I was thinking of making this a "wonky work stories only" blog, but I don't think that its working. I'm still so weird about sharing anything 'personal' after the blog fiasco of '05--plus the only people I know of that are reading this I talk to in person on a semi regular basis, via email or telephone or something. I dunno. I guess I need to just get over that fear--you start a blog to get things off your chest, right? Well, keeping things closed in is not helping. I'm just worried that its going to get into the wrong hands again.....Pah. I should hope that those kids don't care enough about me anymore to do something like that, but who the hell knows.
I really don't have anything interesting to mention...I'm really freaking tired, but I should be doing laundry or the dishes or vacuuming, or any of the other shit that I don't do when i work 12 hour days. I don't work tomorrow, but don't have another day off until Sunday....sigh. Whatever. T wants me to come to his house tonight and wait for him to get off of work at 5am, and I may just do that. But again with the tired. And theres nothing to do at his house when he's not there--the computer isn't hooked up to the Internet, so its 'burn Cd's' or 'spider solitaire', and the TV is movies only, and in the room with the bed I hate, so I guess I could go the 'bottle of red wine and some benadryl' route (I learned that particular recipe for early bedtime from my mother!) and just pass out for 29 hours or something, but I always feel so goddamn lazy when I do that.
I just wish I had like, 10% more energy. That's not too much, is it? I mean, I drink water, get eight hours a night, take vitamins.....Granted, I eat only Andes mints and energy drinks half the time, (thanks work!) that may have something to do with it. But even on my days off, or nights off, like tonight, I just feel pulled in so many directions, theres so much that needs to be done, for dad, for me....and all I want to do is lay on the couch and eat donut holes and watch reruns of 'Deadliest Catch'. Which I may allow myself to do, but afterwards I feel like a total asshole as all the housework just piles up around me. I just want to be more efficient at everything I do. Apparently that means having no time, but oh well.
Pah. Im just tired!
The couch is calling.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Life through music
I was nearly killed today.
We will get to that in a moment.
I have been listening to the new Modest Mouse CD, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank and anyone who wants to continue to be my friend must heretofore love this album as much as I do. Especially songs 'Missed the Boat' and 'We've Got Everything'. So there. (I owe the gentlemen in this band an apology. I talked a lot of shit about them and their music when I was in college--A time filled with poor choices, mind, but I was rather harsh, even for me. Granted, all I had heard at that time was 'Cowboy Dan', a song that isn't the best lead in to the greatness that is MM. Anyway, members of Modest Mouse, I apologise. Forgive my shit talking and please accept my promise of love and fidelity from this time forward.)
Lots of talk about music lately, in and out of work. (Work has become my social life. Sigh.) I recently purchased Deftones tickets, as well as Daft Punk tickets, (my insides are melting with excitement. For real. I may be diagnosed as missing 3 miles of small intestine before the month is out.) (Lots of parentheses this blog. Sorry.) We have been comparing CD collections and concerts we have been to in to the past. Songs that have strong meaning to us and why. It is interesting to me that just about everyone in the world (with the exception of T's mother who listens only to talk radio) has a passion for music. Even if its just one song. They remember what song was playing at important moments in their personal history. Whole albums can take them back to times in their lives that were good, bad, painful or triumphant. Tricky's Blowback depresses the hell out of me, as much as I love that album, because I bought it the day before a close friend of mine died and I associate all those songs with that particular grief. The Killers Hot Fuss reminds me of F, and our many adventures back and forth across the godforsaken lake that laid between still being kids and being forced to grow up for reasons we would do anything to change. (Its a big lake. Really. 2.5 hours each way. In good weather.) KMFDM's Hau Ruck reminds me of staying up to all hours of the night with A and B, both of whom I may never see again. Aphex Twin Richard D. James Album reminds me of being 14 and truly experiencing music and everything it could possibly be. And, of course, Blood Sugar Sex Magik by RHCP....the first album to make me truly excited about music. The list goes on. And on, and on. I could write a book just listing music I loathe, love and everything in between and all the good and bad memories that come with it.
Strange. They say that smell is the strongest memory trigger, and that is probably true. But what does grief smell like? What about a perfect moment in time? I'm sure that everyone has an answer to that, but you couldn't explain it very well. But I can tell you what it sounds like, in two sentences. Everyone can describe a song that reminds them of that.
I had to do a creative writing assignment in college about strange associations--that's really the only way to describe it. We were asked to write about things like "What does green taste like?", "What does Yellow feel like?" "What does grass sound like?" and so on. It was an interesting assignment.
Oh, I suppose I should tell you how I nearly died.
