This Manager Thinks the Restaurant is Her Dynasty

In my continuing series of first impressions of the people at my new job, let us focus our attention on another manager that we shall refer to as "Linda Evans." Not because she looks like the pristine flower Krystle Carrington from the hit television show of the '80's, Dynasty, but because I always wanted a poodle named Krystle Carrington and this lady might be as close as I ever get. On my second day at work, I was standing near the bar when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and it was her. "Hi, I'm Linda Evans and I'm a manager. I need you (pause) to tuck your shirt in." I quickly apologized and did as I was told only to look up and see that she had vanished. Really? That's how you're going to introduce yourself to a new employee? I had seen her for two days already and thought she was host because she never said one word to me. And before you think I was being slobby or disrespectful about leaving my shirttails untucked let me inform you that I reached that decision very carefully. I noticed that most of the women did not have their shirts tucked in and none of the bartenders did including the guys. So I felt more comfortable with mine untucked as well. All it ever does is come untucked anyway whenever I reach up to a high shelf, bend over to pick up some crap off the floor or fall to my knees asking "Why God? Why? Why didn't I want to grow up to be a doctor?" Linda Evans had nothing else to say to me that day. But I watched her. And I questioned why it was me that had to have my shirt tucked in? And who was she to make that style-based decision? This chick has a nose ring, a lip piercing, was wearing tight black stretch pants and tacky ass Uggs looking boots with a fur vest? Really? My shirt was what was inappropriate? Okay, Linda Evans.

Linda Evans has not said much else to me. I had to discuss my schedule with her because she wrote it out completely ignoring the fact that I told them I could only work part-time because I have another job and a life. She scheduled me all over the fucking week with conflicts up my ass. She told me to email her and she would take care of it. Thirty-six hours have passed since I sent the email and still no word. I will not be there on Tuesday, Linda Evans. The only other time she has approached me was last night. I accidentally shut a cabinet hard too hard and it made a little bit of noise. She rushed over to me and told me I needed to be quiet. Now it was 9:00 on a Saturday night, we were packed, you could barely hear yourself think, but she told me that I shut the cabinet too loud. Why not go over to the ten top at table 14 who are on their fifth bottle of wine and ask them to bring it down a decibel or two? They have been screaming their heads off but the cabinet door I shut is what is too loud. Linda Evans clearly has a need to tell people what to do. And get this: I think I am old enough to be her father. I kinda hate her for that reason alone. I want to send some Alexis Carrington Colby over to this chica and slap the shit out of her.


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Holly Hobbie Has a Stick Up Her Ass

You know the old saying that you never get a second chance to make a first impression? Well, such is the case with a couple of people at my new job. I have a manager who we shall refer to as Alexandria who made a very strong first impression on my first day at the job and that impression would be one of true ice queen bitch from fucking hell. What is it with restaurant managers who think they are so superior to everyone else?

So it was my first shift meeting and I am getting bombarded with all kinds of information that either I don't understand or don't give a shit about. And then Alexandria had something to say. Let me paint a picture of her so you can imagine what I have to look at. She dresses like Holly Hobbie grew up and started shopping at Anthropologie and she put on a special outfit for a Stevie Nicks concert. She wears glasses on the tip of her nose, all the better to peer over them in a condescending manner. She must have a lemon stuck up her ass, because her face is in perpetual sourpuss mode and she has a stick up there too which must have gotten there when she was trying to extract that piece of citrus fruit from her bunghole. You know what they say: when life gives you lemons, you shove it up your asshole. I don't like her. So she says, "Okay, so during opening side work this morning, someone thought they would put their iPod into our system and listen to their own music. That is not acceptable. The music that is played in here also plays in the mezzanine of our neighboring store." (We share a space with a fancy retail store.) "Not okay." Then another manager (we'll call him Lispy Gay) says, "Yeth. Now at night I thimply don't thay anything becauth the sthore ith clothed. But during the day, we abtholutely cannot do that." Now my thought was this: if you allow it at night and have never told anyone that it is not alright to do during the day, how in the hell is anyone supposed to know that vital piece of information? Then Alexandria, pulls the iPod from her crocheted vest pocket and asks who it belongs to. A server raised his hand and apologized. "Don't let it happen again," she hissed. And then she tossed the iPod across the bar and let it bounce a few times before coming to rest in front of the vilified server. She threw it. Was there a reason for that shit? It was an honest mistake and she could have broken the fucking iPod just because she wanted to toss her authority around. All of the servers said a collective "oooh" when it hit the bar. Alexandria pushed her glasses back up her nose and then readjusted in her bar stool presumably to see if it was time for the lemon to fall out of her ass hole. It's not time. And it never will be time. That lemon is there for eternity.

