Curt is still allergic to shellfish

Well Hannah tells me I have to post on my blog. I think it's so I'll stop talking at her to tell her the silliness that have been my nights at work. She even went so far as to lend me her laptop so I can post while they watch tv. Riding high on my sugar rush thanks to her homemade gluten free cheesecake I feel invigorated and especially chatty.
I am now out of training at the french joint in the heart of Buckhead. The vests are turning out to not be the worst thing ever. The lack of pockets on my apron however is a real pain in the ass. The vest has plenty of pockets but since I am not built like barbie I have an abundance of room in the chestular area and not so much in the waist area. Any necessary things I may put in my inside vest pockets like washcloths, crumpled splenda packets, wine keys, cough drops and a watch well these just make me look like I have a small lumpy dog wrapped around my waist. The waist looks stuffed full while my chest fits like nothing has since I was a 13 year old flat chested girl. The uniform is the biggest cock block I've ever seen. Better than a grandmother for zapping your self esteem. The only other really weird part is having to carry a pager for the kitchen to reach you. I usually tuck this into the waist of my pants so I don't confuse it for the vibration of my cellphone. This usually works out well until the hostess gets happy with the buzzer while you're at a table. I nearly dropped a bottle of wine on my table this afternoon when it started to buzz as I bent over at the waist.
I have had some awesomely weird tables in my many lunch shifts these past two weeks. The best one being my first table Sunday. I was folding napkins when the hostess seats a middle aged man with a puffy gray David Hasslehoff mullet. He was with a very trim, very made up brunette. The doop (the paper that tells me their name, how many reservations they've made before, when they sat etc.) said they were a recommendation from a local hotel concierge. Awesome, so that means they're too lazy or think they're too busy to make an actual choice on restaurants and blindly go where someone tells them to. This bugs me, who is so important they don't have time to be adventurous, this friggin' guy. I glance at the top of the doop, the last name is french, ok no big deal. I greet them and welcome them, give them the whole deal about how our water is filtered a whole song and dance basically asking them in they want sparkling or flat water. After some debate they and by they I mean he told me what they wanted. I turned and told the new server assistant what they wanted while I went to go do something in the back. As I came out the s.a. told me I'd told him the wrong kind, they wanted flat water not sparkling. Oops, well it's just water, no big deal. OH BOY was I ever wrong. When I went over to let them know the specials, he literally puts his hand up in a stop motion while I'm talking and interrupts me. He points to the water glass in front of him and says "You brought me sparkling, I OBVIOUSLY asked for flat. If you can't understand my accent because I'm french tell me now"...The brunette accompanying him looked pained. My mouth nearly fell open, I understand you're a dick. Prick is the same in Swahili, Vietnamese, English or French. A dick is a dick no matter what language, a dick with a stupid haircut is especially annoying. If you're this picky about your water this is going to be a VERY painful table. I smile and tell him it was a simple mistake, one that I will not repeat. I manage to tell them the specials even they they're not listening. The inspection of each others cuticles was far too engrossing. Did I mention they were sitting side by side at a four top table? Yeah, I hate that. If you're going to be that couple that insists on sitting in a 4 top booth, don't be so lovely that you need to sit next to one another and whisper,it's wierd. You're adults, not 4 year olds no one cares what you have to say it's ok to sit across from one another. You're not exactly communicating confidential nuclear secrets here. So he orders the hanger steak, but it's not that easy no, of course not. Mister frenchyhoff wants it Black and Blue. "Do you know what that is?" "Yes sir I am familiar with that temperature." WHY would you want your HANGER steak Pittsburgh? You're an idiot. "Good, because you didn't understand me before, blue is VERY rare, cold and rare. Do you understand?" Diiiiiiiiiiick. I nod and smile and write "temp-D bag" on the slip of paper in my book.Not only B&B he wants the sauce on the side, of course. His lady friend orders the salmon. It's too early on a Sunday to play your psychic friend ma'am I need to know which salmon? I ask her what temp she'd like her salmon and she just stares at me. I know this means she has no idea what this means, I think she's probably only eaten her salmon smoked or from a can. I kindly tell her salmon usually comes medium rare or even medium, and would she like that? Then I get the idea to talk her into the Salmon and eggs, to just avoid this whole fiasco, after 3 recooks the night before I didn't want to make the managers run anymore redcards. Salmon and eggs is smoked and always good I tell her. "Oh fantastic, sauce on the side please". Sauce on the side is health conscious I understand but it's really annoying and the cooks hate it. So after their entrees come out I do a check back. I had mentally prepared for the fussing I was sure to hear. Frenchyhoff complained that his steak was dry and asked me if they cooked it in the sauce and then cooked it off. What sauce, the Bearnaise sauce? I think not. I smile and since I was tired of listening to his lispy french bullshit I tell him that the sauce and the steak are cooked entirely separate. I didn't mention that a hanger steak is known as the butcher steak for a reason as it's not fatty and if you PITTSBURGH it, it's going to be dry. It's not a ribeye or a NY strip, there's not enough fat to make that great. Needless to say when I saw the 13% tip I wasn't really upset.
For every super nightmare table you get there's always one table you thank god for. The one that saves your average for the night and bring you to your minimum for the night. "Dear Lord, please let me make at least X amount tonight. Thank you for this job and your hair sure looks nice today". I'd just gotten rid of a table of very nice black ladies who were a pleasure to serve, but verbal tippers and bitched about the price. Our place isn't exactly cheap... So my last table is a party of 3, possibly 4. One man asks me for a Dewars and water, the other man asks me for a high gravity beer. I recommend a delirium Tremens a nice ale and nicer at $9 a bottle. Then their friend rolls in and informs me he wants wine but he doesn't know much about it. If I'd known what I found out by the end of the meal I would have pointed him to another bottle of wine and not a safe tasting $32 bottle of wine. He then proceeded to tell me he wanted west coast oysters, big salty oysters. Well...if you're looking for salty oysters East coast are generally saltier and firmer albeit it smaller. No, I want BIG big oysters. I laughed and let him know I'll pick a good one for him, how many would you like? He wanted a dozen for himself, and his friends could split a dozen. Awesome, with the apps and the wine and the drinks their bill was $100 before their entrees. They were in a great mood and a really easy table. I waited on them and finished my side work while joking around with them and the final bill was $200 dollars. As I pick up the signed check they ask me if I had a tongue ring. Why yes, yes I do. Then one guy asks me laughing if I wanted to ride in a Bentley. I laughed and said I'd ridden in one before and although they're nice I didn't really like them. I completely thought they were just being silly. After the wine man (who drank 3/4 of a bottle himself)left his credit card I dashed out to give it to him. They were getting into their car from the valet...a Bentley. They left me $50 and ended my night on a very happy note. They definitely made up for the verbal tippers and I made my minimum for the night.

