the bitter waiter

Wish you were here

FIVE THINGS I'VE LEARNED FROM NOT WAITING TABLES FOR TWO WEEKS:

1.  People are actually pretty awesome!  I've found this to be true every day I've lounged on the beach, just listening to my headphones, reading magazines, taking naps, speaking only to order food and drink, pretending I'm stranded on a desert island with only my waiter.  Yeah, people are actually pretty awesome when you have absolutely no obligation to interact with them.

2.  You can have just one drink.  Isn't that weird?  When life is calm, and stress isn't going for your groin every 20 seconds, you don't feel an overwhelming urge to drown your dread until your inner and external monologue are both slurring.

3.  There's a whole functioning world at 8 a.m.!  People are out jogging, coffee shops waft the comforting aroma of caffeinated-goodness, there's this thing called breakfast with bacon and utensils, people are perky, hangovers are not allowed at 8 a.m.!

4.  When you're without employment for a brief period of time, with zero income coming in, you spend money as if it's left on your windshield by an Armenian night club promoter.  When there's no money in the bank, there's even more expensive clothing on daddy's back.

5.  After two weeks of rest and repose, I will return to my lot in life a new man.  Gone are the outbursts, snarky comments, and temper tantrums.  No more letting the entitlement and temper tantrums of impolite society ruin my days and nights.  I will stride into work with a song in my heart and a spring in my step.  I will be forever changed by these two weeks.  Just me, and a sunny disposition.  I'll keep the blog around *just in case* I have that rare bad mood.  Like, on the off chance that I return to work Monday and all of this relaxation goes out the window.  But that won't possibly happen, not to this new man...

Unchained

You'll pardon my absence, but I've been overworked, so if I seem particularly pissy today, blame the double shifts, the shitty tips, the lack of respect from management, the ones who says they'll call and never do, the ones who shouldn't call and always do, and the fact that I've given up coffee.

Oh, and blame Angela and Jessica, who were responsible for the suspension I just received from work.

Yesterday, in the throngs of a busy lunch shift - a lunch shift that was busy because the managers agreed to give their pet server the day off for his BIG AUDITION, even though I was denied a half day off to have my teeth cleaned but WHATEVER - I had 12 tables at once.  That's roughly 50 people, all in a hurry, all bellowing for my attention, all presenting their ridiculous requests as more important than the ridiculous requests of their neighbors.

Angela and Jessica waltzed in, and the MENSA member of a hostess - who was seating the place as unevenly as the bumbled boob job she bought herself through a Groupon - gave me my 12th table while my co-worker stood polishing condiments in her empty section. 

"We're ready to order," Angela said as she snapped her fingers when I passed by in a frenzy.

"IN A MINUTE," I yelled.

"Am I the only person here with sight?" I asked our moronic manager, Pee Wee.

"Yeah," he said dryly. 

"Because you might want to explain to your hostess that, in an elaborate scheme to balance out the work of the restaurant, we actually recommend seating both sections instead of stacking one server's section first."

"You're cute when you're angry," he said while chewing his BIC pen lid down to a plastic turd.

I huffed and puffed and returned to my tables, caught them up, made it clear to Angela and Jessica that I was ignoring them, grabbed a drink out of the bartender's hand, gulped it, and greeted the newest horrors in my house of freaks.

"Yes?" I said to greet the gals.

"Did you not hear me when I said I was ready to order?" Angela asked with some serious 'tude.

"I did," I replied.  "Just as I heard all of those other people who've been here longer tell me that they need more water, more chips, and more salsa, as I'm currently the server to everyone in the restaurant."

"Uhmmmm, Joss-ica?" Angela said, revealing the cacaphony of her valley girl accent.  "I think someone's not getting a tip."

Joss-ica rolled her eyes and chimed in, "Can we seriously just, like, hurry this up?  We have massage appointments."

Who the fuck eats Mexican food right before a massage appointment?

"Who eats Mexican food right before a massage appointment?" I decided to ask.

"We're not EATING, we're DRINKING," Joss-ica snapped.

"Then I suggest heading to THE BAR where the BARTENDER has little better to do than practice his two-line audition for Pretty Little Liars!"

"We'll sit wherever we want, THANK YOU!" Angela countered.

"Fine, but don't be upset if I can't get to you right away, as you're my 12th table in a row!!!!" I replied.  "Now what do you want to drink?"

"A manager," Angela said with sassy, orbital move of her head.

"Not a very strong choice, but I'll be right back with that!"

I let Pee Wee deal with Angela and Jessica.  After all, he'd fielded complaints about me before, always followed by an indifferent lecture and some mildly bi-curious come-ons.

But not this time.  No, in an effort to really show those two sluts his manhood, he decided to inform me, in front of them, that I was suspended.

So yours truly now has a week off to have my teeth cleaned, fix those things around the house that needed fixing, see some matinees...