As I have mentioned before, I will not be telling anyone there about this blog so I can continually rake them over the coals without them knowing about it. Stay tuned for more first impressions of Lispy Gay, another bitch manager we will call Linda Evans and anyone else who gets on my fucking nerves. A new crappy job may be the best thing that could have happened for this tired ass blog.

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First Days Are Hard

I am up to my eyeballs in training shifts for my new job, so I decided to re-post about the first day at my last new job. And no, I did not quit my job at the club. I just wanted a a few more shifts somewhere else. This is from September of last year:

My first day at my new job went off without a hitch with the exception of one huge asshole who sat at table 24. Do they follow me? Am I an asshole magnet? My fellow co-workers were shocked that this guy treated me the way he did. "We never get people like that. I am so sorry you had to deal with him." Poor me, destined to deal with assholes no matter where I work. I may as well be a fucking proctologist.

So this place I work at now is pretty nice. Did I mention we have candles? Yeah, candles. Most of the folks that come in for the shows are prepared to drop a pretty penny for the cover charge and the two-drink minimum. But this guy was different. He plopped his fat ass at his seat. I gave him the shpiel about how he had to have two drinks while there and how helpful it would be to tell me both of them now so as not to interrupt him during the performance. "Do you gots Bud Light?" Being new to the job and seeing that he had a list of beers in front of him, I paused and told him I wasn't sure. I looked at the list and said, "No, sorry just Amstel Light and Sam Adams Light." He informed me that he would have an Amstel Light.

"Alright, sir. And would you like that for your second drink as well?"

"I dunno." Long pause as he stared at me. "I'll tell you what I do want though. Get the biggest glass you have. Fill it with ice. Then fill it with water. Then put a lemon in it. I want two of those right now." I make my way to another table and he calls me again. "Do you have any food?" I suppose he doesn't understand the purpose of the menu sitting in front of him.

"Yes sir, we do. I have hummus and pita chips, spinach artichoke dip-"

"No, no no. Food. Real food."

"That is food sir. We do consume that."

"Meat. Do you have any food that is meat?"

I was staring to hate this guy. "Then no sir, we don't have any food."

"What kind of food do you have then?"

I have now crossed the line from starting to hate this guy to actually hating this guy. I reiterated our food options and he finally agreed on the cheese plate and then berated me for not knowing the price without looking at the menu. He almost choked when I told him how expensive it was, but he ordered it. The table next to him told me "good luck" as I went to ring in his order. He yelled out to me he also wanted a shot of Jack Daniels. When I brought out his beer, shot and two waters (which he never touched) he told me he needed a Coke chaser and he was not paying for it because where he comes from you just automatically get a Coke chaser with a shot of Jack and he was not paying for it and he would not be paying for it. Got it, ass. Fine.

Halfway through the show he leaves his seat to come to the bar and complain that he is dissatisfied with his cheese plate. He was not paying for a plate of crackers with one piece of cheese. He would not be paying for it. Got it, fine. Meanwhile the other server went to retrieve said cheese plate and showed him several pieces of cheese that were still on it proving that it did have more than one piece as he claimed. "Well, I don't like swiss!" (It was edam.) "And I don't know what those other cheeses are!" (They were gouda and brie.) I guess he just didn't recognize his old stalwart cheeses of American, cheddar and Whiz.

