"Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came."
These are some lyrics from the Cheers theme song, and I think this is the kind of picture most people have in mind when they think of being a "regular" at a restaurant or bar. We become regulars because we've found a place where we're appreciated, and we want to support that particular business for allowing us to feel comfortable and needed. The normal regular has created a community for herself (or himself), and only expects good service and good times when she (or he) pays a visit to the Bar.
This character is an irregular regular. To avoid confusion (because I'm not talking about his pooping habits, as Crystal pointed out), I've given him the name "Abnormal Regular". He knows all of the employees and managers at my restaurant, and he is outwardly a very nice man. He shows up in the early afternoon and plays trivia games into the night; it is not unusual for him to witness the 5:00 shift change. He is just short of retirement age, although I'm guessing that he retired early--how else could he have forty hours every week to come in and drink our Coca Cola?
As far as I know, the Abnormal Regular is a widower or divorced. When he came in for Valentine's Day this year, I asked him if he had anything planned and he said he tried not to stay home on Valentine's Day since he was alone. He does have children, however, which suggests that he was in a long term relationship at one point in his life.
On to the interesting stuff: what makes the Abnormal Regular so abnormal? Well, it seems to me that this man is not motivated by the same things as a normal regular. As I mentioned earlier, there is a certain sentimentality that seems to be a part of most regulars. With A.R. this is purely business. I submit my evidence:
1) Having established his regularity, he expects that we will not charge him for his drinks or any little extras that we would charge another guest for. Ex: The other day, A.R. ordered a sandwich with fries. He wanted a side of ranch for the fries. The restaurant mandates that I charge him for the ranch. He knows this, but he also knows I can get the ranch for free if I want, so he adds, "And just so you know, none of the other girls ever charge me for that stuff." Now, I have known people to be unsubtle about their dreams of free food, but I have never had a guest come right out and say something like that to me. I can only imagine that this man must be somewhat confident, yet something about his demeanor suggests to me that he is at the same time rather insecure. Only a confident person would say something like that, but only a person insecure in his status as "regular" would feel the need to say it. A true regular would secretly hope for freebies, but never be upset if he or she did not receive them. This brings me to exhibit #2.
2) The Abnormal Regular is nice as pie until he doesn't get what he wants. One time, upon being charged for his side of ranch, he began talking badly about his server to another server. And one day, when I was on shift, he became enraged when I would not put the jukebox music on audio. Funny sidenote: Two days ago Abnormal Regular told me he loved Lily Allen.
3) A.R. is systematically scamming my restaurant, which under these circumstances I find funny. Our restaurant, which is a chain, offers an incentive for guests to tell us about their experiences. Our computers randomly print out receipts that our guests can use to access an online survey. Once they have completed the survey, they are given a code. With the original receipt and their code, they receive a free appetizer (no purchase necessary). Now, of the ten to fifteen times I have waited on the Abnormal Regular, he has NEVER actually paid for food. He either only drinks a Coke the entire time he is here (and don't forget--he doesn't get charged that kind of stuff!), or he has one of the aforementioned receipts and orders something for free. Many of us had speculated about how he always manages to have one of these receipts, until one day last week when I witnessed him patrolling the empty tables in search of abandoned receipts! This is a move that my good friend Mary would pull in a heartbeat if she had the time and patience, but she doesn't, which is what sets her apart I suppose (I'll be watching for you in forty years, Mary!).
Evidence submitted. Don't you think it's fair to say that this man is not a regular, but in fact a con artist of sorts? I imagine him making his rounds in the corporate restaurant world, silently stalking and picking his victims like a serial killer would. This man builds relationships with various restaurants' staffs, earning their trust and their benevolent acts (free soda, hello!), and then he figures out the system and screws it until he has worn out his welcome and moves on to a new place. But WHAT IS HIS MOTIVE? What kind of life has led him here? His capacity for caring and being nice tells me that he's not a bad person, but he can be so sneaky! I need your input immediately!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Yossarian!
I'm finishing up Catch-22 right now. For those of you who haven't read it, it takes place during WWII, and it involves an entire squadron of pilots in the US military that are all stationed in Italy. Yossarian, who is the only normal person in the book, is portrayed as the most insane person in the book. The Catch-22 is that a pilot has to be crazy to want to fly a mission, and that a sane person would never want to fly one. The only way out of flying a mission is to be diagnosed insane, but the insane people are the ones who want to fly and therefore won't seek treatment for being insane because they don't know they're insane. Got it?
It occurred to me tonight that this Catch-22 is applicable to the restaurant industry. Clearly, restaurants don't want crazy people acting as the face of the restaurant and waiting tables, but you'd have to be crazy to do it. Those of us who accidentally fell into a job at a restaurant want out, but also know we're the reliable ones they need there because everyone else is crazy.
Two days ago, a nice man with a light Mexican accent came in and asked for an application. He was very friendly, and after he had filled it out, he asked me for the store's phone number so that he might call back to check on the status of his application. Today, as I was driving to work, I saw this man walking with his backpack down the busy street on which my restaurant is located, and I just knew that he had come from checking on his application. "He must be crazy to want to work here," I thought to myself, only later realizing that he was probably desperate for a job if he was walking around on a cold day instead of using a car. Anyway, it got me thinking about what his story might be. What led this unfortunate man to covet a job at my restaurant so much? For the purposes of my story, I will name this man Yossarian, not because he reminds of the character, but because Catch-22 is the only thing I can think about right now.
Yossarian grew up on a small farm outside of Navajoa, Mexico. His family owned the farm, and they worked very hard to maintain it. Yossarian's father was a proud man, but mostly a good one. Having grown up himself on the family farm, he had a very sentimental attachment to the land and would stop at nothing to keep it thriving as well as in the family.
