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.