Can you smell what Environment Canada is cooking?

Excuse the recent plague of spelling errors in my posts, many of them have been from my phone which is surprisingly stupid despite it's misnomer and "smart phone". Moving on the Iphone in conjunction with Yahoo! tells me the forecast of Toronto next week features sunny skies and highs of 13 degrees Celsius which may or may not be greek to many readers. To me this translates to 55 degrees possibly 65 degrees based on the inaccuracy of environment Canada and....PATIO SEASON!!!! I'm currently scheduled for 2 12-5 straight through doubles next week. While officially illegal by Ontario labor board standards I've not heard a single server in Toronto complaining about these shifts. It means 12-14 hours on continuous serving time in the sun! For Canadians the chance to make some vitamin D and be paid for it is like mana from heaven.
In Atlanta working on the patio meant mosquitoes, sweating, 2 months of enjoyable work and potential heat stroke not to mention the possibility of the legendary pop up storms. These storms could and would blow the shingles off a house as well as all the cutlery off a patio table in a matter of minutes. Here in Canada patio season means $$ and the promise of constant business. Last year I was downtown for busker fest. The busker fest is a sort of street fair in which talented street artists from all over the world come to Toronto to show their talents and (if I'm not mistaken) all their profits go to charity. I walked around last year in awe of the sheer amount of bodies on the streets. I saw the amount of people at restaurants near the site of the festival and marveled at their business. This year I'm working at one of these destinations. I am both excited at the prospect of making money and dreading the stupidly long shifts. The idea of DYING to get in the back to gobble down whatever leftovers you managed to bring with you after last night's drunken cooking escapades or whatever remnants you can salvage of the lunch you ordered 3 hours ago is not really pee down your leg exciting. Sure, you can order food but the guarantee of 10 minutes to each lunch is a myth, much like the female organism or a tax return. The only thing more cut throat than a server near rent time is a hostess with a wait for the patio.

YAY SUMMER!

I thought I told you to get rid of that

Pardon me, as a heads up I've been to see my bartender friend already so I'm not legal to drive. Today as I got to work my manager saw my server book. This is the most prized possession, the bible to servers. It's where we keep our pads of paper, our money, pictures of loved ones that we're not seeing on that 5-4 am shift, and our lives. My life caught the attention of our AGM and was told I needed to get rid of it. I nearly cried, really. This book means so much to me, I've had it for 5 years. Pictures of everyone lives in it and it's truly sentimental to me in a way that few things are. Sure it's frayed around the edges, there's a big florida gators sticker on it, and it has a few obscene stickers inside but no one notices that. That is to say but the man that calls himself a "real fucker to work for". Later on in the night after seeing me he says "I thought I told you to get rid of that". This book is my kryptonite, my source of power. No matter how many times you call me buddy or try to be nice to me you make me get rid of it let's face it, I'll set your car on fire.

A filet? A sirloin?

I'm freee! It's 4 am and I've been at home and pants free since 2. I had the best thing ever, a server and their sibling in my section tonight. This translates to free $$! It was a good night, I shared a section with my faaavorite person to work with and didn't have to start until 7 pm. I was out by 1, God answered my prayers for not only a full service dining section but also a slow night. I made decent money and have only one more night to my week, I may ask to close. Shocking isn't it? I had a few chuckles moments tonight. One being from last night actually, and as I'm not posting from my Iphone hopefully there are fewer typos.
Last night I had a table of 20, and after an entire night of waving their hands in the air, flagging me down, pointing to an unmarked glass and saying "What was this? I'll have another one" (yeah....like I remember) one (sober) woman asked me my name. After informing her she went on to tell the group "call her by her name or don't call her at all. Hey girl, hey waitress or even excuse me is rude". My jaw hit the floor, literally such a display of humanity and respect is rare. Rad, really cool. I was happy to serve them and quite a bit quicker I might add, that is until one middle aged gentleman after one too many old speckled hens starts inspecting a wooden pillar too closely then asks for a cab home. You sir have been overserved..oops let me steer you away from prying eyes like security or managers while I discreetly call you a cab.
Then tonight, after describing the chef's cut an 8 ounce bacon wrapped filet mignon I had this conversation:
"What kind of filet is it?"
"beef sir"
"Yeah I know that but what kind of filet is it?"
"I..uh..I'm not sure what you're asking me sir"
"what kind of filet is it? A sirloin?"
"Um, no sir, it's a filet mignon, a beef tenderloin"
"Oh, no I don't want that, I'll take the filet burger"
Literally the same thing, then asked me for no onions. I asked if he had an allergy or simply a preference against them. "No, onions are very smelly and I don't like them they make my eyes water, plus I don't like caramel so, no onions". Caramel and caramelized are two different things. So, he got onions and he raved about the burger. Awesome, I'm smiling because you just tickled me to no end.

