Never Gonna Get It

My first job as a waiter was at Bennigan’s in Houston, Texas. After taking their ridiculous amount of tests and quizzes, I was finally given my flare and suspenders and let loose in the world of food service. I had at last moved up the restaurant hierarchy and was a step up from bus boy. I was a waiter. It’s funny, but I can remember the day that I was hired as a waiter and I felt like I had really made it. A hundred years later, not so much. Anyhoo. I learned a lot at that first job. One waitress in particular really showed me the ropes and I looked up to her immensely. She was my trainer, my mentor, my idol, and my dear friend. I don’t remember what the bitch’s name was. But I think I owe a lot of my stellar attitude to her. For the sake of convenience, let us refer to her as Ann B. Davis. (You know I loves me some Brady Bunch, right?) I knew that I was going to adopt her attitude within hours of meeting her. Let me pass on some pearls of her wisdom:

One day when her table needed some more coffee, I let her know. I saw her pour a cup of decaf and start towards the table. I stopped her to inform her that they wanted regular coffee and not decaf. Her response? “Oh no, everyone in my station gets decaf all the time. I don’t need a bunch of hyper people in my station. “Brilliant, no?

Another time an old lady slipped on a knife that we had left on the floor. The lady fell pretty hard and I am pretty sure some bone fragments from her hip hit some people at table 203. As I rushed over to see if I could help her, Ann B. Davis came up to me with her face showing concern. The old lady was from her station and I was genuinely impressed that Ann was so worried about her guest. “Oh my God, I wonder if I can get her anything,” she said. “Coffee? Tea? A splint?” What a bitch. God I loved Ann B. Davis. Or whatever her freakin’ name was.

My favorite memory of this amazing server happened towards the end of my tenure at Bennigan’s. At the end of her shift after she had punched out, Ann was sitting at a table enjoying her shift meal. A table nearby who didn’t know that Ann was off duty asked her if she could please go get her some more Ranch dressing. I heard the whole thing and was surprised that Ann got up and walked towards the kitchen knowing that she wasn’t on the clock. “Are you really gonna get that for her.” “Please,” she laughed. And then she proceeded to sing that song by En Vogue, as she walked into the kitchen and out the back door. “Never gonna get it, never gonna get it. Never gonna get it, never gonna get it. Never gonna get it, never gonna get it. Never get it. Whoa whoa whoa whoa.”

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Does Anyone Still Wear A Hat? While Waitressing?

Summer is upon us and the humidity level is creeping higher and higher. Here on the East Coast, the weather is a crazy thing to me. Having lived here for 16 years I am still not used to the fact that in the winter it can be 5° and then in the summer it can be 95°. What the hell kind of place is this? And I don't care what people say about it not being the heat but the humidity. If it's 95° it's fucking hot no matter what the humidity level is. The reason I'm so flumfluxxed about the temperature is because I have to wear a uniform to work and that uniform is black pants and a long sleeve black button up shirt. You try wearing that and walking into the depths of holy hell that we call the subway and try to stay fresh for more than three minutes. It's impossible. When I get off the train and get to work, it's not pretty sometimes. Sure, I could carry my uniform to work in a garment bag, but really? A garment bag that carries a stain covered pair of pants and a faded dress shirt? Not worth it. Or I could fold it and carry it in a bag, but really? And then get to work and have to wear a stain covered pair of pants and a faded dress shirt that is also wrinkled? A true dilemma. So what do I do? I wear it and and turn into a big hot sweaty mess and then serve my guests looking like a tired dried up French whore who just gave a blow job in a sauna.

At my last job, I could wear whatever I wanted which was a good thing for about two weeks. And then I realized I was getting all my real clothes stained with coffee and grease and I started longing for a uniform again. I don't know who came up with the universal uniform for restaurant folks to be khakis, but that's what it is most of the time. Pizzeria Uno, Bennigan's, Houlihan's and Black Eyed Pea were all khakis. I have spent about 13 years of my life being forced to wear Dockers and Gap pants.

My big issue with a uniform is when the restaurant requires you to wear a certain article of clothing but they make us pay for it. That pisses my shit off. If I have to wear that ugly ass burgundy shirt, Mr. Houlihan's, I don't want to pay for it. Same thing with you, Mr. Black Eyed Pea. I have to buy the green shirt with the stupid ass embroidered logo? Or sometimes they will give you one shirt but if you want another it comes out of your paycheck. Fuck that. I will take the one free shirt and wear that bitch every day until it has so much food on it that it walk itself into the restaurant and start picking up shifts.

If I have to wear a uniform, I want to wear one that has some personality. I want a little hat and an cute frilly apron and a name tag. I want a big starched white collar and white sneakers. I want bright red lipstick and a beehive. Basically, I wanna be Flo from the television show Alice. I have written about her before and I have even been her for Halloween. Now that's a uniform.

And does anyone get what the post title is referring to? Does anyone still wear...a hat?

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I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up

Have you ever been at work when something happens that requires the call for an ambulance or fire truck? It doesn't happen often and of course we hope that it never does, but occasionally, shit happens and you gotta bring in some emergency medical technicians who are gonna get all up in your space. When I was working at Bennigan's we had an occurrence that ended up with a lady being carted away in an ambulance. It was many years ago at my first ever waiting job. The main thing I remember about that place is that I wore suspenders and had buttons and crap all over me. We were encouraged to be unique in our "flair" so I pulled out my sewing machine and made my own aprons and then started charging people $5.00 to make them one if they would supply the fabric. Anyhoo, the details of that job are a blur, but I do recall this event.

The restaurant was your typical Bennigan's with a big tiled foyer where the host stood and handed out crayons and balloons and whatever else the crap we had to pass out to our tables. The tiles had a tendency to get slippery if it rained or if we spilled food or sodas on them. People were always slip sliding their asses all over the place there. I don't know why we didn't just throw a mat on the floor or something, but I guess that was too much effort for the managers. One day, the inevitable happened. A lady fell. An old lady. A really old lady. A really old lady fell really hard onto a really hard floor. I was shocked, horrified and amused all at the same time. Call me an asshole, but if someone falls I can't help but think it's the funniest thing ever. Seriously, I can watch America's Funniest Home Videos and laugh my ass off every time they show a bride running through a haze of celebratory rice and she trips on her veil and face plants into a sidewalk. The shit is funny. When the old lady hit the Bennigan's floor, the manager rushed over to assess the situation. Of course he wanted to cover his ass and make sure the floor didn't have a big puddle of honey mustard on it that she slipped in. But the floor was miraculously dry. Could it be that Senior Citizen Sally just lost her balance due to missing her blood pressure medication? Could he be that lucky? And then he spotted the culprit. A lone fork was on the floor next to her head. She had tripped on a piece of silverware. So what did he do? He did what any self respecting and model manager would do in this situation. He kicked the fork out of the way so she wouldn't know it was there. Yes, people, he hid the evidence. I saw it with my own delighted eyes as the fork slid under the host stand and he bent down to check on the well being of the lady in pain. Of course, he called an ambulance and they put her in a gurney and rolled her broken ass outta there. I never heard what happened to her. I assume they just gave her a new hip and called it a day.

As she was leaving a fellow server came up to me to discuss the incident. Her name escapes me but I always liked this girl. She was the one who informed me once that she only ever serves decaf coffee because she doesn't "need a bunch of hyper people" in her station. She leaned over to me as she watched her guest beining rolled out of the restaurant. "I wonder if I could have gotten her anything else. Coffee, tea, a splint? Oh well."