I was driving to PT to run an errand for T, and the car in front of me either had something explode in the cab or is driven by a royal asshole, because suddenly, and at 55mph, all four wheels locked up and in a cloud of burning rubber and squealing tires, stopped. I had to swerve into the turn lane (which thankfully was there, or it would have been oncoming traffic for me) and the car behind me went into the ditch.
The car then drove off, no questions asked.
Misanthropy levels rising daily, people. And I don't know what it sounds like, but I'm working on it.
We will get to that in a moment.
I have been listening to the new Modest Mouse CD, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank and anyone who wants to continue to be my friend must heretofore love this album as much as I do. Especially songs 'Missed the Boat' and 'We've Got Everything'. So there. (I owe the gentlemen in this band an apology. I talked a lot of shit about them and their music when I was in college--A time filled with poor choices, mind, but I was rather harsh, even for me. Granted, all I had heard at that time was 'Cowboy Dan', a song that isn't the best lead in to the greatness that is MM. Anyway, members of Modest Mouse, I apologise. Forgive my shit talking and please accept my promise of love and fidelity from this time forward.)
Lots of talk about music lately, in and out of work. (Work has become my social life. Sigh.) I recently purchased Deftones tickets, as well as Daft Punk tickets, (my insides are melting with excitement. For real. I may be diagnosed as missing 3 miles of small intestine before the month is out.) (Lots of parentheses this blog. Sorry.) We have been comparing CD collections and concerts we have been to in to the past. Songs that have strong meaning to us and why. It is interesting to me that just about everyone in the world (with the exception of T's mother who listens only to talk radio) has a passion for music. Even if its just one song. They remember what song was playing at important moments in their personal history. Whole albums can take them back to times in their lives that were good, bad, painful or triumphant. Tricky's Blowback depresses the hell out of me, as much as I love that album, because I bought it the day before a close friend of mine died and I associate all those songs with that particular grief. The Killers Hot Fuss reminds me of F, and our many adventures back and forth across the godforsaken lake that laid between still being kids and being forced to grow up for reasons we would do anything to change. (Its a big lake. Really. 2.5 hours each way. In good weather.) KMFDM's Hau Ruck reminds me of staying up to all hours of the night with A and B, both of whom I may never see again. Aphex Twin Richard D. James Album reminds me of being 14 and truly experiencing music and everything it could possibly be. And, of course, Blood Sugar Sex Magik by RHCP....the first album to make me truly excited about music. The list goes on. And on, and on. I could write a book just listing music I loathe, love and everything in between and all the good and bad memories that come with it.
Strange. They say that smell is the strongest memory trigger, and that is probably true. But what does grief smell like? What about a perfect moment in time? I'm sure that everyone has an answer to that, but you couldn't explain it very well. But I can tell you what it sounds like, in two sentences. Everyone can describe a song that reminds them of that.
I had to do a creative writing assignment in college about strange associations--that's really the only way to describe it. We were asked to write about things like "What does green taste like?", "What does Yellow feel like?" "What does grass sound like?" and so on. It was an interesting assignment.
Oh, I suppose I should tell you how I nearly died.
I was driving to PT to run an errand for T, and the car in front of me either had something explode in the cab or is driven by a royal asshole, because suddenly, and at 55mph, all four wheels locked up and in a cloud of burning rubber and squealing tires, stopped. I had to swerve into the turn lane (which thankfully was there, or it would have been oncoming traffic for me) and the car behind me went into the ditch.
The car then drove off, no questions asked.
Misanthropy levels rising daily, people. And I don't know what it sounds like, but I'm working on it.
Monday, May 21, 2007
"It just WON'T do!"
I swear, no matter what day I come to work, I want to kill at least one customer. At least one.
Actually, 'kill' is a strong word. Maim, perhaps. Mortally wound, even. Beat to hamburger with my bare hands. Things like that.
Seriously. (I'm getting to the story, I promise.) How much common sense does it take to understand the concept of time? I remember being taught to read a clock in the first grade, which makes me about six years old. I understood time as a concept, however, long before that. Bedtime, dinner time, nap time. These were not random occurrences that flitted into and out of my life. So one could surmise that the general populace begins to grasp time as a CONCEPT as early as, oh, say, the age of two or three. Right?
I arrived at work this morning (blissfully without a car accident, thank the baby jesus) and did all the things I normally do, including making sure to read the reservation book to check for any and all reservations that may need preparation. I see that we have 16 people arriving at 1pm for lunch, and that the table is already set for them. 'Hooray!', I think to myself.
I thought too soon. (I really need to learn to just not get my hopes up at work.)
