The Wait Is Over

I am proud to say:

I AM NOT A WAITRESS!!!!

Oh yes, that is fantastic.

For the first time in years, I am not a waitress. Gone are the days of lousy tips and

I did do one thing cool at the Cheesecake Factory (oh PS I worked at the Cheese). The last month I was there, the company organized a Peanut Butter drive to help needy kids. Collectively, we brought more than 43,000 lbs of peanut butter. Cool huh? That's a lot of people who get something to eat now.

The truth about tipping

How many times have I said how much I hate being a waitress?

My new issue:

Last night I had this great table. They wanted all sorts of refills, their (free) bread wasn't warm enough, they wanted extra sauce for everything, but at least they were nice. At the end of the night the bill came to $120. They left me $4.

That isn't even a 4% tip.

To all you non tippers:

For one thing, you are not the only one who tips badly. For some reason everyone seems to think that servers where I work make lots of money, so the 5% tip they leave on their one table won't make much of a difference. Except that everyone thinks that. So I get to leave with 5% tips on the whole night.

Second, you are not only screwing me over. I, the server, tip out the runners, the bartenders, and the bussers. So that $4 those ghetto people left me is shared in four parts.

Also, the government taxes my tips at 12%. Now, lets do the math. Your bill was $120. If it was $100, your $4 would be a 4% tip. So lets leave it at that you left me less than 4%. 12% of $100 would be $12. So. I have to share that 4% with 3 other people. However, the government is taxing me on at least $8 I didn't make, plus the money I've just tipped out.

I am losing money on your table.

Multiply that by, say, 20 tables a night, conservatively, and you have my predicament.

Not to mention that it costs me $7 a day for the priveledge of parking in order to go to work.

I hate waitressing.

Sick

A few days ago I got sick. Really sick. Well, not a few days ago. More like two weeks. And I couldn't kick the bug! No matter what I did, I just could not get better.

Here's the conundrum.

So, I think I had strep. Which sucks, by the way. To my readers: Try to never, ever get strep. It sucks donkey cohones. I got sick Wednesday night. Called in sick Thursday. Called in again Friday. Sat at home those two days, in a blanket, trying to make myself better.

Saturday I figured, hey, I've been out two days, I can go back to work now. It's time to make some money. Went to work, couldn't talk. Could hardly keep from coughing (not good when dealing with food). Had to make excuses at all my tables as to why my voice sounded like heck. I'm sure they were all wondering why a sick person was being allowed to serve. Me too.

Sunday I had to work again. Thought I was going to die, again. Couldn't talk, again. Ended up switching my money serving shift with a not money food running shift just so I didn't have to talk so much. My head felt like it had an anvil dropped on it, you know, like a cartoon.

Anyway, I ended up taking more days off and switching for more running shifts. Now, finally, I have my voice back, and it doesn't hurt to swallow. Hooray!

I feel like if I had gone to the doctor this would have all gotten better very shortly. However, I don't have health insurance at the moment. That's because I work as a waitress and don't make enough money to pay for health insurance. But, I couldn't go to the doctor on my own because it's too expensive. Since I wasn't working, I have to worry now about making my rent. No room in there for a $200 doctor visit. How does any of that make sense?

So, I don't have health insurance because I don't make enough money, but I can't pay for a doctor because I don't have enough money.

Aaah. This is a crazy world we live in.

Fred Savage, D. Bryant, and I'm over it

I AM SO OVER BEING A WAITRESS!!!

It's not even funny anymore.

Here's the deal: I get yelled at every single day, over FOOD. The very same people who drive through Mickey D's and easily put up with lukewarm, spit in food where they forget to put in your fries every third time come into my restaurant on the highest horse. And I am so sick of it.

There are some good points.

• The food is yummy (although, as I have discovered, it will actually make you sick if you eat it on your break and then come right back out to work). Our bread is really good... I've probably eaten 100 loaves of it by now.
• The people are cool. I mean, none of us wants to be a waitress for life. Everyone is an actor or a singer or a mom or (although there is only one of me) aspiring to a career in charity. We're all just putting up with it because it's so expensive to live in LA, you can't make a living doing retail or any of the other flexible jobs available. So we all get squeezed into a cramped space called a restaurant. No wonder the job market for servers is so competitive here.
• I'm making friends! Yay!
  
• The bussers and the kitchen staff like me. This is essential if you want to make any money in this line of work.
  
• I work mostly days. My problems with hating life as a waitress generally come when I have to work at night. When I work at night, I feel like I miss out on all the parts of life that I love, like my boyfriend and my friends. Same on the weekends.
  

So, it isn't all that bad. And the money is pretty steady. So, you know. It's a job.

Here is what I hate:

I absolutely cannot stand being yelled at for the stupidest of reasons. Now, I know what it's like to have food come out not like you ordered it. That's one thing. If you tell me no lettuce, and it comes out with lettuce, and you're allergic to lettuce, ok. Be mad. I'd be mad too! But if you yell at me for something stupid, I feel justified in yelling back.

For instance: This woman the other day orders a half chicken. You know like those ones you see at Ralphs in the rotisserie thing? Just like that, only we charge like $15. This woman orders an entire half chicken for herself, then, no joke, tells me the chicken breast is too small and she wants another one.

I get variations on this all the time. I had a guy yell at me yesterday for not having the right iced tea. No offense dude, but we have three iced tea options. Three. Don't yell at me if you're too high maintence for my three iced teas.

