My Adventure in Excellent Service: Part 1

Quiet times had once again descended upon the restaurant. And by quiet, I actually mean extremely DEAD.

Needing to do something to amuse myself I declared boldly (to no one in particular) that I would become dedicated to the pursuit of giving the most excellent service known to man. I would lay it on so thick that people would be handing me 100% tips without even thinking about it. I would become insanely wealthy and quit. In actuality, I was just curious to see that if stepping up my game a bit might actually have any consequence. (being that I consistently average 22-25% minimum- which is pretty good.) Being that my patience with Captain Rig's was wearing thin I decided that a one day trial of Excellent service was about all I could handle. After that I would go back to by old ways of spitting in peoples soup and screaming "WHATCHA WANT" to take an order.

(I also decided that if I were to find myself laden with Canadians that all bets were off.)

The night in question was slow enough to guarantee that I would be able to perform my act of Excellent waiting- and that the kitchen would not be too busy to be slow and screw me all up. Things progressed nicely and I found that although people were astonished to listen to me recite by memory the 17 specials, and were pleased to have instant water refills, immediate crumb wipe-age and absurdly detailed descriptions of the desserts my tips stayed put in my same 22-25% range.

Part of the way thru the night I was seated with a mother/teen daughter combo. This is not always the most promising situation but my Mom and I enjoy dining together on a regular basis and always appreciate good service (and tip accordingly, obvi.) So I brought my infamous "A Game" to this table and regaled them with my knowledge of San Manzano Tomatoes, attended to their every request with a flourish and a smile and was altogether delightful. Typically little teen girls like me, because I am not so old as to be an uncool parental authority figure. This girl however was deeply imbedded in some sort of emo subculture and was clearly very sad and depressed about her 13 year old life. She moped about, shaking her hair over her face and brooding over Twilight and death (I don't know. I'm just guessing!) After to attending to them like some kind of freaking superhero waitress I went over to clear their plates and to offer them an excellent homemade (at some others home) dessert. The Mom said to me after I dished out the tempting offer of a luscious tiramisu "You know.... There is something about your voice that REALLY bothers me.... Maybe it is just because you are SO loud!" Horrified and deeply offended I looked at her, agog. Thinking back on every interaction I had with them I realized that I most certainly had not been loud, brash or anything but extra nurturing and friendly. My hackles were up! Biting back all kinds of inappropriate things I plastered on my biggest, toothiest grin and said "I'm so sorry that you were offended by mo tone or volume. I must make sure that when I talk that even people who are listening to their ipods can hear me...." (with a sideways look at the princess of the ear buds, who scowled at me and buried herself deeper into the banquette.) Clearing their plates away the Mom continued "The little princess did not like her dinner but didn't want me to say anything." Looking at the offending dish I discovered that as inedible as it had been most of it was gone. "I'm sorry to hear that" I said dryly "What seems to have been the problem?" I was addressing the emo princess but she wanted nothing to do with me, and she turned up the volume on her ipod while rolling her eyes in disgust at the incompetence of adults. (at this age, if I had acted like this i would have been sent to sit in the car. Oh, after having my ipod ripped from my person, my hat removed from my head and my bad attitude washed off my face. but we don't discipline our children in these times...) "Oh nothing...." sighed the indulgant Mom "she just didn't like it...." Knowing that I had no chance for a good tip at this table I calmly reached out and removed a bud from emo princess ear "Hey" I said with the utmost friendliness "If you don't like your dinner and you don't tell me.... There is NOTHING that I can do about it! So... You just remember that for next time, ok?" Gently replacing her ear but I gave her a hearty pat on the shoulder (to piss her off? or because I wanted to slap her sour expression off her face? I'm not telling...)

I delivered the check for the table, now speaking to them in the very most hushed of whispers while looking in the other direction (passive aggression, anyone? with a side of fries?) I did not care because I know it was a lost cause and I figured if I wasn't going to make bank then I better have a laugh. Upon picking up the check I was genuinely shocked to fine a tip over 20%. Go figure!

To be continued...... Will I have more drama on the night of good service? Will I end up making any cash? Wait and see!

How to have fun at work

It was a dark and stormy night....

Actually, it was no such thing. It was a very typical weekend night of excess drama, and even more excessive lack of business. I was having a challenging time finding anything to do to occupy myself in a manner that would keep me out of the slacking spotlight. I had about given up and was seconds away from throwing my hands up in frustration and having a comfortable seat in the walk in cooler when surprise! I got a table. A very novel concept, being that I am a waitress and all...

