the needs of 22 people (give or take) I have to cater to at a time.


Finally I see the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s an hour before closing, I’m about to finish up a party of 12, and just as I'm about to put a cap on this never-ending shift, another group of 9 walk in.

At first we were off to a great start, but slowly things headed downhill. Everyone began throwing orders at me at different times. Every time I would come to the table, these people would need something else. They wanted another appetizer. They wanted another entrée, another beer, another ginger ale with NO ICE, because the one sitting on the table with ice was absolutely unacceptable. On top of that, I have 4 other tables including that party of 12 who wanted to close out their tab.
I know what you’re thinking… it’s my job. Yes it is. I have no problem doing my job. My problem lies with when I returned to this lovely bunch of 9.


“Uhhh… can you like… have someone clear off this table?”


“Well actually, we only have one busboy at the moment, so I’ll have to clear it off. Please give me just a few minutes to settle some things and I’ll be right back to get some of this off your hands.”


I understand people want to feel special when they go out to eat. But what people need to understand is that when you linger around until just before closing, there isn’t much staff left to jump to your every wimper. It’s just a one man band. And that one man band is not an octopus. I only have 2 hands and I am trying to make 5 other groups just as happy.

I returned after a few minutes, as promised, to a table full of unreasonably annoyed people asking for their check. 9 SEPARATE CHECKS. I began to clear off the table and apologized to them explaining that I had a payment issue at another table. I apologized profusely. Seriously, I was just short of getting on my knees and crying for forgiveness. Guests are usually rational enough to realize that I’m sincerely sorry and it makes them feel better knowing that I care. Not these people.

Seeing that my plead for mercy wasn’t enough, I hunted down the only busboy on the floor and begged him to help me clear the table. He helps. I returned with 9 separate checks, all with 18% gratuity included since it was a large party. I apologize once more to which one of the fine gentlemen responded “the busboy made you look better than you actually were.”

At this point I just wanted to tell him to go [insert expletive here] himself, but I bit my tongue and said sorry once more.  I walked away with everyone’s payment and as I settled the tabs, I had to listen for 5 minutes about what a horrible server I am and how I should be tipping them.

You must be joking! I may have not cleared your table the second you asked me to, but I did nothing else wrong! I was only nice to you and served you your overabundance of food and drink. Oh America – land of the free, home of the fat! Obviously they were annoyed the tip was included. Next time they should go to McDonald’s.

Superbowl Sunday was another fiasco. The restaurant was surprisingly dead for having a bunch of big screen TVs playing the game. I had a few small tables but the big check of the night was a party of five guys drinking all night. I stayed later than I was supposed to, just for them, since they were enjoying my great service so much they told my managers. I drop the $315.00 check at the table. I return just as they’re leaving to say goodbye. The gentleman tell me they would come back to see me again next week and hand me the check.

I opened the check presenter anticipating a hefty tip. They left $15!! Are you kidding me?!?!? There should have been at least $60 in there! Why me?

Monday rolls around. The first table I got was a weird middle aged couple. They only ordered two small entrees and 2 glasses of water. The total of their bill was $27.00. I came back to the table and they were gone. I looked inside the check presenter and saw only $25.00. I couldn’t help but laugh.

I had never been stiffed on a check or been given a tip below 12% of the total until this week. I wonder are people really that mean? Last I checked slavery no longer existed in this country. Servers basically live off their tips. If I wait on you for an hour, and you don’t tip me, I’ve basically worked for free for the entire hour.

Next time you don’t leave a gratuity, think of how you’re really affecting someone’s life.