Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Coming Soon To A Dinner Table Near You

During my little weekly password/email checks here at the library, I've decided to write some more about the people I've met in my secondary job at a restaurant, because they are decidedly infinitely more interesting than the people in my professional job.

Still writing here now and then is also my little "fuck you" to the boys in the BH (and the women that love them). I'm still here, I'm still writing...despite your bullshit.:)

So here we go, boys....with love...from your favorite "toy."

So I guess I passed my hazing initiation with flying colors because for whatever reason, all is well with the "head cheerleaders," their archnemeses, and everyone in me.:)

Perhaps it was because of the "Insight Into You" break room game I started, or perhaps they had a hormonal upswing fluctuation, who knows, but things are markedly improved around there.

Also, I just found out that I actually....kick ass as a server. I'm not sure why, I used to suck at serving years ago. I think it has something to do with becoming a mother and learning how to multi-task amongst chaos, lol. I'm particularly good when there are children at the table, the kiddies tend to love me.

However, there are still those days...

So after I take the order, which inexplicably takes 10 minutes, the Alpha female at the table whispers that there are two birthdays, could we sing, .and could we create a sampler of some of our appetizers as her entree.

I go to put in my order in the computer. Now, lol, the last thing anyone should've ever done is given me a keyboard for the prep part of ordering, upon which I can type in anything I want on the ticket going to the kitchen.

"Filet mignon, butterflied...medium well...will you go with me? Circle yes or no."

"Add lobster. ..who's your mommy?"

I go to pick up a Cobb salad and reserve it for mealtime, writing my name on a napkin and placing it with the other train of salads with names, which read:

"Katie. Jenny. Matt. Eric. Kill Whitey."

I chuckle to myself as I pick up glasses for iced teas.

"Behind you, with a knife!" .shouts Eric.

"Behind you" is the restaurant way of letting you know not to turn around quickly, to keep you from running into a tray and dropping whatever you or that person is holding, or impaling yourself on the steak knife.

I shout..."I NEED SINGERS, TABLE 43... IN 30!"

"Singers heard!" shouts back Sally, service/window manager tonight.

"Sally, can we make an appetizer sampler for high-maintenaince ho at table 43?"

"Argggh, I guess...okay."

Anthony, the bartender, breezes in for a salad.

"Chrys, ask Garrett about his wild night playing strip poker with some really hot chicks last night."

"Dohkay, since I AM all about hot chicks playing strip poker and I detect a note of sarcasm?"

"Just do it, you'll see."

"Sooo Garrett, what's this about you playing poker with some really hot chicks last night?"


"Wow. I'm really glad you two are enjoying this, but I still have no idea of what you're talking about...and am not sure I want to."

Garrett pulls out his cell phone. There is a picture of a 300-lb naked woman with something stuffed up her nose and two Bud Light bottles covering where her nipples should be.

"JESUS...I was...totally unprepared for that, I'll have nightmares. Wow, she's pretty sexy, I hope you got lucky."

"I...don't remember...AND...I have no explanation for that."

"Tinyyyyy...order up!"

"Tiny" is my nickname, except when James says it, it comes out "Tinnnnehhhhhhh."

"Thank you."

"Here you go, shithead" says Brent (pimp daddy from the story below).

"Thank you, ball-less wonder. Wait a minute...kay, I'm missing the sampler, and this is a Delmonico instead of a filet. SHIT, I forgot the lobster tail. I NEED A LOB ON THE FLY!"

James shouts, "You fucking idiots, I need a filet on the fly. And Chrystal, there's no such thing as a lob on the fly, it takes 15 minutes, lol. And what the hell, a sampler???"

"Oooopppps...sorrrryyyy....but I love you, madly? Sally, what about the sampler?"

"Oops, sorrrrrryyy...I'll get on the sampler" Sally grins sheepishly.

"It's cool, I'll stall and say it's because the ribeye is well done."

I turn to see Sally flapping her arms wildly like a chicken. She is speaking to the appetizer chef, Geraldo, who speaks virtually no English.