Here is the work environment

So last night I worked with two people who are usually my favorite people to work with usually. Last night was different one left after 3 hours because she was too tired to work then sat at the bar and drank with the manager for an hour. The other cut and run cause she had cramps this didn't really bug me until I realized silverware had not been done. I hate silverware I always always stab myself it's true I'm not compable with knives. Then I find out that another girl had asked them both to let her close and said no and made me close instead. Ooh sneaky! I'm not really mad but this led to what one muscle bound drunken beef head guest kept calling my look of anger. I wasn't angry, that's just my face there you testosterone driven muscle burp. This guy had the need to telle over and over he worked in a restaurant awesome so you know I'm just humpring you until last call right? Then proceeds to ask my life story which by the way now I just lie about, a lot. Some days there was a fire and I had friends here some days I'm on a visa travelling the world someday it was just a whim. Fact is I am not going to tell a stranger especially not one wearing more cologne than I am my life story. Then he and his look alike friend proceed to tell me to take off my apron and dance with them. Sir I can see your nipples through your shirt do I look like I'm interested in dancing with you? I've seen you trying to pick up that girl who is obviously not interested in you just the drinks you keep buying her. Your dancing did not impress het nor will it impress me. Needless to say I was happy to just do my closing side work and avoid the drunks. Hopefully tonight I'll be in the diningroom. I dread Friday nights.

Can you smell 15%

So when your check comes and you see a gratuity added to it do not be alarmed. We're not trying to pull the wool over your eyes orcheat you out of money. Truth be told we lose money that way. Most places charge a 15% grat after tip outs which range from 4 to 7% we are walking with less than 10%. Soooo if you feel you can spare it an extra 5% is greatly appreciated especially when you break glass and sit there for 8 hours and have a tab of 1100 dollars.

Ode to a double

I was supposed to work this morning. Instead I am laying in bed listening to the trash men and thinking how much money I'm missing out on. I'm too lazy to even get my laptop so this is coming from my iPhone. The newest waste of money I need to work but laziness gets the best of all of us from time to time. Rest assured I'll close tonight and be told all about the recent drama, what I missed by not going out tuesday and how much my coworkers hate their jobs. You thought I'd have a lazy day didn't you? WRONG!

silence of the irish

I survived another St. Patrick's day. March 17th is the busiest bar day of the year. Contrary to popular belief no one makes money, no one other than the house that is. A line up around the block at 6 pm, a house full of drunks and the highlight of my night other than another server giving me a found 10  bucks for having a shittiest night was telling people to "get the fuck down"! Excuse me sir, with the reindeer  boxers (in march no less) Oh? Can you not hear me? I'll push you from across the table. Yeah, you, get down. Oh? Can you still not hear me over your off key singing that I can't hear over the roar of the crowd and the pounding of my head? That sound in my head yeah that's the imminent sign of a stroke. Fuck being nice I'm going to push you off the bench and say "GET DOWN". Hi! You're being treated like my dog, actually worse than her. Happy st. patty's day.