What Yossarian did not know, but would soon find out at the tender age of eight, was that his father had made some risky investments in the fifties to protect the farm during the droughts that had hit the Yaqui Valley (where their farm was located). In the sixties, his father had not told his family (and especially not his sons) about the investments, because the people from whom he had borrowed money were shifty characters who had been arrested and sent to prison. This is why, in 1968, it was such a surprise to Yossarian's father (and his family) that these men showed up wanting the money they had lent with interest so many years ago.
At that time, immigration to the United States from Mexico was not nearly as common as it is today, but Yossarian's father still knew a couple of families who had made the jump up and east to Texas. It was with his family's welfare in mind that Yossarian's father packed up as many of their belongings as possible and convinced his wife and children to leave with him that night. He knew that the angry, money-hungry men that he had wronged would be back soon, and that he would be lucky if all they did was burn his crops. It was better to be safe.
Once in the United States, Yossarian and his brothers were enrolled in a public school in El Paso. It had been a long and difficult journey, one that was not made easier by the fact that none of them spoke any English. Yossarian was almost nine years old, and adapted quickly. His older brothers were fifteen and twelve, and had a much more difficult time with their sudden insertion into American culture. Yossarian's mother worked nights in a large factory, running some of the machines. Yossarian's father had found work in construction; he knew manual labor well. With the two of their incomes combined, the family had just enough money to get by. Eventually, the family became comfortable in Texas, and things went smoothly for a time.
When 1979 rolled around, it was time for Yossarian to graduate from high school and find a job of his own (he was 19, having been held back to repeat a grade his first year in the U.S.). Yossarian's family could not afford to send him to school; they only had enough to get by, and there had been a few close calls the years his mother had been sick with all of those stomach flus and colds. Yossarian knew that it would soon be up to him to earn an income for the family. His two older brothers had married and moved out of the family's small apartment, and Yossarian's parents would soon be too old to work their jobs.
Yossarian found a well-paying job in a meat-packing plant; the smell was terrible, but his starting pay was more than his father earned after ten years at his job. At the meat-packing plant, Yossarian had the opportunity to work with other Mexican immigrants and hear their stories. He quickly realized how lucky he had been to have his entire family survive the trip to Texas, and to have had a roof over his head so that he could do well enough in school to graduate. It was at this plant, during one of his day shifts, that Yossarian saw Angela for the first time. To most people, she would seem average, or even plain. But to Yossarian, her kind eyes and vibrant smile could not be rivaled. He felt a warmth emanating from her that he had never experienced before. The two quickly fell in love, and married two years later, both of them 22.
Ten more years went by, and Yossarian and Angela were still working at the same plant. They had two children, Miguel and Anita, who stayed home with Yossarian's mother during their shifts. Yossarian's mother's illnesses had become more frequent, and she was now too weak to work the long shifts expected of her at the factory. In 1991, Yossarian's mother died of cancer. The family, although devastated by the loss, was able to survive the death of their matriarch financially. Yossarian worked over time to pay for the cost of the funeral. A year later, things seemed to have returned to normal, although Yossarian knew life would never be the same without his mother.
Yossarian invited his father to move in with his family after his mother's death, and with three incomes the family was doing okay. It was not long, however, before Yossarian's father simply became too old to perform the tasks asked of him at his construction job. He eventually had no choice but to retire, and this would take a financial toll on the family. Still, the family managed to get by until 2000, when Angela became pregnant again. She and Yossarian were shocked; they were 40 years old! Angela, who had delivered her first two children naturally at home for lack of a better option, knew that this would be a difficult pregnancy from the beginning. Her morning sickness was more intense, and her level of energy dropped significantly. She was worried about the medical expenses, as she and Yossarian had barely any health coverage. One night during her second trimester, Angela woke to excruciating pains in her abdomen; she knew that something was wrong. Yossarian raced her to the hospital, where the doctors placed her on strict bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy. To make up for the lost income, Yossarian began working as much overtime as he was allowed at the meat-packing plant, pulling more that 70 hours some weeks. When a nasty stomach virus was going around and everybody else was at home, Yossarian was working at the plant and vomiting into a bucket he kept nearby (he'd had to hide it from his supervisors so he wouldn't be sent home).
Eventually, the medical expenses and the overtime became too much for Yossarian. His kids were both in the last few years of their public educations, and he hated to move them away at this point in time. Angela would be back on her feet soon, and they could work together to pay off their debt to the hospital. The family managed to keep their heads above the water for the next few years, when one day they received a terrible phone call. Yossarian's father had been in an accident while visiting some of his old construction friends at a new site. Since he had not been an employee, he had not been wearing the proper gear for the height of the project his friends were working on. He'd lost his balance and fallen fifty feet; he'd died on impact. The company was certainly not going to pay for the funeral, and many questions were raised as to why he had been allowed on site at all. Yossarian and Angela were once again faced with funeral costs.
Having met one of his co-worker's cousins from another Midwestern state, Yossarian had heard about a new job opportunity at a waste management center. The center had recently opened and was still short-staffed. If they took action now, the friend's cousin had said, he and Angela would both be able to get higher-paying jobs. Yossarian and Angela took a chance and moved out of state with their youngest child (Miguel and Anita had both earned scholarships to a state university and were currently living on campus). Having spent everything they had to make the move, there was no chance for Yossarian and Angela to change their minds once they reached their new home and found that there were no longer any jobs left at the waste management center. The couple sold their only car, and Angela was able to find a job cleaning houses that were near the city's bus route. The pay was terrible; Yossarian had to find some sort of job! He began walking the streets during the day, looking for a place--any place--that would give him work. The recession was taking its toll on this city, however, and it was increasingly difficult to find anything. One day, Yossarian went to bed feeling desperate and hopeless. He was tired of always having to struggle! It was so unfair that God had given him nothing but death and poverty in return for his hard work. That night, while Yossarian lay wallowing in self-pity, Angela and their youngest child, Yolanda, walked into the room with some hot cocoa for Yossarian. Yolanda handed Yossarian a picture she had drawn of her family at school that day. In the picture, everybody was smiling. They were standing in a field with large, colorful flowers and a rainbow in the background. Angela smiled at Yossarian, and he realized that he could not give up hope. He had so much to be thankful for already, and so many reasons to keep doing everything he could for his family.
