Justice is Served

I'll tell you the tale of another waitress's pain since currently I don't have any good ones.

She works at a restaurant in my old NW neighborhood. She works hard... oh, how she works long. One beautiful afternoon as she served lunch, she had a table of business men. Nothing new here. They had money, light personalities, and shiny, pointed shoes (I'm guessing, as most of them do). They ordered cappuccino's with which to finish their meal. She went to make them, and when she returned, they were gone. Her blood pressure shot up and she furiously ran out to the sidewalk. There they were, in their big, fancy, dumb car trying to drive away. But alas, they were parked in. She approached the car and knocked on the window.
"You seem to have forgotten to PAY YOUR BILL?!?!?!?!" She hissed.
"Oh well my car seems to have been parked in, so I guess thats justice".


So guys, that's justice. When your Mercedes SUV (or whatever) gets parked in while you are walking out on your bill from a restaurant, That. Is. JUSTICE.


Thank you Samantha for the heart warming and educational lesson of the Business Man and the Justice System.

Heres a thought:

If you're going to be the worst table I have ever dealt with, don't look at my boobs while you complain about the crackers. Number one, you're old enough to be my grandfather. Number two, you're complaining about CRACKERS.
This experience taught me a lesson. Well it taught me two lessons- Holly told me maybe I shouldn't have boobs if I don't want people looking at them. So that was the first really helpful lesson. The second one was this: When I reviewed my tips at the end of the night, I thought that I saw that they had left me a large tip. This table could not have been more difficult, and so I was very surprised. So that got me thinking- Does it make it OK for a table to play mind games with you AND objectify you all at once if they leave you a large tip or does it make you feel dirty and used? What the hell? Who were these people coming in, seemingly hating everything, and then leaving a large tip? I concluded that I would have preferred if they had followed through and left a couple of nickels so I didn't feel like their whole shtick was a fucked up form of entertainment for them. "Lets complain about delicious, perfectly prepared food, and Frank- you're creepy- why don't you make the waitress uncomfortable by never once lifting your eyes from her chest! Perfect! She will squirm!" I was settled on my righteous answer- I'll take a little respect over money- until I looked at the credit card slip again and saw that they tipped quite poorly (as originally anticipated). Immediately I was pissed! So, that proves it once and for all- my morals are very weak. I'll take the money. Or maybe it just shows that I will complain no matter what.

Anyway, I've been promised pizza for staff meal tonight. Whoa- I went to the Country Cat the other night and sat at the chef's counter with my family and ended up getting in a lively conversation about staff meal with cooks. Those guys have staff meal before AND after every shift, and they bring in special treats all the time. They have nachos. I don't want to say I have a wandering eye; I'm very loyal to my job. But nachos... a girl can dream. After I get fired because of the old b-l-o-g I know where I'm going.

Before AND After

Saturdays are often kind of weird for my eating schedule. I generally go out for brunch and eat so much that I feel sick all day- and so I usually don't eat before I work. But that is a bad idea, and I realize this about 15 minutes before we open, and that is when bar-caddy snack happens. The bar-caddy is the thing that holds the olives, cherries, picked onions and lemon slices for cocktails. Bar-caddy snack is when I get a plate and a spoon and serve myself a little of each, and slice up an orange for good measure. This snack does not make sense on the plate or in my stomach but my brain likes it a lot.

Post shift staff meal was awesome last night- almost as good as the pre. Japanese curry (full of my favorite spice, MSG) with potatoes, rutabaga, peas and asparagus on rice. It was hot and healthy, and paired with a frozen drink. Shane needed to use up some creepy moonshine and a bunch of other toxic spirits, so he blended them in the kitchen blender with ice and some pineapple juice. It was a perfect end to a perfect evening. Wait a minute...

I would like to address a certain behavior that I will not stand for. You see, David is kind enough to make us the most delicious little chocolates to hand out with the check for every table. He puts these adorable little chocolates into adorable little frilly paper cups. In each cup, if you look, there are two chocolates. Or, if you are hostile, defensive and rude, you do not bother to look and immediately attack your server for not giving you the proper number of free gifts. Here is a sample of this kind of behavior from a group of 6 (grumpy, hateful people) that I (disliked) waited on the other night.