We took the cheese plate of his bill. After the show, he walked around the room talking to some of his friends and ignoring me as I waited to accept payment. About fifteen minutes later I hear the other server calling after him as he walked toward the door. "Sir, are you going to pay your check??" Asshole laughed. "Oh my Lord. I totally forgot about it. I'm sorry. How much do I owe you? Hardy har har."

I ran his credit card and you know what the asshole did? On a $49 check, he left me ten bucks. A great tip. I swear to God, I just don't get people.

Dear Bitchy Waiter

It's time for some heartfelt advice from The Bitchy Waiter. Do you have an issue that The Bitchy Waiter can help you with? Job, personal, relationships? You name it. You can email me here and I will answer one question a week. Or just email me to say hello. It makes me happy. Let's see what we find in the mailbag today:


Dear Bitchy Waiter,


I just recently turned 20 years old and my friends threw me a party. Of course there was alcohol there, but I didn't drink. I never do as I feel it is against my standards. For years my friends have always overindulged with alcohol, and I see how much fun they have when we party while I'm the odd one out. They make fun of me saying that I'm a goody two shoes and how I need to loosen up and have some fun, and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe they're right. I see commercials for things like Captain Jack, Smirnoff and every type beer you can think of on television. There are also numerous billboards and internet advertisements. Even you have professed your love for alcohol and all things apple martini. I know I'm not yet 21, but I feel like the influence of alcohol is all around me. Everyone else is doing it. Should I?

Sincerely,

Curious

Dear Curious,

Believe it or not, I say don't drink. First off, you're only 20 and it's illegal. Secondly, there is no hurry. If you don't want to drink, then don't drink. When I was in high school, I too was pressured to do a lot of things I never really wanted to do. People called me Goody Two Shoes but I held firm. Well, at least until the invention of the California Cooler and then I caved in. However, there are many things that I always have and always will say "no" to. On occasion, there are nights that I find myself without a martini glass firmly affixed to my hand and I still have a good time. Yes, I love my cocktails but not all the time. I have a friend who doesn't drink except for the occasional glass of wine with dinner. When the check comes, she always owes a fraction of what my alcoholic ass does, so at the very least you can always relish the fact that you won't go into the poorhouse to keep up with your friends. As for your friends, they will respect your decision to not drink. If they don't, then they are assholes and not really friends. Anyone who pressures you to drink, smoke, do drugs or shoplift are only doing it to justify their own behavior. Stand firm in what you believe. There are a lot of ads out there for alcohol but who cares? The only thing I see advertised more is cars and I don't even drive. Tune them out and order that Shirley Temple with pride. And rejoice that you only have to shell out two bucks for yours as opposed to the twelve bucks I have to come up with for my apple martini. Good luck


Love,
The Bitchy Waiter

I Got a New Job

Did you hear the angels singing yesterday? Did you see the rainbow form in the sky and end at my doorstep with a unicorn sliding down it? Did you get a whiff of the sweet smell of success? I started a new job. (Cue confetti cannons and balloons, please.) I began training yesterday with what we all know and love: trailing. For those not in the know, trailing is when a new server follows behind someone who teaches newbie the ropes. I hate it. Give me a table chart, a menu and tell me how to ring in food and I'm good to go. It's especially annoying when the one who is training me is younger than my Smiths concert t-shirt that I sleep in. But what choice do I have? None. Like a helpless puppy, I follow Mike around so he can tell where the salt is kept in dry storage. Important, yes, but there are so many other things that I want to know about on my first day of work but you just can't blurt these things out:

• What do we get for shift meal and when is it?
• How much did you walk with yesterday?
• Which of the managers is a bitch and which one is cool?
• Are we really not supposed to use our cell phones or is that just something they say to the new people? Because I saw that girl texting in the sidestand.
• So the manager said that our jeans had to be a certain shade so I went and bought a new pair, but now I see people all over the place with faded ones. What the hell?
• Is the chef who is expediting always so cunty?
• Which of the servers are not cool, because I don't want to waste time getting to know them if they are losers.
• Do Jay Z and Beyonce really come in here all the time or is that something they told me at the orientation so I'd be all excited about my new place of employment?
• Are the managers gonna have an issue with me needing off November 15-17 because I kinda want to go to Washington DC for a couple of days?
• It's great that we have a barista who deals with all the coffees, teas and cappuccinos, but how much am I going to be tipping their asses out?
• Do I really have to use a tray to carry a single glass of water because that is so dumb.
  
• What happens if I fail my menu quiz? At Bennigan's we were told if we failed it, we couldn't wait tables. I failed it but still waited tables. Do I really need to memorize every fucking ingredient in the chicken liver toast appetizer?
• Which hostess is the biggest whore? I just wanna know.

I suppose all of these things will eventually be known to me. It's hard being the new guy. None of them know how totally cool I am and that they will soon be starring in this blog. I shan't tell anyone though. It took me long enough to find this goddamn job, so I ain't risking telling the wrong person about The Bitchy Waiter and get my ass fired. I'll just write about them. Soon someone will do something that warrants a whole blog post but will they know about it? Hell no. This is our secret.

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TAKE OUT, a kick ass short film

Someone sent me this great film and you all really need to see it. If you have ever waited tables, (and I know you have) you will totally get it. It's only six minutes long so do yourself a favor and watch it. Go here to see it on You Tube.

I wanna be her.

Can You Speak Sign Language?

A friend of mine told me of his night out last week when he came across a server who may out bitch even me. David ran the story by me to see if the waiter reacted appropriately or not. Usually, I side with the waiter but I heard him out before I passed judgment.

David was at a very expensive restaurant with a party of about ten or so. They had made a reservation and were there to celebrate a birthday. A cake had been brought to the restaurant before and plenty of money was being spent. According to my friend, the place was really loud because there was an overzealous deejay and it sounds like one of those places that can't decide if they are a restaurant or a club. It was also very crowded which was keeping the server from getting to all sides of the table. At one point my friend wanted some more water but was seated too far away from the waiter to ask him. Since he didn't want to yell across the table, he simply made eye contact and mouthed "more water please" while pointing to his empty glass. The waiter put on his "I'm a bitch" hat and yelled back to my friend, "I'm sorry sir, but I don't speak sign language." He then turned on a dime and swished off. Wait, what? David told me that the restaurant was kind of a hoity toity place so I am sure the waiter was one of those bitchy ass queens who thinks they are too good for their job. And I can say that because I might be one of those bitchy ass queens who thinks he is too good for his job. I know David and I know that he didn't mean this in a rude way. Plus he's British so everything he says sound perfectly polite. He can say, "Pardon me, but I just took a dump on your sofa and I feel just awful about it. My apologies." And with that accent you just kinda go, "Oh, okay. Thank you. Where are you from?" The table was stunned by the waiter's response so David called him back over and told him there was need to be so rude. The waiter laughed like he was just kidding and said he would go get the water. Yeah, I've tried the laughing thing to make what you said sound like it was a joke when in all actuality it was just plain bitchy. He didn't bring the water until they were leaving.

So my friend wanted to know if I would have been offended by the way he asked for water and I must say the answer is no. It's clear when someone is doing something if they are doing it to be dismissive or they are doing it in earnest. I think I would have known why David pointed at the water and wouldn't have given it a second thought. I feel that the waiter was over his night, knew that this table was having an auto-grat stamped to their bill and didn't give a shit. We've all done it. I confirmed to David that the waiter was just being a prick and encouraged him to let it go. The waiter got his 18% but David told the manager what he did. David felt better, the manager probably just told the waiter to chill out and someone else paid for the bill. All in all, everything worked out fine. But what a bitchy ass waiter. I like him. "I don't speak sign language." What a hoot. I've totally gotta remember that one.

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