The next day, Yossarian wandered into a restaurant and asked for an application. Even though he had a feeling that he would not be hired at the restaurant, he gave the girl he'd talked to a warm "thank you" and left the place with an optimistic smile. He would try again in a few days, and even if things didn't work out, he had a feeling they would work out just fine.
It occurred to me tonight that this Catch-22 is applicable to the restaurant industry. Clearly, restaurants don't want crazy people acting as the face of the restaurant and waiting tables, but you'd have to be crazy to do it. Those of us who accidentally fell into a job at a restaurant want out, but also know we're the reliable ones they need there because everyone else is crazy.
Two days ago, a nice man with a light Mexican accent came in and asked for an application. He was very friendly, and after he had filled it out, he asked me for the store's phone number so that he might call back to check on the status of his application. Today, as I was driving to work, I saw this man walking with his backpack down the busy street on which my restaurant is located, and I just knew that he had come from checking on his application. "He must be crazy to want to work here," I thought to myself, only later realizing that he was probably desperate for a job if he was walking around on a cold day instead of using a car. Anyway, it got me thinking about what his story might be. What led this unfortunate man to covet a job at my restaurant so much? For the purposes of my story, I will name this man Yossarian, not because he reminds of the character, but because Catch-22 is the only thing I can think about right now.
Yossarian grew up on a small farm outside of Navajoa, Mexico. His family owned the farm, and they worked very hard to maintain it. Yossarian's father was a proud man, but mostly a good one. Having grown up himself on the family farm, he had a very sentimental attachment to the land and would stop at nothing to keep it thriving as well as in the family.
What Yossarian did not know, but would soon find out at the tender age of eight, was that his father had made some risky investments in the fifties to protect the farm during the droughts that had hit the Yaqui Valley (where their farm was located). In the sixties, his father had not told his family (and especially not his sons) about the investments, because the people from whom he had borrowed money were shifty characters who had been arrested and sent to prison. This is why, in 1968, it was such a surprise to Yossarian's father (and his family) that these men showed up wanting the money they had lent with interest so many years ago.
At that time, immigration to the United States from Mexico was not nearly as common as it is today, but Yossarian's father still knew a couple of families who had made the jump up and east to Texas. It was with his family's welfare in mind that Yossarian's father packed up as many of their belongings as possible and convinced his wife and children to leave with him that night. He knew that the angry, money-hungry men that he had wronged would be back soon, and that he would be lucky if all they did was burn his crops. It was better to be safe.
Once in the United States, Yossarian and his brothers were enrolled in a public school in El Paso. It had been a long and difficult journey, one that was not made easier by the fact that none of them spoke any English. Yossarian was almost nine years old, and adapted quickly. His older brothers were fifteen and twelve, and had a much more difficult time with their sudden insertion into American culture. Yossarian's mother worked nights in a large factory, running some of the machines. Yossarian's father had found work in construction; he knew manual labor well. With the two of their incomes combined, the family had just enough money to get by. Eventually, the family became comfortable in Texas, and things went smoothly for a time.
When 1979 rolled around, it was time for Yossarian to graduate from high school and find a job of his own (he was 19, having been held back to repeat a grade his first year in the U.S.). Yossarian's family could not afford to send him to school; they only had enough to get by, and there had been a few close calls the years his mother had been sick with all of those stomach flus and colds. Yossarian knew that it would soon be up to him to earn an income for the family. His two older brothers had married and moved out of the family's small apartment, and Yossarian's parents would soon be too old to work their jobs.
Yossarian found a well-paying job in a meat-packing plant; the smell was terrible, but his starting pay was more than his father earned after ten years at his job. At the meat-packing plant, Yossarian had the opportunity to work with other Mexican immigrants and hear their stories. He quickly realized how lucky he had been to have his entire family survive the trip to Texas, and to have had a roof over his head so that he could do well enough in school to graduate. It was at this plant, during one of his day shifts, that Yossarian saw Angela for the first time. To most people, she would seem average, or even plain. But to Yossarian, her kind eyes and vibrant smile could not be rivaled. He felt a warmth emanating from her that he had never experienced before. The two quickly fell in love, and married two years later, both of them 22.
Ten more years went by, and Yossarian and Angela were still working at the same plant. They had two children, Miguel and Anita, who stayed home with Yossarian's mother during their shifts. Yossarian's mother's illnesses had become more frequent, and she was now too weak to work the long shifts expected of her at the factory. In 1991, Yossarian's mother died of cancer. The family, although devastated by the loss, was able to survive the death of their matriarch financially. Yossarian worked over time to pay for the cost of the funeral. A year later, things seemed to have returned to normal, although Yossarian knew life would never be the same without his mother.