Name that band

       Excuse me ma'am, while I see you are "shaking your money maker" on the dance floor I hate to intrude but stop it. You see "Sweet home Alabama" is important to my people and while I understand it is a great song with heavy political commentary (p.s. they're making fun of Canadians favorite Neil Young) it is not one to grind your spandex clad behind on the nearest man to. Now that being said if you can please step to the right and let me pass as I do have a tray full of precariously positioned top heavy beer glasses we can talk. Now I'll let you listen to the song, and enjoy it more if you can name at least one of the band members I'll even take a last name, hell there were two with the same last name. Easier yet, can you shed some light on your Alabama knowledge? What does the term "in Birmingham they love the governor, we all did what we could do" refer to? You don't know? Oh, sit down and stop spilling your drink and tip your server she's tired of looking at you smeared mascara and all. THANKS!

The hospitality plague

 So after recovering from last night's emotional turmoil thanks so being called off I'm feeling human. I got that celebrated phone call today from my favorite little indy manager asking me if I wanted to have a sunny day off. Apparently word spread fast among the manager ranks that I nearly lost my shit last night. For those who've served with me in the past I did not in fact freak out just so you know. I'll admit I was one hot headed server once upon a time, never with guests because they pay my bills. Other servers and managers were fair game.
     In an effort to maintain my sanity and others respect I now just clench my jaw and deal with whatever bullshit I'm handed. When it explodes in my face as a 5'10" bleach blonde grenade of  self righteous attitude my composure waivers.  So another server (that I just love) saw me teary last night and asked me if I wanted to talk, I took her up on that offer today. She's also new and has similar problems with ole blonde fuzz head. So, after calming down we've decided all the new people will just work very hard to counter act the shitty attitudes of the seasoned servers. Kill them with kindness is such bullshit, in a restaurant you kill them with work. Be there to restock, go over and above what the old servers are too lazy or too good to do. You want the good shifts and sections? Stop being such a stark raving bitch with a sense of entitlement. No one wants to listen to your mouth and no one gives a shit about your personal problems. Wake up sweetie, this job isn't that hard, you make it so. Service isn't rocket science, it's a test of endurance and patience. If you can put up with bullshit and still laugh at yourself you'll survive. If you can't and you flip out on the new people well...you're liable to end up with a serious drinking problem. It's just a job.

I'm in server hell

 Here are the highlights of my 12 hour shift:
an hour and a half of fire alarm hell
No tables for the first 3 hours
Cancelled reservations
Being sat while I was on lunchbreak
Being triple sat while I had a 12 top and no one mentioning that I'd been "uncut"
Finally, being harassed (again) by another server
Oh, and getting teary eyed and nearly crying. Fuck I hate that.
 Oh the highlight of last night other than a server getting her hands thrown up on was a wonderful comment from a girl who'd been making out with a guy on the dancefloor for 3 minutes (I watched, and was elbowing my way through the crowd when I heard it) she pulls away and says "my name is Christine, if I give you my number will you call me?"
Wow. Just, are you serious? Ok A, don't make out in restaurants it's unsanitary and rude, secondly what are you? 17?

Sticker shock

 Last night was my second night on the floor. I was in what was supposed to be a fairly chill section...it turned into union station with booze. At one point I had 2 ten tops and a 20 top rolling at once. The 20 was for d/a (drinks and apps) so that should've been easy. Until...they wanted separate checks. No freakin way. They were all over the place a logistical nightmare for who ordered what, that just wasn't going to happen. So one guy went to the manager and we had to accommodate him. So as the party winds down I hand the bill over, 386 dollars and some change. I circle the grat on the check and walk away. From the POS I see the jaws drop, that's my queue to make myself scarce I'm not dealing with that shit. 5 minutes later I come back to collect the bill and face the firing squad. One angry asian lady and some stuffy white dude harass me about how they didn't order all these drinks. Duh, your 18 other friends did if you were able to drink 300 dollars worth of booze and stand up still you're my and all my coworkers hero, you should be studied. The best was the conversation..or demands..
"Who ordered all the drinks?!" the asian lady
"I'm not sure ma'am I'm just the server"
"Well what were their names"
"I'm sorry ma'am I just take the drink orders"
"What did they look like"
"I'm sorry ma'am I don't remember"
Nevermind that I have another 24 people I'm dealing with right now, or that my feet feel like their going to fall off you and your bill are my top priority...yeah. Now I suppose people don't understand that I really do.not.care. who ordered what, my bottom line is no complaints, and money. This was just insane.