I opened the restaurant at 11am, as I was scheduled to. At 11:02, an elderly woman wanders in with a box in her hands, in which a vase filled with flowers, a bag of napkin holders, place cards and a cake reside. She sets these items on the bar, and looks at me expectantly.
'Good morning, ma'am. How can I help you?', I look up from putting away the dishes.
'Brunswalgen,' she says.
'I beg your pardon?"
'Is that my table over there?' she asks, pointing at the large table we have. Still confused by the pretend language she just spoke at me, I look at the reservation book, look at the clock, and then answer.
'I don't believe so, ma'am. That table is reserved for Mrs.Douchey McAsshatterson, at 1pm.'
'Oh, grand! That's me! Mrs.Douchey McAsshatterson herself!'.
Its at this point that I began to think that something was awry. She's two hours early for her reservation, and has brought....favors, I guess. Now, we're not opposed to bringing gifts or things to a birthday dinner, but a cake? Come on.
She wanders over to the table. I give her a once over--she looks like she fits in perfectly in the town in which I reside. The neck scarf. The expensive suede jacket, dyed a bituminous hue of green. Slacks with beads at the bottoms. She sets down her box of goodies, and then returns to me.
'Are you the bartender?'
sigh.
'No, ma'am, I'm a server here. But I believe that K is going to be your server today, and she will be arriving here shortly. But until then, I am more than happy to answer any questions you may have, or offer you something to drink while you wait for your party to arrive.....at one o'clock.'
'One o'clock?? No, no! I changed my mind! I called everyone and told them to meet here at eleven thirty!'
She called everyone, that is, except....us.
'OH! Well, since we already have your table ready, I suppose that won't be too much of a problem...'
K doesn't arrive at work until 11:30. We need time to figure out a plan of attack before seating 16 people.
She walks away. Begins to take condiment caddies off her table and replace them with flowers. sets the caddies on the floor. Looks over her shoulder at me and says, "Would you be a dear and....do something with those? They just....don't go with my.......Vision."
Vision my ass, the bitch is about to go blind from the hate I am beaming at her.
I take the caddies.
'Oh! Well, I can tell you one thing right now--this MUSIC! It just, well, it just WON'T DO! Some of the members of my party are hard of hearing, and this, oh!"
Norah Jones was on the stereo.
I walk to the back and turn it off.
I come back out and see her unrolling all the silverware (the silverware is rolled in a napkin) on the table, and throwing the napkins on the floor.
'Could I have some fresh linens? I want the napkins to go in the holders,and those ones were crinkled.'
I suddenly had a vision of myself hefting a beer stein and administering the sort of beating to this woman that you see in movies--someone loses it, and just goes bat shit crazy, beating someone with wild overhead swings, their shirt getting bunched up in the armpits, while they scream obscenities and the blood flies everywhere, only to stop, stagger a little, survey the damage and then laugh hysterically.
I get the napkins.
'Oh, and dear? Could you stand at the front door and usher people down here? I want them to feel welcome.'
I walk into the kitchen. Inform them that the 16 top is going to be two hours early, and that K better take the damn table or someone is going to get launched off the deck.
K did arrive, and take the table. (Douchy McAsshatterson ushered her own party.) Only after replacing Norah Jones with Creedance Clearwater, upping the volume and turning the TV sound on.
15 people did arrive at 11:30. One wayward crone (this was a wedding shower for geriatrics. I shit you not, the bride and groom were at least 80. Good for them, but JESUS.) didn't get the message and wandered in at 12:30. Fifteen meals are in the process of being taken down the stairs, from the kitchen, on trays. Five on K's, 5 on mine, and 5 on A's (the chef, who was kind enough to help). This piece of driftwood masquerading as a woman stops K, and says, 'I'm late, can I order too?'. K responds cheerfully that yes, she can, in one moment, and walks on with me right behind her. The woman sticks out a withered arm and grabs my elbow. 'Can you take my order? I don't want to wait.'. I inform her that just as soon as I put my tray down, I will be happy to help her, and continue walking. I place the floor jack down and deposit the tray on it, and walk back to retrieve the tray that A is holding....and I realize that he, being unskilled in the ways of serving people, has been cornered by the TwigCrone. She is telling him all about how she didn't check her messages, because she can't see the buttons on her phone well, and that she doesn't think its fair that anyone should eat without her, blah blah blah. I take A's tray, and he says to her, cheerful as hell, 'Why don't you tell me what you would like, and I will go get started on it? I'm the sous chef here.'.
She stands a little taller then, and says, 'WELL! If YOU are the one doing the cooking....I....With HAIR LIKE THAT THEY LET YOU COOK FOOD?' (A has a ponytail down past the middle of his back. This woman was acting like he had leprosy and his nose had just fallen into her purse.