And who knows?  Maybe I'll return to work a happier, more well-adjusted employee?

Or maybe this suspension will really propel me into a place of extreme sardonic vengeance...

Pretty little liar

I was in a rare good mood during a lunch shift this week.  A table of businessmen had given me an exceptionally generous tip, I had a fun evening planned, and my 11 a.m. gin and tonic was showing no signs of diminishing its buzz.

And then Susie came in.  At first glimpse she seemed like she'd add to my unusually sunny disposition.  She was pretty-ish, well dressed, and dining alone.

"Hi how are you today?" I asked with a smile on my face, spring in my step, and sauce in my cup.

"Ugh, miserable," she replied in a hoity toity nasally tone.

"Oh?"

"Well yeah," she said.  "Our economy sucks, my car's in the shop, my daughter's not coming home from college for my birthday, and there are no men to date in this city!"

Gee, and from our 19 seconds together I'm amazed you don't have to fight men off with a stick.

"Well, uhm, anything to drink?" I asked.

"Noooo," she said.  "I've had the margaritas here before, they're not very good.  How's your Diet Coke?"

Oh it's sublime, we're known the world over for it!  Instead of ordering it from a company like so many other restaurants, we actually create our own chemicals in a lab off-site.  Our experts use only the finest, home-grown substances to offer our patrons the best in diet refreshment.  Like I always say, if you only order one thing here, treat yourself to our Diet Coke!

"It's Diet Coke," I replied.

"I'll bet it's really syrup heavy," she frowned.  "Do people complain and send it back because there's too much syrup?"

"No," I replied.  "Most people set the bar pretty low when ordering a soda."

She exhaled with great annoyance.  "Fine," she said.  "I guess I'll try the Diet Coke."

I returned with the drink.  Naturally she hated it.

"I really should stick to my rule about eating only at certain restaurants within higher price ranges," she deigned to tell me.  "Every time I come here I'm so disappointed."

And then she prattled on about having real Mexican food when she and her rich ex-husband rented a yacht in Cabo San Lucas.  They had a personal chef prepare their meals.

"You really haven't traveled until you've spent a week on a yacht," she informed me.

"Neat, are you ready to order?" I asked.

She once again exhaled.  "Well everything here is usually so greasy or inedible.  I honestly don't know why I came back."

"An excellent question," I added.

"I guess you guys can't mess up a simple caesar salad with chicken," she said.  "I'll try that."

I returned with the salad.  Naturally she hated it..

"Where are the cornbread croutons??" she asked.

"Oh you mean that ones that aren't listed on the menu that we've never served with the salad?" I replied.

"You're mistaken," she told me.  "I know there are cornbread croutons that normally come with this."

I made the buzzer sound used on game shows when a contestant has guessed the wrong answer.  "EHHHHH," I exclaimed.  "I've worked here longer than I care to admit, and I'd bet that yacht in Cabo that we've never, ever used cornbread croutons."

"Fine," she said.  "Just add some then."

"That'd be possible if we served cornbread," I replied.  She conceded and started forking at her salad. 

"When my ex-husband and I ate at Tavern on the Green before it closed," she started, "we had the most exquisite caesar salad I've ever seen.  The display was just gorgeous.  I doubt you ever ate there.  You should have, because then you'd know what a caesar salad should look like."

"I actually did," I lied.  "My friend's father rented out the entire restaurant and she had her wedding reception there.  So I was actually a V.I.P., and not a regular customer."

She shrugged her shoulders in a momentary sign of defeat.  Then...

"Too bad you don't wait tables at a place like that," she said.  "I'll bet you'd make much better money."

"Fortunately my fiancee just made partner at [one of L.A.'s top entertainment law firms]," I lied again.  "Better to have a temporary day job as a server than be single, right?"

She caught on to my not-so-subtle game.

"So what'd you move out here for?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.  "Actor?"

"No," I lied.  "I moved out there to look after a house in Larchmont that I inherited from a great aunt who passed away.  My fiancee and I were going to move in, but it's far too big so we're just selling it for a hefty profit.  I just work here because I needed something with minimal hours for extra cash."

"Which realtor is listing it?"

"Baz Jackson," I lied. 

"Never heard of him," she said.  "And I know everyone in real estate."

"So, anything else I can bring you?" I asked before she unspooled my flimsy lies.  "My shift ends soon, and I have a sailing lesson, so I'll need to head out."

"Just the check," she replied with a dismissive hand waive.

When I returned, she had a crisp $50 bill on the table, as well as her business card.

"In case Baz doesn't work out," she said, "I dabble in real estate.  I'd love to take a look at your aunt's property."

I took the business card, as well as her generous tip, and smiled with smug satisfaction.  I was not raised to lie, but in light of how much leverage it gave me over an otherwise miserable customer?  Well.  Let's just say I'll be adding "law firm," "Tavern on the Green," and "Baz Jackson" to my repertoire.