Me: Thank you so much for dining with us, here are some salt and pepper chocolates made by our friend David for you to try tonight. It has been a real pleasure!
Customer #1: You only gave us three!
Me (pretending to be cheerful): Well if you look in the little cups you will see there are two chocolates in each cup. Do you really think I would only give you three free chocolates???
Customer #2: What- am I supposed to use a knife to cut them up?
Customer #3: There are ONLY THREE?!
Customer #4: What is the point of this? Why do we have three chocolates?
Customer #5: THIS IS THE WORST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!
Customer #6: WE SHOULD BURN YOU AT THE STAKE!
Me (head tilted, patronizing smile): Like I just said, if you just use your eyes you will notice that there are two FUCKING FREE CHOCOLATES THAT ARE PROBABLY THE BEST CHOCOLATES YOU WILL EVER TRY per cup. What kind of a server do you think I am? Ha ha!"

It's the fact that people immediately assume that I am ripping them off with a free gift that bothers me. We aren't getting our fair portion of free chocolate, damn it! Believe it or not, I am not a mean, cheap con-artist most of the time. I don't understand why I need to prove myself as otherwise.

I have to do it

I know I am not supposed to talk trash no mo', but you know what? Waiting tables is hard sometimes. And sometimes servers need to have a little fun, feel a little solidarity, and know that everything is going to be OK. So, though I shall not give the specifics of these customers, like full name and address or eye color and blood type, I will give a few broad examples of how last week went at the old restaurant.


First and foremost, I was sexually harassed by an old lady. Every time I approached her table, she patted my bum. As I opened a bottle of wine...pat pat pat. As I got their orders... pat pat pat. I had to position myself very awkwardly to avoid her advances, and even then I could feel her grandmotherly love reaching for my hindquarters from across the table. Her son left me a very large tip. Which made it feel even more wrong.

On Saturday night I wore a dress to work that I felt skeptical about. It had a big, floppy ruffle around the neckline and was generally not my style. I was in a rush when I left for work and I wanted to believe that it would be ok, but it was not. One of my tables asked me if I was Amish. Actually what they said was "My friend wants to know if you're amish!" (woman pointing to man next to her, man blushing and slapping her pointing finger out of his face.) Holly promised that I looked a little to slutty to really pass for Amish, but still I will never wear that dress again.

Another group that came in on Saturday night spent the evening socializing with their iphones. When they left, I realized that one of the fine gentlemen had left his little buddy behind! I ran out the door, seeing that they were all the way on the other side of the park. I yelled "Sir! You forgot your phone!" I was trotting towards him with the phone raised up in the air. He turned, looked, and waited for me to bring the phone to him. On the other side of the park. I was in my fucking apron! And this guy wants me to deliver his fucking iphone to him! GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! One of my friends asked me why I didn't get his attention and then leave the phone for him on a park bench or something. That's a good question. I also wonder why I didn't a. keep it, b. throw it at his face, or c. throw it in the street.

That's it! Otherwise all of my customers have had insanely nice hair, been polite and positive, and been amazed at how dining out is both affordable and fun!

Why go out? Because no one else will smile at you.

There was another Creepy MacNeal perched at the end of the bar on friday night, and it was hard to know if he wanted to be Shane's best friend or Shane's boyfriend. He was really just a weirdo who wanted to tell all of us how much he loves our restaurant, and all of us. I mean, you guys- he has eaten in restaurants in New York before. New York! And he still thinks that we are the best. It's... our flavors. Our flavors are the best. He really like the flavors A LOT. In fact, he "nearly bought a condo in the Pearl just to be closer to our flavors!".
What the fuck are people talking about when they say that? It's the most vague and annoying thing to say ever. "Mmm... What I like about this dish... is all the flavors..." Can a dish not have "flavors"? Even if the flavor is "suck", it still has "flavors". After hearing him tell me, then Shane, then Jack the same fucking story about the flavors, I had to air my hatred for this man to Jack. Only to be rudely inturrupted by one of those chef's in the kitchen yelling "RUNNER PLEASE"! So he had to trot away and get the food. The plate needing to be run happened to be for our buddy at the end of the bar. Jack swooped it under his face and declared, like a maniac, "SPEAKING OF FLAVORS!!!!!" The guy looked like he had just won the lottery. How he glowed under the warmth of Jack's validation! What a loser! I almost shrieked with laughter, or maybe I actually did. Not sure.