Yossarian invited his father to move in with his family after his mother's death, and with three incomes the family was doing okay. It was not long, however, before Yossarian's father simply became too old to perform the tasks asked of him at his construction job. He eventually had no choice but to retire, and this would take a financial toll on the family. Still, the family managed to get by until 2000, when Angela became pregnant again. She and Yossarian were shocked; they were 40 years old! Angela, who had delivered her first two children naturally at home for lack of a better option, knew that this would be a difficult pregnancy from the beginning. Her morning sickness was more intense, and her level of energy dropped significantly. She was worried about the medical expenses, as she and Yossarian had barely any health coverage. One night during her second trimester, Angela woke to excruciating pains in her abdomen; she knew that something was wrong. Yossarian raced her to the hospital, where the doctors placed her on strict bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy. To make up for the lost income, Yossarian began working as much overtime as he was allowed at the meat-packing plant, pulling more that 70 hours some weeks. When a nasty stomach virus was going around and everybody else was at home, Yossarian was working at the plant and vomiting into a bucket he kept nearby (he'd had to hide it from his supervisors so he wouldn't be sent home).
Eventually, the medical expenses and the overtime became too much for Yossarian. His kids were both in the last few years of their public educations, and he hated to move them away at this point in time. Angela would be back on her feet soon, and they could work together to pay off their debt to the hospital. The family managed to keep their heads above the water for the next few years, when one day they received a terrible phone call. Yossarian's father had been in an accident while visiting some of his old construction friends at a new site. Since he had not been an employee, he had not been wearing the proper gear for the height of the project his friends were working on. He'd lost his balance and fallen fifty feet; he'd died on impact. The company was certainly not going to pay for the funeral, and many questions were raised as to why he had been allowed on site at all. Yossarian and Angela were once again faced with funeral costs.
Having met one of his co-worker's cousins from another Midwestern state, Yossarian had heard about a new job opportunity at a waste management center. The center had recently opened and was still short-staffed. If they took action now, the friend's cousin had said, he and Angela would both be able to get higher-paying jobs. Yossarian and Angela took a chance and moved out of state with their youngest child (Miguel and Anita had both earned scholarships to a state university and were currently living on campus). Having spent everything they had to make the move, there was no chance for Yossarian and Angela to change their minds once they reached their new home and found that there were no longer any jobs left at the waste management center. The couple sold their only car, and Angela was able to find a job cleaning houses that were near the city's bus route. The pay was terrible; Yossarian had to find some sort of job! He began walking the streets during the day, looking for a place--any place--that would give him work. The recession was taking its toll on this city, however, and it was increasingly difficult to find anything. One day, Yossarian went to bed feeling desperate and hopeless. He was tired of always having to struggle! It was so unfair that God had given him nothing but death and poverty in return for his hard work. That night, while Yossarian lay wallowing in self-pity, Angela and their youngest child, Yolanda, walked into the room with some hot cocoa for Yossarian. Yolanda handed Yossarian a picture she had drawn of her family at school that day. In the picture, everybody was smiling. They were standing in a field with large, colorful flowers and a rainbow in the background. Angela smiled at Yossarian, and he realized that he could not give up hope. He had so much to be thankful for already, and so many reasons to keep doing everything he could for his family.
The next day, Yossarian wandered into a restaurant and asked for an application. Even though he had a feeling that he would not be hired at the restaurant, he gave the girl he'd talked to a warm "thank you" and left the place with an optimistic smile. He would try again in a few days, and even if things didn't work out, he had a feeling they would work out just fine.
Monday, February 15, 2010
New Hair 'Do= Lots of hiding places for SECRETS
Since the true mysteries of my city seem to be staying in during this cold weather and in doing so are preventing me from finding any inspiration for storytelling, I'm going to change things up a little with this post.
I originally wanted to write about one of my coworkers, but decided that that was too risky (even though the story would have knocked your socks off!). Then I had a bad night and wanted to vent about management and poor tippers. Thank goodness my mom has good sense and convinced me that this would only come off as whining. FINALLY, I watched the newest episode of Undercover Boss, which targeted the Hooters franchise. I was dismayed to see how tame the restaurant came off, knowing all too well the things that really go on behind the scenes. SOOOoooo, I thought I would let my audience in on a few things that they might not be aware of. I think these things hold true for most restaurants:
1) We do NOT spit in your food, no matter how much we dislike you. I've been tempted, trust me. But I, as well as other servers, am generally much more creative about how I choose to get my revenge on a rude table, and it NEVER involves germs or gross things like that. One night, I had a girl at a large table that absolutely hated me. I have no idea why. I think she was just a little ball of anger that needed to lash out at someone. She and her friends stayed there the whole night, and while they were nice to me, she was AWFUL. She made rude comments and gave me mean looks; she was difficult in general, all the while waiting for me to say something that could get me in trouble. I never said a word. The ruder she was to me, the more polite I was back. She stiffed me on an $80 ticket, and I smiled and thanked her, asking her to come back again. As she left dumbfounded and frustrated, her brother handed me a twenty dollar bill.
2) Being nice to your server really does pay off. It might not get you what you want (free tortilla chips!!) every time, but every once in a while it'll pay off. Ex: If you order something and it comes out wrong, but you're polite about it, I'll leave it on the table for you to snack on, get you a new one, and try my best to get the manager to give it to you for free. If you're an asshat (as Mary would say), I'll get you the right thing, but I'll take away the other one and let you sit there hungry. And unless you raise hell with the manager, you'll be paying for it.
3) Yes, we talk about you in the kitchen. A lot.
4) A server is just as likely (if not more) to remember a bad tipper as they are a good tipper. If you stiff a server, expect that server to tell all the other servers about it, and expect bad service next time you go to the restaurant. No, we don't have most wanted pictures up in the back, but we might as well.
5) Underneath your sweet and cheery server's thin outer shell lies an angry, impatient bitch. Nice people don't fare well in the restaurant industry.