'Why, yes!' A says.
'A Louie salad.' she responds, and shuffles off towards the table. Less than a minute later (I shit you not!) her salad arrives.
I thought that was the end.
I take other tables, smile, laugh. Everything is fine. Until the checks are passed out.
Withered Twig Crone person informs K that since she arrived late, she wasn't about to be hurried with the eating. No, she was going to sit there as long as she wanted, and K could just deal with it. And that passing out checks to the other guests while she was waiting was RUDE!
Fine.
Finally, she finishes.
Out come the checks.
Douchy McAsshatterson comes wandering over to K, who then has to explain EVERY.CHARGE.ON.EVERY.TICKET.
Kill me.
Thank GOD K took this table. I wouldn't have been able to do it. there is absolutely NO WAY IN HELL I could have done it.
I may be a server, I may be paid to SERVE people, but I am not a SERVANT. I am not a slave, and will not be treated as such. Maybe I have too much pride, but I don't let people talk to me like that. I can't deal with being patronized or made to feel stupid simply because I haul food for a living. I don't care how rich you are, what your husband did, or where you got your money (or that fucking chip on your shoulder). I am NO LESS a person than you--so don't act like it.
Oh, and we did get paid today. But they lost our time sheets (how this happened I do not know, as its all computerized) and about 30% of the employees are missing anywhere from $18-$500 on their checks. The lady in payroll left early after the exodus to her office.
My check was fine.
Actually, 'kill' is a strong word. Maim, perhaps. Mortally wound, even. Beat to hamburger with my bare hands. Things like that.
Seriously. (I'm getting to the story, I promise.) How much common sense does it take to understand the concept of time? I remember being taught to read a clock in the first grade, which makes me about six years old. I understood time as a concept, however, long before that. Bedtime, dinner time, nap time. These were not random occurrences that flitted into and out of my life. So one could surmise that the general populace begins to grasp time as a CONCEPT as early as, oh, say, the age of two or three. Right?
I arrived at work this morning (blissfully without a car accident, thank the baby jesus) and did all the things I normally do, including making sure to read the reservation book to check for any and all reservations that may need preparation. I see that we have 16 people arriving at 1pm for lunch, and that the table is already set for them. 'Hooray!', I think to myself.
I thought too soon. (I really need to learn to just not get my hopes up at work.)
I opened the restaurant at 11am, as I was scheduled to. At 11:02, an elderly woman wanders in with a box in her hands, in which a vase filled with flowers, a bag of napkin holders, place cards and a cake reside. She sets these items on the bar, and looks at me expectantly.
'Good morning, ma'am. How can I help you?', I look up from putting away the dishes.
'Brunswalgen,' she says.
'I beg your pardon?"
'Is that my table over there?' she asks, pointing at the large table we have. Still confused by the pretend language she just spoke at me, I look at the reservation book, look at the clock, and then answer.
'I don't believe so, ma'am. That table is reserved for Mrs.Douchey McAsshatterson, at 1pm.'
'Oh, grand! That's me! Mrs.Douchey McAsshatterson herself!'.
Its at this point that I began to think that something was awry. She's two hours early for her reservation, and has brought....favors, I guess. Now, we're not opposed to bringing gifts or things to a birthday dinner, but a cake? Come on.
She wanders over to the table. I give her a once over--she looks like she fits in perfectly in the town in which I reside. The neck scarf. The expensive suede jacket, dyed a bituminous hue of green. Slacks with beads at the bottoms. She sets down her box of goodies, and then returns to me.
'Are you the bartender?'
sigh.
'No, ma'am, I'm a server here. But I believe that K is going to be your server today, and she will be arriving here shortly. But until then, I am more than happy to answer any questions you may have, or offer you something to drink while you wait for your party to arrive.....at one o'clock.'
'One o'clock?? No, no! I changed my mind! I called everyone and told them to meet here at eleven thirty!'
She called everyone, that is, except....us.
'OH! Well, since we already have your table ready, I suppose that won't be too much of a problem...'
K doesn't arrive at work until 11:30. We need time to figure out a plan of attack before seating 16 people.
She walks away. Begins to take condiment caddies off her table and replace them with flowers. sets the caddies on the floor. Looks over her shoulder at me and says, "Would you be a dear and....do something with those? They just....don't go with my.......Vision."
Vision my ass, the bitch is about to go blind from the hate I am beaming at her.
I take the caddies.
'Oh! Well, I can tell you one thing right now--this MUSIC! It just, well, it just WON'T DO! Some of the members of my party are hard of hearing, and this, oh!"
Norah Jones was on the stereo.