Do you remember the time, when we fell in love?

So, I've moved back home to Atlanta. I stopped posting the last few months at the Bier Markt because wwell...it just got to be too silly to even post. Being yelled at for not bringing people drinks in the middle of the dance floor at 1:55. Excuse me drunk ass, last call is in 5 minutes and I'm not fighting these assholes to drink you your shitty vodka soda for no tips.
So, now that I am home and have been out of the serving game for an ENTIRE MONTH I'm starting to go through server withdrawal. I had two interviews at fine dining joints in Buckhead. Now, I have to say it's nice to have someone look at your resume and say you're qualified. I'm so old hat at server interviews I can make anything sound polished, my answers are now on auto pilot. Why do I have no wine knowledge? You can't say "Well because I've managed to never learn about wine because I just don't give a damn. I know what I like and don't give a rat's ass out this vintage or that. I can tell you how to get cheap red wine out of sand colored carpet while not legal to drive." That answer won't pass any interview, albeit truthful. Instead you say something like "Well, that's an excellent question. You see in Canada the beer market is quite small, the available beers are controlled by a liquor board. If you want something new you're forced to go to a restaurant that specializes in imports. Instead of wine I learned how to describe the complexity of beer, the flavor profile, where it came from, the history of the brewery. Just like beer, I can learn about wine quickly." Sounds good right? Total bullshit, but it sounds good. That is all that truly matters in serving, look good, sound good and make it through your shift.
I've been hired at two restaurants I just have to choose one. This isn't the time to be picky, but it kind of is. I have that old familiar feeling that every new serving job brings, the hopefulness that THIS place will be the hospitality utopia. The place where your schedule is the perfect blend of doubles and days off, where no one messes with you,it's slam packed every night, everyone knows their job and the managers aren't homicidal monkeys in pants. One place is a celebrity chef restaurant with fusion cuisine and a very very polished post modern dining room. I have to say, it looks enchanting. The other place is a corporate owned french restaurant, the reviews are not so great for it and although the interior is enchanting the servers have to wear vests. I for one think vests are the epitome of homosexuality and I've avoided them at all costs. We'll see how these turn out, I'm broke and I need a job. It's not a family restaurant so that's a start.

We have been overrun

So tonight I was spared the torture of the slam packed bar. I actually lucked out and was put in the diningroom. No easy task for a feamle have I mentioned how knuckle dragging cromagnon man my AGM is? Excessively so he told me today to stop standing with my arms crossed and try looking more coy and less intimidating. Uh...seriously? Why don't you just pee on my leg and show me who is boss.

Moving on my section was overrun by eastern europeans. If you've ever seen Americans abroad they drink bud, well apparently Czechs do it too. Come all the way to Canada and drink pilsner urquell awesome. They started off as 6 and turned into like 14. Grat time!! Speaking of which agm is such a pinhead he has been ranting about grat and how if it's not a reservation we can't grat them. Yeah.right. He wants the hostesses to tell them, us to tell them and the reso coordinator to tell them. Even though our menu says 8 or more means grat he'll the website says it too. Needless to say when it came time to bill them I went to another manager for the grat. This was after one party member paid 89 dollars worth of the bill and slipped me a five spot and a smile. Thanks your five bucks won't cover the tip out on it.