6) In a good restaurant, you won't be able to tell how stressed out your server is or how unorganized and chaotic the system really is. If you are noticing these things, blame the company, not the management or servers. Chances are, things won't improve until there is some reorganization; there is a pretty significant amount of pressure on management, and that trickles down to the rest of the employees.
7) The garnishes that go on your drinks (lemons, limes, cherries) are COMPLETELY INFESTED with germs and bacteria. Even if the person cutting them uses gloves, servers don't have time to go get gloves every time you order a refill, and there really isn't any way for us to get that lemon wedge on the rim of your cup without using our fingers.
That's all I've got for now, kids.
I originally wanted to write about one of my coworkers, but decided that that was too risky (even though the story would have knocked your socks off!). Then I had a bad night and wanted to vent about management and poor tippers. Thank goodness my mom has good sense and convinced me that this would only come off as whining. FINALLY, I watched the newest episode of Undercover Boss, which targeted the Hooters franchise. I was dismayed to see how tame the restaurant came off, knowing all too well the things that really go on behind the scenes. SOOOoooo, I thought I would let my audience in on a few things that they might not be aware of. I think these things hold true for most restaurants:
1) We do NOT spit in your food, no matter how much we dislike you. I've been tempted, trust me. But I, as well as other servers, am generally much more creative about how I choose to get my revenge on a rude table, and it NEVER involves germs or gross things like that. One night, I had a girl at a large table that absolutely hated me. I have no idea why. I think she was just a little ball of anger that needed to lash out at someone. She and her friends stayed there the whole night, and while they were nice to me, she was AWFUL. She made rude comments and gave me mean looks; she was difficult in general, all the while waiting for me to say something that could get me in trouble. I never said a word. The ruder she was to me, the more polite I was back. She stiffed me on an $80 ticket, and I smiled and thanked her, asking her to come back again. As she left dumbfounded and frustrated, her brother handed me a twenty dollar bill.
2) Being nice to your server really does pay off. It might not get you what you want (free tortilla chips!!) every time, but every once in a while it'll pay off. Ex: If you order something and it comes out wrong, but you're polite about it, I'll leave it on the table for you to snack on, get you a new one, and try my best to get the manager to give it to you for free. If you're an asshat (as Mary would say), I'll get you the right thing, but I'll take away the other one and let you sit there hungry. And unless you raise hell with the manager, you'll be paying for it.
3) Yes, we talk about you in the kitchen. A lot.
4) A server is just as likely (if not more) to remember a bad tipper as they are a good tipper. If you stiff a server, expect that server to tell all the other servers about it, and expect bad service next time you go to the restaurant. No, we don't have most wanted pictures up in the back, but we might as well.
5) Underneath your sweet and cheery server's thin outer shell lies an angry, impatient bitch. Nice people don't fare well in the restaurant industry.
6) In a good restaurant, you won't be able to tell how stressed out your server is or how unorganized and chaotic the system really is. If you are noticing these things, blame the company, not the management or servers. Chances are, things won't improve until there is some reorganization; there is a pretty significant amount of pressure on management, and that trickles down to the rest of the employees.
7) The garnishes that go on your drinks (lemons, limes, cherries) are COMPLETELY INFESTED with germs and bacteria. Even if the person cutting them uses gloves, servers don't have time to go get gloves every time you order a refill, and there really isn't any way for us to get that lemon wedge on the rim of your cup without using our fingers.
That's all I've got for now, kids.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Thank You Sooo Much Guy
What I observed:
This has been a strange week for me. We're talking Twilight Zone strange. I keep having epiphanies and experiencing strange and awkward situations. It's only fitting, then, that tonight was not an average Thursday night at work. At my place of work, Thursdays are normally very busy. I usually make some of my best money on the night shift, but tonight was a slow night and it brought a lot of strange people in.
I want to be clear that I am not complaining about this table. They were more than polite (as you will see), and very easy to deal with.
There was one man at the table, but there were two sets of silverware. Since he was obviously waiting for someone to join him, I asked him, "Can I get you a drink while you're waiting?" He asked for a water, and upon receiving it, he smiled, stared into my eyes with an intensity that I am not used to seeing, and said, "Thank you sooo much." His voice was not velvety or sexy. It was not "gay", it was not low and manly. It was just an average voice. I told him, "No problem. I'll check back when the rest of the party arrives." The other guy showed up and ordered a Coke. I brought him one, and when I gave it to him, the first guy said, "Thank you sooo much."
For the next thirty minutes or so that is the only thing I heard from this table: "Thank you sooo much." It was the intensity with which this guy looked at me when he said it, however, that had me really intrigued. Having read some of the Sookie Stackhouse books and all of the Twilight books, I was secretly hoping that this guy was a vampire who was trying to "dazzle" me and drink my blood. My second thought, and the more likely of the two to be true, was that this guy needed me to see and understand how genuine he was for some reason. I'm particularly interested in this table because this is something I've noticed about others as well. For some people (me), there is nothing worse in the world than having somebody dislike them.
This customer's tip upheld my hypothesis. Thank You So Much Guy (TYSMG) is a people-pleaser extraordinaire!
What I imagine:
TYSMG was born near the town that my restaurant is in. He came from a large, happy family. Although he got along well with his brother and sisters (he had one brother and two sisters), he was closest with his grandmother. His grandmother was a strong woman who had grown up during the Great Depression. Like many from her era, she was a hard worker and had many opinions. She and TYSMG would spend afternoons together in the summertime; her pulling weeds while TYSMG read books under the giant tree in her backyard. TYSMG's grandmother would make iced tea and cookies for him and ask him about the books he was reading. His favorites were adventure books. TYSMG dreamed of exploring the world and discovering new places and creatures.