Sally: "No no...two PLATES of wings, two wings on the PLATE. Ya know...pollo (flaps her arms). DOS POLLO! On the plate."

Geraldo: "Ches, chicken have two wings...on plates."

Sally: "Oh Sweet Jesus, Ricardo? Please make him understand?"

I am now...doubled over laughing, though I will now receive a 5% tip, if that.

"Where the hell are those Delmonicos for 47? Sally...I...need a minute to smoke, this is chaotic"... says hot (and hotheaded) new bar manager, helping out in the kitchen.

Sally and I simultaneously look at each other and raise an eyebrow...MEN. They can't handle this kind of stress; as I said, we mothers are used to chaos and multitasking and it's no big deal.

"NO, GERALDO....TWO WINGS ON THE PLATE, NOT TWO PLATES OF WINGS!!! OMG, Chrystal...he's going to punch me, right in my face, and I don't blame him.

I am now peeing myself with laughter at this display.

"Chrystal, I'm not leaving this kitchen to that table to apologize until I have a lob, a filet, and the sampler" Sally says, grabbing onto the metal bar at the counter.

"Me neither. Let's chain ourselves in solidarity...(sings)... We Shall Overrrcomme."

"Tinehhh.....order UPPPP!"

Out we go, Sally kisses their asses.

Ten minutes later, it's birthday showtime, but everyone is too busy to sing.

"Sally, I'm trying to salvage any sort of tip whatsoever from this table and everyone's too busy to sing and there are two birthdays, can we NOT ruin these people's birthdays?"


So now fourteen singers, Sally, and myself approach the table, clapping.

"Ladies and gentlemen...may I have your attention please. Though Pam and Rick's friends and family would never even think of embarrassing them for their birthdays, their friends and family here at ____ have...absolutely no problem with that whatsoever. Please join me in singing the ____ birthday song."

And that three-ring circus would end up leaving me with?

Big smiles, no idea of what went into their meal (or what was initially omitted) and?

A $50 tip, thank you....:)

all's well that ends well.:)


As always, I'm posting/visiting nowhere else but here, so if you receive emails, visits, comments, or anything else that appears to be associated with me, my name, or picture (and you don't know me in real life to call me and verify or view my computer emails/visit history).... it's not me, and it never was...believe that or not...but how could I prove it anyway?

At this point, I pretty much know who was involved. Trying to investigate/figure out who kept doing these things for two years (and why) only became flipped around back on ME into "stalking" I would advise anyone else experiencing "issues" with this same group to be very careful.

Gain as much documentation as you can, but be prepared for the same response, if you're dealing with those from that posse.

If you have the money (and want the drama), I would advise letting professionals do your investigation for you....though cyber harrassment/stalking IS very difficult to prove.

Even if you have an IP address, you can't prove it was that person, at that computer, at that very moment...and the BH tend to use dynamic IPs.

So until next time, enjoy your dinners....we always do.:)

Friday, January 11, 2008

The Break Room Game...


Sometimes, all you need is a sophisticated gay man in your life; one like Carson Kressley, only better....and I think I've found him. :)

So I'm at the library returning books and researching something for a friend, thought I'd write this out for...well... me... and whoever...or WHATever might be reading. ;)

Through Christmas, I started waiting tables, Thursdays through Sunday, for extra money. Apparently, an already-existing "clique-war" that I walked into (without knowing the history of) turned into an explosion, three days before Christmas.

Server A was screaming at server B about taking her tables, Server C accused Server D of stealing tips...when I've noticed myself that the people most guilty of this ARE servers A and C...but many times, it's always the biggest accusers that think everyone else operates the way THEY do...but I told no one. I was surprised, however, when someone said this loudly in the break room.

The new servers, which included R and myself, ended up smoking nervously in that break room, in fact, lol, just trying to avoid the rest of them and taking sides...which is how we met. Actually, I think that two girls have control and kinda bully the other two, but these days, I stay out of that kinda thing unless it directly involves me...and they really WANT it to involve me, lol.