 Then came the female server's dread table. 4 mid twenties women wearing too much makeup all with princess attitudes. That section smelled like a perfume counter blew up. They were an ok table, they camped but I was busy so I didn't mind. Then I came with the bill, and sticker shock all over the place. One girl came up and accused me of getting the price wrong on her salad, then when I said no I hadn't, that's the price she proceeded to call me a thief and a liar. The price is listed on the menu for all salads, 18 dollars. Granted she got it without protein so it should've been less but if you leave cheese off a pizza does that make it less? No.  She then asked for the manager, then of course made me look like an idiot and a liar...of course since I'm new and she's the customer she's right. Fucking awesome. Needless to say she got a salad for 8 bucks and I got 1.50 on 40. I remember now why I hate people.

An ode to bodily functions

Alright so it's 3:45 and rather than sleeping, or I don't know studying for my food test at work tomorrow I've decided to regale you with the oh so perplexing stories of loss of bodily functions that do happen in restaurants a lot more often than you'd imagine.

 So let's rewind back about 5 years ago when I was working at a family restaurant which had kids eat free nights. Ugh, side note all servers hate those nights the blissfully slow nights turn into the romper room of horrors when someone says free food. Snot nosed screaming kids literally appear out of the wall paper. I didn't work Kids eat free because I had "school", I didn't work them mainly because they sucked. School sometimes is true, but for a lot of servers school is a half assed attempt to transcend our service/hospitality addiction through education. Most, but not all servers will fail at least one class or semester due to too many doubles, parties, drama or serious financial strain. Ok so this "school" night I happened to be sitting out on the porch of my boyfriend's  house drinking beer and chain smoking it was summer after all. I get a phone call from a coworker of mine, I answer the phone and it's obvious she's still at work. I can hear the cussing from the mexican dishwashers in the background.
"Oh my god you will never believe what happened tonight here at work"
"Um, if this is about the new girl and that cook with the chin strap I already know."
"What? No, but tell me about that later, no this is better, tonight is the definitive moment for TBDJ"

 (TBDJ was our code for a certain manager who no one liked. The big dumb jew to be exact, hey no one said servers are politically correct...or decent human beings).

She proceeds to recount to me how the restaurant was on a wait, the hostesses were very stressed because a cocktail server come to the front and started harassing them about putting a high chair at a high top table and now the parents are mad because the kid hit his head on the underside of the table(well, duh!). While this is going on, with 10 people milling around the open air lobby no one notices the small child defecating on the vinyl bench in front of them. That is until TBDJ happens to walk by, now normally you can set spoiled meat in front of her and she cannot smell it, tonight though she noticed this aroma. After threatening the hostesses and the server (and making things worse in the process) she notices the little present on the bench. Apparently all the other servers noticed it as they walked by to see what the fuss was with the hostesses but as is the case with dog mess, if you don't acknowledge it you don't have to fix the situation. The whole the smeller is the feller scenario. Apparently TBDJ went to all the buss boys and told them to clean it up and they laughed in her face. They may fix that toilet in the bathroom that won't stop flushing, they may hose throw up off the sidewalk, and yes, they even clean up unidentified goop that once resembled chocolate cake and ketchup but they draw the line at excrement. You can't buy someone's dignity for 7 dollars an hour. So in a huff she stomps to the front (after 20 minutes of this sitting in the lobby), grabs the bench and proceeds to drag it through the restaurant and the kitchen out the back door and hose it off in the back parking lot all the while cussing and gagging.