I walk to the back and turn it off.
I come back out and see her unrolling all the silverware (the silverware is rolled in a napkin) on the table, and throwing the napkins on the floor.
'Could I have some fresh linens? I want the napkins to go in the holders,and those ones were crinkled.'
I suddenly had a vision of myself hefting a beer stein and administering the sort of beating to this woman that you see in movies--someone loses it, and just goes bat shit crazy, beating someone with wild overhead swings, their shirt getting bunched up in the armpits, while they scream obscenities and the blood flies everywhere, only to stop, stagger a little, survey the damage and then laugh hysterically.
I get the napkins.
'Oh, and dear? Could you stand at the front door and usher people down here? I want them to feel welcome.'
I walk into the kitchen. Inform them that the 16 top is going to be two hours early, and that K better take the damn table or someone is going to get launched off the deck.
K did arrive, and take the table. (Douchy McAsshatterson ushered her own party.) Only after replacing Norah Jones with Creedance Clearwater, upping the volume and turning the TV sound on.
15 people did arrive at 11:30. One wayward crone (this was a wedding shower for geriatrics. I shit you not, the bride and groom were at least 80. Good for them, but JESUS.) didn't get the message and wandered in at 12:30. Fifteen meals are in the process of being taken down the stairs, from the kitchen, on trays. Five on K's, 5 on mine, and 5 on A's (the chef, who was kind enough to help). This piece of driftwood masquerading as a woman stops K, and says, 'I'm late, can I order too?'. K responds cheerfully that yes, she can, in one moment, and walks on with me right behind her. The woman sticks out a withered arm and grabs my elbow. 'Can you take my order? I don't want to wait.'. I inform her that just as soon as I put my tray down, I will be happy to help her, and continue walking. I place the floor jack down and deposit the tray on it, and walk back to retrieve the tray that A is holding....and I realize that he, being unskilled in the ways of serving people, has been cornered by the TwigCrone. She is telling him all about how she didn't check her messages, because she can't see the buttons on her phone well, and that she doesn't think its fair that anyone should eat without her, blah blah blah. I take A's tray, and he says to her, cheerful as hell, 'Why don't you tell me what you would like, and I will go get started on it? I'm the sous chef here.'.
She stands a little taller then, and says, 'WELL! If YOU are the one doing the cooking....I....With HAIR LIKE THAT THEY LET YOU COOK FOOD?' (A has a ponytail down past the middle of his back. This woman was acting like he had leprosy and his nose had just fallen into her purse.
'Why, yes!' A says.
'A Louie salad.' she responds, and shuffles off towards the table. Less than a minute later (I shit you not!) her salad arrives.
I thought that was the end.
I take other tables, smile, laugh. Everything is fine. Until the checks are passed out.
Withered Twig Crone person informs K that since she arrived late, she wasn't about to be hurried with the eating. No, she was going to sit there as long as she wanted, and K could just deal with it. And that passing out checks to the other guests while she was waiting was RUDE!
Fine.
Finally, she finishes.
Out come the checks.
Douchy McAsshatterson comes wandering over to K, who then has to explain EVERY.CHARGE.ON.EVERY.TICKET.
Kill me.
Thank GOD K took this table. I wouldn't have been able to do it. there is absolutely NO WAY IN HELL I could have done it.
I may be a server, I may be paid to SERVE people, but I am not a SERVANT. I am not a slave, and will not be treated as such. Maybe I have too much pride, but I don't let people talk to me like that. I can't deal with being patronized or made to feel stupid simply because I haul food for a living. I don't care how rich you are, what your husband did, or where you got your money (or that fucking chip on your shoulder). I am NO LESS a person than you--so don't act like it.
Oh, and we did get paid today. But they lost our time sheets (how this happened I do not know, as its all computerized) and about 30% of the employees are missing anywhere from $18-$500 on their checks. The lady in payroll left early after the exodus to her office.
My check was fine.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Shiny Shiny Shiny
You know, it would be really, really awesome if the company I worked for did it's job. I mean, it employs me, and that is it's job, I guess, but I was under the impression that it would PAY ME TO WORK THERE. Supposed to be paid last week.....but not yet! Tomorrow, perhaps. If not tomorrow, there will be problems. Oh yes.
Anyway.
I just finished a book about a woman who has the worst, most self destructive, painful life ever. Ever! And at the age of twenty five, when she is an alcoholic, drug addict, married to an abuser, and spends four days living in a dumpster while prostituting herself, she realizes that perhaps something is wrong.
and she goes to treatment and turns her life around--becomes a high powered lawyer.
Ding!
Of course, this was not an easy task--it took ten years or something, but still.