So I told him that I think this restaurant could use his testosterone for balance...use however much testosterone he had left and go out there immeeeediately and spread it around.

Don't get me wrong, though there's always drama, I've actually missed waiting tables. There's always a singing chef. There's always some sort of food fight after the most anal-retentive manager has left for the day. There's always a ridiculous birthday song that no one wants to sing, and if you are of the more mischievous set, changing a word or two of it into something else so that no one laugh at least 27 times per shift.

The particular saving grace for me is on Thursdays, when I work a full shift with R. He also has a professional job and just works a couple of serving shifts for extra cash, so we pretty much just roll our eyes and spend most of our time playing playing trivia games to the music overhead.

In fact, we're so tight, we've become like an inseparable team; our tables love us because we are becoming famous for our ongoing music trivia war. We drop whatever we're doing at our tables, point at the other across the room and shout:

"General Public...Tenderness"....Ohhhh yeah, I do believe I was first, thank you, I rock....that's two points for me."

For whatever reason, our customers love this....then we do air shots of imaginary Jaeger in the kitchen over it later for our amusement.

R is the intelligent, cultured, joyful type of gay man I haven't had in my life in a long time, since before I was married, and I've missed it. In fact, the last one I had, I helped bury in 1996 from AIDs.

R transferred here six months ago from Boston, educated in New Hampshire, owns a home with his partner of four years, loves to entertain and garden, and would rather build you up than tear you down in a catty way; he radiates character...and I adore the man.

I think it's no secret that I've become a bit jaded over the past two years after some events, but something he said reminded me of who I used to be.

So in the spirit of R and the wonderful character HE is, here's a portion of what I wrote and left in the break-room to try to smooth things over between warring parties...apparently, it was a hit:

Break-Room Game: Here's something to do besides smoke and complain about our coworkers.

"Who Am I"... AKA...."Reasons Not to Hurt My Coworkers."

If you CAN'T see these things about your coworkers (or yourself), you're not even trying. Try it, it works...for at least the next five minutes.


(P.S...I'm not on the list, by the way.)

  1. I will inexplicably break into song at any given moment, appropriate or not, to try to give us all a boost. Who am I?
  2. Despite my tough, goth appearance, I am the perfect example of NOT juding a book by its cover. I actually love people, have an open heart, and I enjoy getting to know you. I also just like to break the preconceived perception mold, based on my appearance. Who Am I?
  3. I have a lightning-fast wit and a high IQ, and I am generally the little stick of dynamite in the room Now, if I only realized that about myself. Who am I?
  4. I am definitely not afraid to use my outside voice indoors. I am learning that if I focus it in the right direction, I can move mountains. Who am I?
  5. I have a tough, no-nonsense approach to work. I keep you busy to keep drama and gossip to a minimum and YOU out of trouble.
  6. Once you get past the "playah" facade, I actually am a little sensitive...but don't spread that around. I am learning to value myself for my sense of humor and my intelligence rather than the number of women I can collect. Who am I?
  7. I am learning that it's okay to be pissed at times; it doesn't make me a bad person. In fact, it's often good for me AND them to say "no." Who am I?
  8. I'm a smart, tough-cookie workhorse, but I also have a heart of gold and a ready laugh. Whatever circumstances I am dealt, I STILL will never leave my coworkers holding the bag. Who am I?
  9. I'm goofy as hell, have a wit that won't quit, and I love to provide your entertainment; however, make no mistake - I have a "no tolerance for bullshit" policy and I'm not afraid to use it. Who am I?
  10. I am kind to everyone, sincerely. I also have an artist's eye and creativity to bring to the table. Who am I?
  11. Though I look like I could crush you like a walnut (and probably could), I'd rather motivate your ass to help me and make you laugh while doing it. Who am I?
  12. I exude joy and positivity. I would rather have coffee with you and build you up than throw fries at you and tear you down. I am the poster child of team player. Who am I?