 For all you amorous couples who decide to play around with exhibitionism and PDA, you're not getting away with it. Your servers know, and yes, they are laughing at you. When you decide to get frisky under the table, we are aware as we see every possible angle of that table, it is our business and no, I do not believe that is your blackberry in his lap you are working on. When a lesbian couple decided to take it to the bathroom on Sunday afternoon while I worked at a sports bar about 3 years ago I was amused and slightly annoyed as a fight broke out at their table in their absence. I soon discovered the fight was because one woman was there with her boyfriend who was blissfully unaware that his girlfriend had been inspecting the body of her girlfriend next to her all while he watched the steelers game. So, as I stomp to the bathroom to tell these women to break it up I found out they're not alone in there. I see two pairs of feet in the handicap stall facing each other and one pair of little dora the explorer mary janes blissfully kicking the toilet bowl humming while waiting for nature to take its course. Awesome, one child is in for a scary surprise if I don't take some action. So I get my managers, who are both male to come and deal with the situation. Now if you tell a man "hey, there are two chicks in the bathroom gettin' it on I need you to come rectify this situation" they're usually all over it with the hopes of seeing some free porn. This particular day though they'd developed a sense of decency and didn't want to enter into the ladies room. So rather than knock on the stall door they reach for the nearest device...a mop. Yes, they knocked on the door with a mop handle from the door of the bathroom to get their attention and let them know that there were children around and to get a room...and not one in a public bathroom. If this wasn't funny enough the look on their faces when the women came out and they were not silicone enhanced rail thin blondes, but overweight dowdy women made that mess all worth it. If you're going to serve, you've got to be able to laugh at anyone and everyone.

 Finally I think of the downside of working in bars, the times someone hucks on the floor. I was proud to say after serving for 9 years I'd never had someone throw up. That all changed this Christmas season. I was waiting on a party of 30, alone, a christmas party hosted by some douchebag in a sweater vest, a tie, and overly gelled and spiked hair. Honestly, if you dressed an over stuffed bratwurst up in izod and introduced him to dep, that's what this dweeb looked like. The party was mostly 20 somethings all drinking, which is usually a great thing. That is until someone says they're going to have a chugging contest...with Guiness. Now said dweeb had already had 2 guiness when he gets this brilliant idea and proceeds to chug 3 more then disappear as the entrees come out.  20 minutes  and a bet with the bartender later he stumbles back to his party. I'm standing in the kitchen door way with my manager when dweeb's coworker comes up and informs us that his boss had filled not one but two SINKS with vomit, but not to worry he'd cleaned it all up and just to hit it with some disinfectant. It should be noted that this night 30 police officers were in the bar having drinks and witnessed this whole debacle. Let's face is altruism is rare, in a restaurant it's damn near extinct. For this man to clean up after his boss well, they could've not tipped me and made my might because that's grounds for me to quit. After spending many minutes laughing hysterically with the bartender and the other servers I make my way back up to check on the party and overhear the dweeb telling his friends he's "redecorated the bathroom, 2 sinks at a time" and laughing. I'm not saying Typoid Mary was onto something, but I understand the whole infection through food thing after dealing with this idiot. Two months later I'm in a local home decorating store returning a pillow or something when who should walk up but the puker himself. I instantly recognized him and the dark shadow over his face let me know he remembered me, and as he hurried to make the exchange all while hiding his face I wore a very self satisfied smirk. Yes, I was your server, yes, I remember you and no I did not forget what you did.

Hockey? What is that?

First of all let me start this blog off by saying, congratulations Canada for your Olympic wins. Now let me break down my experience with this gold winning hockey game. I've been in training for nearly 2 weeks at the new restaurant in Toronto. While nerve wracking I'm happy it's over. Sunday was my first shift on my own. This is an annoying time for anyone, especially someone who's been through the hospitality machine like I have. I don't really need training I just need to be shown the side duties and the menu. I'm not a monkey I'm a professional. I walk into a packed restaurant. Our maximum capacity is roughly 400. 400 sweaty drunk maple leaf clad bodies are cram packed into the bar only. I swear I heard crickets in the main dining room. I get the pleasure of sharing a section in the midst of the pandemonium. Now sharing a section is not my favorite concept as it means I have to deal with cash and carry. If you're not familiar cash and carry means basically I have to actually pay attention to what someone wants and remember what they look like, bring them their utterly forgettable drink and make change for them there. It's been my goal in life to never look at faces because lets face it most people are genetic dead ends and it pains me to look too closely at them.  While I adore the girl I'm supposed to be sharing a section with I am shit for remembering table number, not to mention table number for tables that do not really exist. What was that ghost table again? After about 10 minutes the resident bitch on wheels comes up to be and proceeds to berate me about ringing in drinks and instructs me to only bus tables. Now, this chaps my ass because I am convinced I am older than she is, and well, she's as tall as I am and I hate not being the tallest chick. Keep in mind this whole time the sacred server station is being crowded by screaming drunks yelling about goals and bad calls. I concede and make a mental note to make as many stupid faces as possible because judging by her "Don't give me that look" comment, she does not appreciate them. I spend my afternoon elbowing men,avoiding screamers, picking up glasses, telling people "No I can't take your order" and hiding in the kitchen. Thank god I had the presence of mind to head for the alley in overtime so I missed the winning goal. Winning or losing I wasn't going to be in that human cattle call when the game ended.             