It makes me wonder what the hell my excuse is. Ah, well.
I know I shouldnt get down on myself for not having finished school, or having a "real" job, or being wildy successful like everyone thought I was going to. I also know that I shouldnt blame my non-success on "life happening"--which, as much as it is the truth, isnt an excuse.
So I think I am going to go back to school in the fall. Maybe. Just thinking. Take one class, to start. It can't really hurt, can it?
Anyway.
I just finished a book about a woman who has the worst, most self destructive, painful life ever. Ever! And at the age of twenty five, when she is an alcoholic, drug addict, married to an abuser, and spends four days living in a dumpster while prostituting herself, she realizes that perhaps something is wrong.
and she goes to treatment and turns her life around--becomes a high powered lawyer.
Ding!
Of course, this was not an easy task--it took ten years or something, but still.
It makes me wonder what the hell my excuse is. Ah, well.
I know I shouldnt get down on myself for not having finished school, or having a "real" job, or being wildy successful like everyone thought I was going to. I also know that I shouldnt blame my non-success on "life happening"--which, as much as it is the truth, isnt an excuse.
So I think I am going to go back to school in the fall. Maybe. Just thinking. Take one class, to start. It can't really hurt, can it?
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Snap your neck like a toothpick
I had a great day at work today.
No, really.
Honest! You don't believe me?
You shouldnt.
I had the sort of day that causes people to 1)quit 2)get fired 3)sob uncontrollably 4)scream 5)a strange combination of the previous four.
Question:
Who in their right mind comes into a restaurant at 12:30, sees that there is only available seating for 4, sits, and then informs the server that there will be 16 in their party?
My new best friends.
Who then informs the server that they feel that other guests in the restaurant should be asked to leave so that their tables can be aquired?
My new best friends.
Who then, upon being told that, NO, no guests will be asked to leave so that their tables can be used for others, asks if there are tables on other floors of the restaurant/outside that can be moved to accomodate their party?
My new best friends.
Who, then, upon being told...NO, there will be no great furniture exodus on their behalf, begin stealing chairs from other tables to seat members of their party that have not arrived yet, while telling their server that she is "not very accomodating"?
Guess.
Oh, it gets better.
Of course, the next course of action for these people is to plunk one of themselves/some item that belongs to them on any table that becomes free, and then proceed to table-hop so the delivery of drinks, food or checks becomes impossible.
Then, of course, to make rediculous demands, such as "Can you make it 4 degrees cooler in here?", "Can I have my water warmed up?But I dont want it hot."
Kill me.
Luckily, the general manager and vice president were in the restaurant, (so I couldnt kill anyone for fear of being fired) so I passed the problem along to them and they took care of it.
AKA "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU INGRATES DOING????"
I smiled, laughed, and was sweet as pie to these people. "But of course!" "Absolutely sir!" "Not a problem!".
I then walked into the kitchen and declared:
"WITH GOD AS MY WITNESS, IF THESE PEOPLE EVER COME BACK EVER AGAIN, I AM CLOCKING OUT AND GETTING MY MOTHERFUCKING GUN. DO YOU HEAR ME? PREPARE YOURSELVES TO BE SMUGGLING MY ASS CIGARETTES IN PRISON, BECAUSE THATS WHERE IM HEADED, GODDAMNIT!"
And then they left, and I finally started my period, so Im feeling much better now.
But I better get a gun lock.
No, really.
Honest! You don't believe me?
You shouldnt.
I had the sort of day that causes people to 1)quit 2)get fired 3)sob uncontrollably 4)scream 5)a strange combination of the previous four.
Question:
Who in their right mind comes into a restaurant at 12:30, sees that there is only available seating for 4, sits, and then informs the server that there will be 16 in their party?
My new best friends.
Who then informs the server that they feel that other guests in the restaurant should be asked to leave so that their tables can be aquired?
My new best friends.
Who then, upon being told that, NO, no guests will be asked to leave so that their tables can be used for others, asks if there are tables on other floors of the restaurant/outside that can be moved to accomodate their party?
My new best friends.
Who, then, upon being told...NO, there will be no great furniture exodus on their behalf, begin stealing chairs from other tables to seat members of their party that have not arrived yet, while telling their server that she is "not very accomodating"?
Guess.
Oh, it gets better.
Of course, the next course of action for these people is to plunk one of themselves/some item that belongs to them on any table that becomes free, and then proceed to table-hop so the delivery of drinks, food or checks becomes impossible.
Then, of course, to make rediculous demands, such as "Can you make it 4 degrees cooler in here?", "Can I have my water warmed up?But I dont want it hot."
Kill me.