But anyway. I a lot of really fun things happened at work this weekend. A drunk mom begged her daughter to be her friend on Facebook... a lesbian with Wierd Al hair poured her whole beer on a super conservative straight couple that were side-sitting on the banquette... an old british man told me he was a growing boy who needed more cheese (sounds funny but he was serious and had great hostility in his voice)...

It's over now. My most vivid memories are off the TWO staff meals I had this weekend. The first was the return of the giant sandwich. This one was filled with the center bread, extracted, fried, covered in cheese sauce, and returned to the loaf, pork loin, sherried red onions, and greens. We also had fried duck terrine. Then we had beignets.
Saturday night we all got to enjoy that tasty wild mushroom lasagna together with a lovely green salad.
I stopped by Clyde Common to spy on their staff meal too! Theirs looked really delicious and one of the employees told me that after a bad meal the week before he had snapped and the kitchen had been on their best behavior ever since. I told him he should start his own staff meal blog to use as a policing device.
They were having roast chicken and potatoes, a big salad, and baked pasta... maybe with pesto. Very delicious looking, and seemingly a good come-back.

The Biggest Loser (not the show)

I had the distinct pleasure of waiting on the biggest asshole of all time tonight. Did we ever speak? No. Did I ever make eye contact with him? No. Did he gesture, as I stood behind him trying to clear plates, for me to give him a back rub "while I was back there"? Yes, yes he did. And grinned at his "friends" all the while. I should have slapped him right on the ear.

The good news is that I got staff meal. Well, I got extra party food (even better). A little porky spaetzle, a little pear salad, a little wild mushroom lasagna... and a LOT of meyer lemon semifreddo. Dessert, as you know, is the final frontier for me when it comes to staff meal. So that ruled.

Waitress

Everything that could have gone wrong last night, did. It was busy (I guess that's good at least), and right at that crucial 7:30 turn when everyone should be leaving so the grownups could come sit down, the computer crashed. I was all "I'll be right back with your check"... in twenty minutes when we get the computer back up. So we were hand writing orders into the kitchen and ignoring the desperate stares of diners wanting to leave. Meanwhile the people who had reservations for those tables were getting restless. We giggled and turned up the reggae to encourage good vibes around the restaurant and to drown out the screaming of our minds. I'm sure everyone appreciated this gesture. It certainly did inspire the creep of the night who was perched at the end of the bar to muse about the various qualities of my hair that he especially liked. LOUDER MUSIC PLEASE!
My very favorite part, however, was when the kitchen started flooding. Its an open kitchen, there's no where to hide. Water doesn't take to hiding well anyway- we were piling up mats and trying to play it cool while it desperately attempted to flow onto the dining room floor. Greasy, greasy water.
Shane kept asking, "is it a full moon?" as he smashed martini glasses into the ice well.
So... was it?

Bridges Freeze First

So you're having an affair in a distant city. It's her birthday, you take her to her favorite Portland restaurant. You at first order a $33.00 bottle of wine, saying "I don't know why... I just want this one." You didn't realize it was a half bottle (duh, you transparent shmuck), and then after being flustered and realizing you're being a cheap ass, you select a bottle of Ken Wright Pinot Noir ($125).
Nice choice, your server says. You give a half smile as though to say "I'm just a classy guy... It comes naturally to me."
You decide to try the tasting menu. Your server spends copious amounts of time explaining the dishes, decanting your wine, making sure the lady gets bubbly (on the house) and a candle in her tart.
The bill arrives. Of course, you pay. You examine the final charge. $250. That's almost all of your allowance!!!!! Oh well, you'll just pretend you can't do math and tip $30, plus a compliment on the way out: "Thanks for the greeeeeeaaaaaaat service. Really wonderful."
"GET OUT! Screams your before friendly server.
But I was am so smooth and have such impeccable taste- where did I go wrong?