During the winter months, TYSMG would sit in his room and write. Sometimes he would write short stories; sometimes he kept a journal. It depended on the year and his current mood. TYSMG was indeed a dreamer. Although one might think that TYSMG would be the type to isolate himself, he made friends rather quickly. He and his closest friend, Jake, were inseparable. When they couldn't hang out, they spent their time writing, exchanging their stories at a later date.
As Jake and TYSMG grew older, they began to realize that they came from very different backgrounds and that they had very different views. TYSMG came from a liberally minded family. His parents both voted "democrat" straight down the ticket. They were well-to-do, very opinionated, and open-minded to the point of close-mindedness. TYSMG's parents were a force to be reckoned with. His mother judged people quickly when they didn't agree with her, and although his father was more even-tempered, he was not a man who hid his opinions from others. As you can imagine, TYSMG's parents made a profound impact on him. His parents fully supported his creative endeavors, but as with many children that come from strong-willed parents, he grew even quieter and more introspective.
Jake, on the other hand, grew up on the poor side of town. His parents both had blue collar jobs and had to work very hard for their money. Jake and his family went to church every Sunday. Having lost Jake's younger sister, they turned to religion to help ease the pain and make sense of the tragedy. After his younger sister's death, his family became more and more involved in the church; all of their friends were members. Jake's parents were thus very socially conservative, whereas TYSMG's parents were on the far opposite end of the spectrum.
Sometime in high school, Jake began to rebel, just as TYSMG had become a very quiet, private person. Upon graduation (and his 18th birthday), Jake got the first tattoo of many. TYSMG, having gone off to college out of state to major in English Literature, did not disapprove of Jake's rebellion, but he did worry that Jake would come to regret his decisions.
TYSMG continued to write in college; so did Jake. Although they were in different states, they kept in close contact. In the meantime, TYSMG also stayed in close contact with his grandmother. They had only grown closer over the years, and TYSMG made at least two trips outside of the holidays every year to visit her. During one of his visits in his senior year, his grandmother delivered some bad news. She had been diagnosed with a heart problem, and at her age the surgery was more likely to kill her than the disease. The doctors expected that she had a few more months left before her heart gave out. TYSMG was devastated, but determined not to waste the remaining time he had with his grandmother. They had long conversations in her garden in the afternoons, and she told TYSMG countless stories about his mother's childhood and adolescence. One day, she said to him, "Your mother has always been tough, but she was never the same after your grandfather died. She grew colder and harsher after that. I love your mother a lot, but I want you to learn from her mistakes. Don't take your frustrations out on the world around you, TYSMG."
TYSMG's grandmother died eight weeks later. It was his mother that delivered the news. TYSMG's world was turned upside down. He withdrew from the world he had known as a child and as a teenager. TYSMG took some time for himself after college, almost completely isolating himself from his friends and family. He found a part time job that paid enough for him to get by, and he spent his nights writing in his apartment. After two years of work, he was ready to send his novel out for publishing; he had written a fictionalized account of his grandmother's life.
TYSMG began to think about what his grandmother had said to him, and decided to contact those closest to him, whom he hadn't seen since the Christmas break before his grandmother's death. Jake had graduated with a degree in English Literature and a minor in business, and to TYSMG's surprise, he was now working for a publishing company in New York City. Jake was very happy to hear from TYSMG, and refused his offer to come to New York for a visit. Jake insisted that they meet near their hometown, and suggested that they both find a good time to visit their families and coordinate travel plans. He was very interested in looking at TYSMG's draft, having been whisked away by nostalgia for the days when he and TYSMG exchanged stories. On his trip back to his hometown, the words of TYSMG's grandmother reverberated in his head. He vowed that he would never blame others for his misfortune, no matter how bad his day had been; he would never fail to show his appreciation for the good things in life.
Later that night, TYSMG and Jake met at Anonymous Restaurant & Bar to talk things over, and that is how I came to have a quiet, gracious man eating a veggie burger and a tattooed meat-eater in my section this week.
This has been a strange week for me. We're talking Twilight Zone strange. I keep having epiphanies and experiencing strange and awkward situations. It's only fitting, then, that tonight was not an average Thursday night at work. At my place of work, Thursdays are normally very busy. I usually make some of my best money on the night shift, but tonight was a slow night and it brought a lot of strange people in.
I want to be clear that I am not complaining about this table. They were more than polite (as you will see), and very easy to deal with.
There was one man at the table, but there were two sets of silverware. Since he was obviously waiting for someone to join him, I asked him, "Can I get you a drink while you're waiting?" He asked for a water, and upon receiving it, he smiled, stared into my eyes with an intensity that I am not used to seeing, and said, "Thank you sooo much." His voice was not velvety or sexy. It was not "gay", it was not low and manly. It was just an average voice. I told him, "No problem. I'll check back when the rest of the party arrives." The other guy showed up and ordered a Coke. I brought him one, and when I gave it to him, the first guy said, "Thank you sooo much."
For the next thirty minutes or so that is the only thing I heard from this table: "Thank you sooo much." It was the intensity with which this guy looked at me when he said it, however, that had me really intrigued. Having read some of the Sookie Stackhouse books and all of the Twilight books, I was secretly hoping that this guy was a vampire who was trying to "dazzle" me and drink my blood. My second thought, and the more likely of the two to be true, was that this guy needed me to see and understand how genuine he was for some reason. I'm particularly interested in this table because this is something I've noticed about others as well. For some people (me), there is nothing worse in the world than having somebody dislike them.
This customer's tip upheld my hypothesis. Thank You So Much Guy (TYSMG) is a people-pleaser extraordinaire!