Luckily, the general manager and vice president were in the restaurant, (so I couldnt kill anyone for fear of being fired) so I passed the problem along to them and they took care of it.
AKA "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU INGRATES DOING????"
I smiled, laughed, and was sweet as pie to these people. "But of course!" "Absolutely sir!" "Not a problem!".
I then walked into the kitchen and declared:
"WITH GOD AS MY WITNESS, IF THESE PEOPLE EVER COME BACK EVER AGAIN, I AM CLOCKING OUT AND GETTING MY MOTHERFUCKING GUN. DO YOU HEAR ME? PREPARE YOURSELVES TO BE SMUGGLING MY ASS CIGARETTES IN PRISON, BECAUSE THATS WHERE IM HEADED, GODDAMNIT!"
And then they left, and I finally started my period, so Im feeling much better now.
But I better get a gun lock.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Annnd.....go
IM NOT AT WORK!
Im sorry. I just woke up, looked at the clock, saw that it was the normal time that I would be scurrying around at work, beginning my day.....and had a miniparty that I am not, in fact, there. Actually, I am at home, sitting at my computer in my pajamas doing, well, this.
Celebrate the small victories, no?
Anyway.
I have been scouring the internets for knitting patterns. I have found some good ones....now I just need to find the time and yarn. (If only desire alone could make a sweater....)
I really have nothing of serious importance to say.....I just felt the need to blog, I guess. Hooray for that.....Yeah.
Im sorry. I just woke up, looked at the clock, saw that it was the normal time that I would be scurrying around at work, beginning my day.....and had a miniparty that I am not, in fact, there. Actually, I am at home, sitting at my computer in my pajamas doing, well, this.
Celebrate the small victories, no?
Anyway.
I have been scouring the internets for knitting patterns. I have found some good ones....now I just need to find the time and yarn. (If only desire alone could make a sweater....)
I really have nothing of serious importance to say.....I just felt the need to blog, I guess. Hooray for that.....Yeah.
Friday, May 4, 2007
Pre-Work Sobbing
Today is friday. It also happens to be MY friday--The end of five days of running, sweating, yelling, laughing and the chanting of my new server mantra, "Are you KIDDING me?". We opened the bar for lunch service--Great! Only this means that we have to run up two flights of stairs to get our food, and down two flights of stairs to deliver it. Narrow, badly lit, dirty, greasy well used stairs. Whilst holding the infamous tray. Sigh. We can't seat as many people in the bar as we can in the dining room--unless the patio is open. (I hate the patio already.) People seat themselves, without notifying anyone--only to be noticed (of course) while your hands are full and taking the order for three other tables.
People also don't tip as well in the bar. I dont know if its because they think that its 'less work' or what, but I know that if we were as busy in the dining room as we have been in the bar this week, I would have made at least double in tips. (Except for the people that sit within visual distance of the stairs. They see, and therefore know, the pain that we go through to get them their food.) Its cramped, hectic and hot.
Ah, the things we do for money.
I have next weeked off (Fri, Sat and Sun) for the wedding of F and A--which promises to be glorious. HOWEVER. I requested this time off in January--one would think that was enough time to ensure that I would get the time off, no?
I have the time off, oh yes....But I may have to work half days on Friday and Sunday. (KILL ME.)Sunday is Mothers day, which means that everyone at work who is a mom is pissed that they have to work--I am not a mom. I say, well,
Get over it.
But I dont know that that is going to work. We shall see.
I am also going to attempt to get out of work this monday, as the bachelorette party is Sunday night (I think?) and I am supposed to be at work at 8am on Monday. (Kill me again).
Damnit! I really need to learn to have a shitty work ethic--then my jobs wont want me there all the time and I can take time off for fun, history making things without there being a huge ordeal about it.
Right?
Here's an example of my day now that the bar is open.
8am:Alarm goes off. Panic ensues, snooze button hit.
8:10-9am: Same as above.
9am:Out of bed. Into shower. (Maybe.)
9:15am:Drink coffee, yell at father due to lack of hearing aid.
9:30am:Post blog about work, or fix hair and apply makeup.
10am:Begin looking frantically for lost item (glasses, cellphone, apron, pens, books,etc)which one needs at work.
10:15am:Leave for work.
10:30am:Pick up keys and paper work for restaurant.
10:35-10:45am: Bullshit with kitchen staff while drinking coffee/smoking
10:45am-11am:Frantically finish opening procedure before lead servers arrive.
11:04am:Open restaurant.
11:06am:Realize lost item which was found has been left at home, swear to self.
11:07-12noon:Clean, organize and watch television. Drink energy drink as pre-emptive strike.