By the way, I had Fred Savage at my table the other day. Dude, kudos to you. I honestly had no idea who he was at first (I am the WORST with celebrities) and he was so nice. And, his three year old kid was speaking to me in three languages. Dude.

I also had Kobe Bryants cousin come in. Anyone who knows me knows how I love Kobe. LOVE. Like, cried at the Olympics when they won the gold love. See A Picture Book. So, the other day when this dude comes in looking like an exact replica of Mr. Bryant, I freaked out. But I held my cool until he gave me his visa. It said "D. Bryant" and I flipped! I was literally hopping in the back, I was so excited.

Ok, so maybe it's not so bad after all. It's just hard to get yourself psyched up to go serve people food, not knowing if it will get you the places you want to go. However, I am now armed with a new resume and a new attitude, so we'll see! Wish me luck!

Hello Hello

Whew! Long time no blog. Well. Here's how my waitressing life goes:

Last night there was a bomb scare in the parking lot. A BOMB SCARE. What? This would never happen anywhere but here. So a bunch of angry, frustrated people all come into the restaurant an hour before we close. Ugh.

I had a lady last night order a caesar salad from me. Then ten minutes later she tells me she's allergic to cheese. Of course, her salad has already been made, so I have to get it remade. Then I have to get a manager to sign off on it. Then I order them a cheesecake. Only to find out that our cheesecake is frozen and it's not possible to get them ANYTHING. Great. Then I can't get back into the check because the computer freezes. So I have to get a manager again. And on and on. This is my last table of the night, and by the time I'm done I'm ready to shoot someone.

My breaks always come at the beginning of my shift. I am neither tired or hungry 45 minutes after I start, so I sit in the back twiddling my thumbs for half an hour. Then the long stint from the end of the break to the end of the night starts, and I curse whoever made the break pattern.

There is this weird thing that happens in the kitchen. For some reason, anything that goes on back there inspires singing. I will come by, bump into someone, say I'm sorry, and get a, "it's too late to apologize!" (you know, the song). Someone will yawn while they're getting soda for a table and the runners will all sing, "wake me up before you go go!" And sometimes they even throw some musicals in there. Balancing a tray always gets some "I'm defyyyyyiiiiinnnggg gravity!" And last night for no reason whatsoever there was some South Pacific thrown in the mix.

All in all, it's great. I work every day of my life, but that's better than the two week drought I had at the last place. And in spite of the corporateness we still manage to have a bunch o' fun.

The Adams Family

Duh duh duh duh...

I noticed earlier today that the name of my new restaurant matches up perfectly with The Adams Family theme song. So all day, I've been running food singing:

They're creepy and they're kooky,
Mysterious and spooky,
They're all together ooky,
The ______ _______

Well except that I didn't know the words. But I was making up random things as I went, so it was fun.

I had this one guy today. Real class act. His daughter was very sweet and very polite, don't know how she came from him. She ordered first, very normally. Then he ordered. He changed his order three times while I was there, then pulled me back to change it a final time. Of course, when he did finally choose an item (fish and chips), he modified it to the point where it was no longer the original item but something completely different (fish and succotash, not fried, with extra fish made two different ways). Which is always fun.

So his order comes, and his side order (the succotash), and the other side order (salad, with extra tomatos and extra carrots), and the two things of extra sauce for the fish and one extra salad dressing. Everything comes out perfectly and he tells me so when I do my two bite check.

One piece of fish later, suddenly the fish tastes like it's the frozen kind, the succotash is cold and the salad is reminiscent of the bagged variety. Of course. But, being a waitress, I have to make him happy.

So I bring him newly made fish. He hates it. He orders chicken fingers, which he realizes finally is the thing he usually gets anyway. He asks for it to be made quickly, since his daughter already has his food.

I'm like, assmunch, your daughter ordered what she wanted like normal people and now she's happy like normal people are here.

I get his chicken fingers going, and get him a new, entirely different kind of salad.

He sends the salad back. It's bitter.

My manager takes him the chicken fingers. He tells the manager that he was confused, and thought that the beer battered fish and chips were the chicken fingers that he's used to ordering (what?). My manager asks if he's had fish and chips before, at which point the guy gets all in a huff and decides that our restaurant isn't up to his standards and he'd like to pay for his daughters food and just leave.

Thankfully, my manager was cool about it. The dude left me like a $6 tip, maybe he felt bad. Just goes to show what kind of clientelle I can look forward to serving. Yay.

The First Day

My first day as a real waitress!

I passed my test yesterday. At least I think I did. They said they would call me if I failed, and no one called, so.... I passed! My manager told me today that I was the only one in the class who passed, which is funny I think. But they still haven't let me see my test, and being the nerd that I am I'm freaking out that somehow they switched the numbers or something. Until I see it for myself I will be nervous. Jeez. All over a waitressing gig.

Today was my first day all by myself. Yay! It was a relatively easy day actually. Knock on wood that I don't get crazy people tomorrow.

I wish I had some weird, funny story to tell. I don't think I do.

OH WAIT!! DOG CAME IN!


I didn't wait on him and I didn't actually get to meet him, but he came in! That makes me famous vicariously.

Or something.

So, that was my big first day. I had really easy tables, and Dog the Bounty Hunter came in.

More interesting stuff later.