The public service announcement for the day is that nothing makes you look worse than being cheap in the end with your server. Especially if you are trying to act like a big shot, drinking fancy pants wine like you can afford it. We remember forever.


ps Obviously, I'm not fired. My hobby, hating customers, is still going strong.

pps Guess who's being Santa's elf helper today? That's right, it's me, boxing up (in my MOUTH) chocolates for xocolatl de david!!! I'll take photos of the workshop.

Holladays

Well... We'll see how this season goes as far as restaurant life is concerned. I'm feeling a little disheartened these days and here's why: Although we have still been busy, the threat of becoming un-busy has people tense and afraid. You know how people act when they are tense and afraid? That's what I'm up against. I feel like I'm being watched like a hawk by all parties involved. Customers, more than ever, are worried that I am trying to pull a fast one on them by recommending they order more than just a lettuce leaf, or that we might be trying to sell their jacket on ebay whilst they dine. The eyes of the restaurant have found new time to monitor side work duties as though my side work duties include handing out meds at the hospital (So I forgot a few patients... they'll recover).
If waiting tables becomes some sort of uptight affair, I might join the circus. THATS A WARNING TO ALL OF YOU. No one really wants to see me as a bearded lady for I only have one beard hair (so far, and also I'm aware that one is too many for most), and I have no flame swallowing or throwing skills. Really though, I hope that fear doesn't get the better of us. I'm here to feed people and "make them feel not annoying", and that's nothing to get in tizzy about.
Meanwhile, staff meal on saturday night made me feel all better. We had Kanas City ribs with cornbread. YES PLEASE!
Jacky Scrapple had a big helping of garbage for dinner last night while Kevin and I were out eating our own feast (holy crap did I have baked spicy dungeness crab? Yes I did.) and today it appears as though he isn't feeling well. It's time for a grass grazing walk.
Please, go out for lunch or dinner today and ask your server if they have ever considered modeling. Hot or not, they need the boost.

Good Year for the Roses

Seriously, as soon as Jack gets back from his honeymoon, he is DEAD. Work is really starting to get to me. Even if we had milkshakes and waffles for staff meal I would still probably feel this way. This is an example of why I am full of resentment and hatred: 

A conversation between myself and that mother daughter combo I previously mentioned

Me: Can I get you two anything started?

Mother:.....................Um.....................................................Welllll....................................

Me: Looks like you need more time. I'll be back in a few minutes.

Mother: No no, hang on. Um.............................................................................Hmmm...................

Me: Would your little girl like some pasta with cheese?

Mother: Oh she eats fine dining all the time. It's just... usually we can find things we like! What I really want is a little duck breast with a port reduction, but as a small plate.

Me: Interesting!

Mother: Or this gnocchi- I would really like it with brown butter and sage.

Me: Well it seems like you might think you are in a different restaurant right now, so I'm going to give you a few minutes to adjust and read the menu our chef has prepared. 

It goes on, ending with me feeling like other people might want to hear this story and writing it on my blog. It's not funny, or all that unusual, it just INFURIATES me. I really shouldn't include the daughter in the story because she was just a kid that will grow up to be a horrible bitch but just hasn't reached her potential yet. I would like to believe that "No! Maybe she will be sweet as pie to rebel against her mom!" but I read her future and that's not it. 

Back to about a week ago before I was tired and mean:

We went and saw the Chapman swifts! We packed a picnic of cheese, figs, olives and wine, and my dad brought his own eggplant caponata. Shane brought some pot, which we smoked inches behind my dads back. If only I had known in high school how easy it could have been! He did catch on later and found it to be very funny. Anyway- this all added up to quite an evening.  There are so many tiny swifts flying around in these beautiful formations, and then in the end they all swirl down into a big chimney like it is sucking them in. A falcon flew in during this and picked off one of the birds- it caught it mid flight! Everyone was cheering for the falcon getting a meal, but I was a little off my rocker and found this to be a small tragedy. 

The weather is beautiful this week. My dad and I went to Sauvie Island and picked a 5 gallon bucket of farm flowers which are now all over my house. We took the doggies to the beach where they went totally wild, and we had grilled corn and sandwiches at Kruger farms. 

That was before. Now I am in the depths of this horrible work week and I must return now to work lunch. Cross your fingers that I make or find a million dollars today.