12:01-1:30pm:Run miles around restaurant, making drinks, hauling food, yelling at computer system, clearing tables, smiling and sweating at the endless hordes of people that all want to eat at the same fucking time.
1:31pm: Listen to the silence of the restauant as it is now empty. Survey damage.
1:35-2pm:Clear, clean and reorganize.
2-4pm:Make drinks for the afternoon lushes, swear at tip amounts.
4-8pm:Wonder why everyone likes 'Wheel of Fortune' so much. Haul trays, do sidework, yell at kitchen, get yelled at by kitchen, drink more energy drinks until one's urine could light up a neon sign.
8pm:Leave restaurant.
8:02pm: Arrive home.
8:04pm:Clean kitchen, make dinner, put in load of laundry.
8:20pm: Announce intentions of going to bed, leave plate for father in oven. Lay down, thinking you are just taking a pit stop on way to brushing teeth.
11pm:Wake up in absolute panic with head wedged between bed and wall. Brush teeth, light up the night with urine.
11:02pm: Collapse back into bed.
12midnight:Lay awake and staring at celing.
2am:Fall asleep sitting up at computer.
3am:Wake up wondering what's wrong with your ear--realize it is compressed between wall and head.
3:02am:Go back to bed, remember to set alarm.
Repeat as necessary.
See why Im happy today is my Friday?
People also don't tip as well in the bar. I dont know if its because they think that its 'less work' or what, but I know that if we were as busy in the dining room as we have been in the bar this week, I would have made at least double in tips. (Except for the people that sit within visual distance of the stairs. They see, and therefore know, the pain that we go through to get them their food.) Its cramped, hectic and hot.
Ah, the things we do for money.
I have next weeked off (Fri, Sat and Sun) for the wedding of F and A--which promises to be glorious. HOWEVER. I requested this time off in January--one would think that was enough time to ensure that I would get the time off, no?
I have the time off, oh yes....But I may have to work half days on Friday and Sunday. (KILL ME.)Sunday is Mothers day, which means that everyone at work who is a mom is pissed that they have to work--I am not a mom. I say, well,
Get over it.
But I dont know that that is going to work. We shall see.
I am also going to attempt to get out of work this monday, as the bachelorette party is Sunday night (I think?) and I am supposed to be at work at 8am on Monday. (Kill me again).
Damnit! I really need to learn to have a shitty work ethic--then my jobs wont want me there all the time and I can take time off for fun, history making things without there being a huge ordeal about it.
Right?
Here's an example of my day now that the bar is open.
8am:Alarm goes off. Panic ensues, snooze button hit.
8:10-9am: Same as above.
9am:Out of bed. Into shower. (Maybe.)
9:15am:Drink coffee, yell at father due to lack of hearing aid.
9:30am:Post blog about work, or fix hair and apply makeup.
10am:Begin looking frantically for lost item (glasses, cellphone, apron, pens, books,etc)which one needs at work.
10:15am:Leave for work.
10:30am:Pick up keys and paper work for restaurant.
10:35-10:45am: Bullshit with kitchen staff while drinking coffee/smoking
10:45am-11am:Frantically finish opening procedure before lead servers arrive.
11:04am:Open restaurant.
11:06am:Realize lost item which was found has been left at home, swear to self.
11:07-12noon:Clean, organize and watch television. Drink energy drink as pre-emptive strike.
12:01-1:30pm:Run miles around restaurant, making drinks, hauling food, yelling at computer system, clearing tables, smiling and sweating at the endless hordes of people that all want to eat at the same fucking time.
1:31pm: Listen to the silence of the restauant as it is now empty. Survey damage.
1:35-2pm:Clear, clean and reorganize.
2-4pm:Make drinks for the afternoon lushes, swear at tip amounts.
4-8pm:Wonder why everyone likes 'Wheel of Fortune' so much. Haul trays, do sidework, yell at kitchen, get yelled at by kitchen, drink more energy drinks until one's urine could light up a neon sign.
8pm:Leave restaurant.
8:02pm: Arrive home.
8:04pm:Clean kitchen, make dinner, put in load of laundry.
8:20pm: Announce intentions of going to bed, leave plate for father in oven. Lay down, thinking you are just taking a pit stop on way to brushing teeth.
11pm:Wake up in absolute panic with head wedged between bed and wall. Brush teeth, light up the night with urine.
11:02pm: Collapse back into bed.
12midnight:Lay awake and staring at celing.
2am:Fall asleep sitting up at computer.
3am:Wake up wondering what's wrong with your ear--realize it is compressed between wall and head.
3:02am:Go back to bed, remember to set alarm.
Repeat as necessary.
See why Im happy today is my Friday?
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