What I imagine:
TYSMG was born near the town that my restaurant is in. He came from a large, happy family. Although he got along well with his brother and sisters (he had one brother and two sisters), he was closest with his grandmother. His grandmother was a strong woman who had grown up during the Great Depression. Like many from her era, she was a hard worker and had many opinions. She and TYSMG would spend afternoons together in the summertime; her pulling weeds while TYSMG read books under the giant tree in her backyard. TYSMG's grandmother would make iced tea and cookies for him and ask him about the books he was reading. His favorites were adventure books. TYSMG dreamed of exploring the world and discovering new places and creatures.
During the winter months, TYSMG would sit in his room and write. Sometimes he would write short stories; sometimes he kept a journal. It depended on the year and his current mood. TYSMG was indeed a dreamer. Although one might think that TYSMG would be the type to isolate himself, he made friends rather quickly. He and his closest friend, Jake, were inseparable. When they couldn't hang out, they spent their time writing, exchanging their stories at a later date.
As Jake and TYSMG grew older, they began to realize that they came from very different backgrounds and that they had very different views. TYSMG came from a liberally minded family. His parents both voted "democrat" straight down the ticket. They were well-to-do, very opinionated, and open-minded to the point of close-mindedness. TYSMG's parents were a force to be reckoned with. His mother judged people quickly when they didn't agree with her, and although his father was more even-tempered, he was not a man who hid his opinions from others. As you can imagine, TYSMG's parents made a profound impact on him. His parents fully supported his creative endeavors, but as with many children that come from strong-willed parents, he grew even quieter and more introspective.
Jake, on the other hand, grew up on the poor side of town. His parents both had blue collar jobs and had to work very hard for their money. Jake and his family went to church every Sunday. Having lost Jake's younger sister, they turned to religion to help ease the pain and make sense of the tragedy. After his younger sister's death, his family became more and more involved in the church; all of their friends were members. Jake's parents were thus very socially conservative, whereas TYSMG's parents were on the far opposite end of the spectrum.
Sometime in high school, Jake began to rebel, just as TYSMG had become a very quiet, private person. Upon graduation (and his 18th birthday), Jake got the first tattoo of many. TYSMG, having gone off to college out of state to major in English Literature, did not disapprove of Jake's rebellion, but he did worry that Jake would come to regret his decisions.
TYSMG continued to write in college; so did Jake. Although they were in different states, they kept in close contact. In the meantime, TYSMG also stayed in close contact with his grandmother. They had only grown closer over the years, and TYSMG made at least two trips outside of the holidays every year to visit her. During one of his visits in his senior year, his grandmother delivered some bad news. She had been diagnosed with a heart problem, and at her age the surgery was more likely to kill her than the disease. The doctors expected that she had a few more months left before her heart gave out. TYSMG was devastated, but determined not to waste the remaining time he had with his grandmother. They had long conversations in her garden in the afternoons, and she told TYSMG countless stories about his mother's childhood and adolescence. One day, she said to him, "Your mother has always been tough, but she was never the same after your grandfather died. She grew colder and harsher after that. I love your mother a lot, but I want you to learn from her mistakes. Don't take your frustrations out on the world around you, TYSMG."
TYSMG's grandmother died eight weeks later. It was his mother that delivered the news. TYSMG's world was turned upside down. He withdrew from the world he had known as a child and as a teenager. TYSMG took some time for himself after college, almost completely isolating himself from his friends and family. He found a part time job that paid enough for him to get by, and he spent his nights writing in his apartment. After two years of work, he was ready to send his novel out for publishing; he had written a fictionalized account of his grandmother's life.
TYSMG began to think about what his grandmother had said to him, and decided to contact those closest to him, whom he hadn't seen since the Christmas break before his grandmother's death. Jake had graduated with a degree in English Literature and a minor in business, and to TYSMG's surprise, he was now working for a publishing company in New York City. Jake was very happy to hear from TYSMG, and refused his offer to come to New York for a visit. Jake insisted that they meet near their hometown, and suggested that they both find a good time to visit their families and coordinate travel plans. He was very interested in looking at TYSMG's draft, having been whisked away by nostalgia for the days when he and TYSMG exchanged stories. On his trip back to his hometown, the words of TYSMG's grandmother reverberated in his head. He vowed that he would never blame others for his misfortune, no matter how bad his day had been; he would never fail to show his appreciation for the good things in life.
Later that night, TYSMG and Jake met at Anonymous Restaurant & Bar to talk things over, and that is how I came to have a quiet, gracious man eating a veggie burger and a tattooed meat-eater in my section this week.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Michelob Ultra Man
What I see:
Michelob Ultra Man (MUM) is a quiet man that I have begun to recognize as a regular. I have recently started acquiring more daytime bartending shifts, and over the last two weeks I have come to expect MUM at around 4:00 p.m. The first time I met MUM (or perhaps “observed” would be a more appropriate word), I said hello. He nodded at me politely as he took a seat at the bar rail. When I asked him what I could get him to drink, he quietly replied, “Michelob Ultra”. When I asked him if he would like the 16 oz. or the 23 oz., he made a gesture with his hands to indicate that he wanted the larger of the two options. The nighttime bartender comes in at 5:00, so until today I had never closed out his tab. MUM remains a mystery to me. Over the last several bartending shifts, I have witnessed him gliding into the restaurant silently, taking a seat at the bar rail, and somehow managing to order his beer and his trivia box without speaking more than a word or two.
MUM prefers quiet, that much is clear. He is well-dressed, and seems to be a productive and otherwise normal member of society. He has a cell phone that he uses now and again while he’s at the restaurant, but he never talks on it; he only texts. He has what appears to be a wedding ring on his left hand.