Totally knew that it was a test, you passed

So today listening to the CBC news (which is like an ultra polite ultra socially conscious vanilla version of NPR) I heard a very important server secret given to the world. The power of touch. How a gentle and brief touch to your guest will equate more money for you in the end. We all know at least one middle aged server who I a little bit too interested we'll say in guests. Yo hey I know I am wildly funny and my eyes are like pools of liquid sex and you can't get enough of me but seriously can you take a step back when you're talking to me? You're in my bubble and um, yeah I can smell your breath.

Anyway what this touch thing means is if you gently touch someone even in passing it will encourage them to feel comfortable. They say booze increases satisfaction with a meal by as much as 25% well believe me the touch of a pretty girl does too. We southern girls are taught this early on. You cam persuade easily with a smile and a touch. How do other servers do this?o usually touch someone on the shoulder when I am about to barge into their story to do my call backs. If I am prebussing I tend to touch an arm our when I give the bill. A sincere thank you coupled with a hand on the arm seems like you are super awesome and caring. Really you are thinking of the speed of your turn and burn. So next tome touchy feely is the way to go made better by bulging muscles and good hair.So I am planning on proofing this for typos tomorrow as again my iPhone thinks it's smarter than me.

2 weeks? I'll take 3 days

My AGM is gone for a week. You know it's a bad sign when the managers, both of them and 3 servers stand out on the patio and watch him leave. Actually watch him leave isn't exactly the right word. We watched to make sure he didn't go next door only to reappear a few hours later to ruin what was left of our nights by being a complete bag of (insert unpleasant images here). When we saw him veer off towards the parking lot we all let out a whoop of glee. It's rare that our managers admit dislike for him but now both our floor managers have been servers under him and they know. They know about the nightmares, the PTSD servers experience after a rare day in which the AGM is the acting floor manager. Also, why is that every GM/AGM thinks they're doing the restaurant a huge service by acting as the host? Don't you know you're making the hostesses nervous and slowing us down by offering your helpful hints? How about you go run some food since you're making the designated food runner do maintenance and repairs on the front of the house because you're too cheap to hire a real handy man. Yeah while you're at it, here take these dishes with you.
Oh I know every boss is a bit of a jerk but literally every time he opens his condescending mouth to say something pricky you can literally hear teeth gnashing. Like the collective "ooopa" when someone breaks glasses in a restaurant, but with teeth grinding. Everyone regardless of who it is turns away from him muttering "What a jackass". I'll bet his mother does too.

Why does it sound like we're in a submarine?

Good Thursday? It's the start of patio season and I'd like to address the issue of camping. squatting. table renting. riding the glorified lawn chair. God love Torontonians (Torontonites?) they can drink some beer at 12 on a Thursday. Good lord were those some cheap ass bankers. A section FULL of Prada bags, designer sunglasses, veneered teeth, blackberries, and not a smart (Or personable) patio-er in the bunch. If you plan on sitting on a patio all day that's fine, in fact it's encouraged. If you plan on smoking like a freight train, griping about how you don't get laid, informing everyone at the table how you shit gold and you and only you invented not only fire, but also the condom, the English language, post it notes, and the internet please, do close out your bill or don't ask to speak to a manager at the mere MENTION of giving you your bill actually you know what, don't sit in my section. I love love love working outside, I really do. Nothing makes me happier than the sun on my face. One thing I love more than working outside is getting to sleep in my car on my break between splits. I commute 45 minutes to work everyday and the idea of working 13 hours without a true break makes my brain dribble out my ears but it does happen. If you're going to keep me waiting on you please, tip me more than 10% on your business AMEX. Please, yes your English accents are charming but your Prada bag, Gucci sunglasses and that huge rock on your finger tells me you know how to spend money. I've never been talented in the ways of encouraging people to get the hell out. If you have tips on it please, let me know.
I suppose I should explain the title. As I was walking through (more than elbowing my way and pushing little 100 pound girls aside) the bar I got to the server station and realized that horrible clanging and pinging was coming from the sound system. I swear it sounded like we were on the Kursk. I said "What the hell is that god awful noise, I'm expecting us to spring a leak soon" I was informed we were in fact listening to pink floyd. I may be shot for saying this but I really think they're overrated just like I feel the same way about Radiohead. So aside from loving my stoner co workers I love love love our cooks. Not only do they defend me when the closers get their panties in a wad about cutlery they also do just about anything I ask. Including hugging me when I look pissy, and throwing food at me while making some awesomely dirty jokes. If you've not experienced the server brand of sexual harassment you're missing out.

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!

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.