Post game- our shared section looks like an alley after a night of taking out pent up aggression through beer bottle baseball. After sweeping up bottles, stacking plates frantically and resetting tables I'm informed I have a table in the dining room. I've been dealing with drunks far too early in the day to actually be calm and centered, it's only 6 or so at this time.

My first table appears to be a son, his wife and his older parents. After greeting them and informing them of the features I am annoyed to find out I literally can not hear them over the ringing in my ears. One thing I hate is having to ask what someone said at a table, or lean in close. It's not my style to touch or lean in, I am a big fan of the bubble. I'm in mine and you stay in yours. Since I don't think my boss would like them writing me notes with their orders or sign language I'm forced to get up close and personal with father time. Things quickly turn from slightly irritating to embarrassing when the bartenders casually let me know that the two beers I ordered we're out of only after tearing their attention from the hockey highlights from the game they just watched. Awesome, make me look like I'm incompetent because no one wrote a 76 list. After a few tense smiles and uncomfortable rushed choices the table is running smoothly.

2nd table is a scenario I've recently started to encounter and quickly learning that I love. It's an older couple, and a middle aged gay man trying oh so hard to hang on to his youth. The one thing worse than a cougar is the gay version. I take their drink orders, the husband informs me he wants a keiths (a not so impressive Canadian domestic). I can tell  by looking at him I could offer him liquid gold and he's still want his carbonated hops water. After some pitiful attempts at persuasion his wife gives up and looks at the wine list. Since it is my first night on the floor and I'm trying to be on point I let her know that our wine list is a little dodgy so she might want to pick two. In truth, the list is more of a suggestion as we are not known for our wines and well...no one really knows what we have. She and her man child pick a dry Riesling and a Pinot Grigio. Done, good, ok I hate french wine service, I'm pretty rusty it's been years since I've done it but I'm down for it, hey it's money. I grab a bottle of Trius from the wine cooler and start my service. It's only after I cracked the bottle (an oh so classy twist top) that I feel the blood drain from my face as I remember I didn't present the bottle to her. FUCK! The last thing I need is a complaint on my first night. That means not only do I have a complaint next to my name with my jackass GM I have to buy this stupid bottle of shitty wine. I turn and pleasantly say "Oh here is your Dry Riesling". Then the man child says "That's not what we ordered, we wanted a Huff, she clearly said so". Actually you walking poster boy for plastic surgery that is NOT what she said, she said the dry one and pointed to Trius. I smile and she decides to taste it.
"it's crisp" she says after tasting it.
" If you don't like it just say so, they'll take it back, just say so". SHUT UP you little shit! No one will take it back I'll be forced to pay for it and quite frankly I've been screamed at, I stink like beer and I'm pretty sure there's a cocktail straw in the back of my shirt. If I'm going down I'm taking you, and your white snake skin shoes with me. Thank GOD she decided to drink it. I managed to wrack up a 183 dollar bill off of them and made a 15% tip. Not bad, I'll take it.
All in all my first night on the floor was much more intense than it needed to be, I was made fun of in french (Which I speak) by a middle aged french Canadian woman who informed me that if she couldn't stand the smell of a beer she couldn't drink it and quite frankly that swill (a very well liked german dunkel) was going to make her throw up. I forgot to fire a second course, opened the wrong bottle of wine and stabbed myself with my wine key. I didn't fall and for me that's an accomplishment.