Today I experienced a true conversation with this gem of a regular. He was finishing his second beer, and I asked him if I could him another. I raised one finger, as if to say, “Just a minute,” or “just one more”. The only problem is I didn’t know which one he meant. I am a talkative person, so I tend to become nervous around people who are quiet. I always imagine that they’re thinking mean things about me. Anyway, I decided to let him be for a minute rather than admit to my embarrassing lack of comprehension. I came back a few minutes later, and he had finished his beer. When I asked him if he was ready for another, he said, “Yes.” In a moment of courage, I decided to be frank with him, and I said, “I wasn’t sure if you meant ‘one more’ or ‘one minute’…sorry.” He quietly replied, “One more, one minute. What’s the difference?” That, my friends, is the longest sentence I have ever heard from MUM, and yet I spend several hours a week with this man. This has led me to declare MUM Interesting Customer #1. I have a great story in store for him!
What I imagine:
MUM was a quiet and serious child that grew up in Connecticut. His dad was an equally serious man, but he had a horrible temper. He expected a lot from his son, so MUM pulled straight As all through high school. MUM continued to be reserved and quiet, but he exhibited an ambition at which his teachers and principal marveled. MUM met a nice, quiet girl at school (Cynthia), and they began seeing each other.
Cynthia was never driven the way that MUM was, but she got good grades in school. She admired MUM because he had a passion in life. MUM was going to go to law school and graduate at the top of his class. As the months went by, she and MUM became closer and closer. She had him figured out, and she even began spending holidays with his family once she had finished dinner with hers. The Thanksgiving of their senior year of high school, Cynthia went over to MUM’s house for dessert with his family. Little did she know that MUM had chosen this moment to tell his father that he no longer planned on applying at Harvard. He wanted to get away from the east coast and see more of the country. MUM’s father was furious, and Cynthia witnessed a wrath of the likes which she had never seen before. She sat frozen in her chair, only breaking her concentration on her dessert long enough to glance at MUM. MUM sat quietly, taking his father’s verbal beating. When his father had finished screaming at him, he calmly stood up and walked out of the room. When Cynthia followed him and walked into his room, MUM was packing a bag. She begged him not to leave, trying to convince him that moving out of the house one month after his 18th birthday would only bring him more problems. Suddenly MUM lashed out at her. He threw her against the wall and told her she could stay with him or go, that it was her choice. Cynthia ran home in tears. She wouldn’t hear from MUM for another year.
After leaving his home, MUM cleaned out his savings account and took a bus to Kansas City, where he rented a one bedroom apartment that was swarming with cockroaches. He enrolled himself in an inner city high school; he knew he had to receive a diploma if he had any hope of going to college. Life was difficult for MUM in Kansas City. He was harassed by the other kids, and was jumped once in the hallway. He was lucky; he came out of the fight with a black eye, a swollen lip, and some sore ribs. Fortunately, MUM only had to endure the high school for a few months. He graduated with good grades and was accepted at the University of Kansas.
MUM moved to Lawrence and worked as a pizza boy to put himself through college. His good grades had yielded a stable scholarship, but he needed money to live off of. One night, he delivered a pizza to an apartment building not far from his own, only to discover that Cynthia had followed him to the Midwest; she answered the door. Cynthia, who had been searching for MUM among the other college students for a few months now, had had no idea that MUM was a pizza boy. In a moment of weakness, MUM broke down sobbing in Cynthia’s arms. He told her about what he had been through over the last year, and begged her forgiveness. She and MUM took it as a message from fate that they had been brought back together; they not only began seeing each other again, but moved in together as well.
Two and a half years later, MUM was preparing to graduate and was applying at law schools. Cynthia was attending nursing school, and was almost finished with her degree. She came home from clinicals one day to find MUM waiting for her with a ring. She accepted, and they set the date for June 29th of that year. At Cynthia’s urging, MUM sent an invitation to his parents’ house. His father refused the invitation, still seething from the infamous Thanksgiving dinner of four years’ prior. Nevertheless, Cynthia and MUM wed on June 29th of that year, and rented a small apartment in Topeka, KS. MUM had been accepted to the Washburn Law program.
Upon graduation from law school (and still not having talked to his parents, except his mom in secret), MUM accepted a job with a prestigious firm in Kansas City. The firm fell on hard times due to the recession, and MUM was laid off three years later. He and Cynthia moved back to Topeka with their savings so that MUM could open his own office. Shortly after MUM opened his office, Cynthia announced that she was pregnant. She and MUM were elated!
Seven months later, Cynthia gave birth to twins Eli and Quentin. While Cynthia stayed at home with the boys, MUM worked long hours to keep his office afloat. The pressure was mounting; MUM was fighting hard for his cases, and fighting harder to make a name for himself. He was losing sleep at night, not that there was much of it with the twins anyway. He began losing hair and falling asleep at work. Cynthia begged him to see a therapist to help manage his stress, and after a few months MUM finally gave in.
MUM’s therapist suggested that he find a safe and quiet place where he could meditate. No talking, no stress, only MUM. MUM agreed with this suggestion, but had no idea where he could find such a place. He spent all day arguing in the courtroom or dealing with angry clients. When he came home, Cynthia was there with the kids. He considered driving out of town and sitting in a field for awhile to be alone with his thoughts, but all of the fields were private property and the weather was growing cold. One day, on his way to the mall to run an errand for Cynthia, MUM drove by Anonymous Restaurant & Bar and decided to stop and have a beer. The place was empty; only the bartender was working, a lanky and friendly fellow who left him to his thoughts. This, MUM thought, would be the perfect place for MUM to meditate. As little talking as possible, as little noise as possible. MUM played trivia on one of the electronic boxes and tuned the world out. That night, he slept through the night for the first time in months.
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