Sadly, it was a table of old people, and while I have nothing against being/getting old it is a well known fact that senior citizens are notoriously bad tippers. They are under the misguided impression that leaving us verbal tips such as "oh honey, I bet you wish that you had gone to college now, doncha??" is payment enough. That kind of payment is always well received by me and I reciprocate by boiling their coffee, or similar. Anyway, I digress. Old people love to know the life story of their server (usually so that the much appreciated "tips" can be handed out.) They proceeded to ask me about my life and times and not really feeling like getting into the technical details of what I occupy my days with I simply replied that I was a waitress. WELL! Never have I seen so much excitement from such a small and boring word. "PAY attention Archie!" crowed the female at my table "This girl is an ACTRESS!!" As I started to reply that no, an actress I am not some wise-ass part of my brain awoke and reminded me of how very bored I was. So I gave the people what they wanted, knowing that I would never see them again and also thinking that I might as well put on a good show and really earn my 12 cent tip. I developed an excellent life story, complete with why I was now in a small town far, far away from the hustle and bustle of my Hollywood upbringings. They were overly excited at this point and I was a bit concerned that my wild tale would end in the need for paramedics, or extra oxygen. They eagerly demanded to know if they might have seen me on TV! In a movie! On Broadway! I replied sensibly that no, I was not a well known actress because I was a stunt double. Pfffffffffffft!! "A stunt double" Archie pondered "like when Julia Roberts doesn't want to show her bum?" Holding back laughter at this point (and wondering what it was that gave away my body double stature? Obviously my wildly womanly curves and supermodel appearance...) I went on the defense "NONO" I replied, "not a BODY double a STUNT double- you know, the ones who leap off tall buildings, take roundhouse kicks to the face and are regularly set on fire." They were suitably impressed, as they very well should have been. Sadly at this juncture I had to excuse myself from my outrageous meanderings and go back to my job as a waitress. However, feeling that I was really onto something good I spent the rest of my evening telling tall tales to all my tables. I am clearly a very well rounded person as I am a stunt double, a paramedic (inspired my the hyperventilating old people thank-you-very-much) and a 3rd grade teacher. I must admit that I found this to be an excellent way to occupy my time and distract me from my imploding coworkers.

So, all in all this was a win-win situation. I was amused, my guests were amused, and no harm came from any of it.

In which our heroine slacks off completely.

I do not tend to be the kind of employee that shirks away from an extra bit of work. Good thing, since working at Captain Rig's is like indentured servitude times a million! I tucker myself right out at work, I (try) to be the hero who runs the food out of the kitchen at breakneck speed, I (attempt) to excel at being the master of the glassware and silver and I (halfheartedly) bag up to-go orders. Oh, and in my spare point two seconds of extra time I wait on tables too... Hmmmm?!

When the screaming in the kitchen reached a glass shattering level last weekend I decided it was time for a change. Since I AVOID slacking this was the perfect time to see if I could manage to do as little as humanely possible, without getting caught, and while lavishing attention on my tables of guests and making fistfuls of cash. Hooray for the lazies!

It turned out to be a pretty slow night which made this experiment fully possible. I found that as long as I stayed in motion and "looked" busy nobody thought otherwise. I doted upon my tables with the kind of attention that I normally would not have time to give. I helped out one of my fellow coworkers who got quadruple sat and was looking a bit frazzled. (knowing that since this was one of the "humans" that works there the gesture would most likely be reciprocated!) I toddled along in a state of calm, occasionally pausing to twiddle a fork around to dry in order to not appear to be a complete sloth but for the most part I dodged all forms of work.

My tables enjoyed the attention and tipped well. My coworkers were completely oblivions to my day of rest, and I fully enjoyed an evening of calm and zen like relaxation (if only!!)

The verdict: WIN!! WIN!! However, not only is slacking off daily against everything I stand for but eventually (sooner rather than later) I'll get busted. So we'll leave that as a one day-vacay that had results that were enjoyed by all. Or at least ME!

In which our Heroine learns that she will never be able to cheat a lie detector test...

Crossing the threshold of my own personal hell the other evening (aka: the kitchen entrance of Captain Rigatoni's) I could hear the hollerin' coming from the back room in a big way! Realizing that this was sure to be yet another heart warming evening of cheerful pep talks, and loving pats on the back I concluded that it was the perfect opportunity to continue my social experimentation on the Captain's dime.

Before I could reflect any further on what my bold mission might be I was captured by Dan, and in a whirlwind of speed was whisked away to the dark recesses of the walk in cooler. My reaction was something of the "HEY! YO! WTH??" kind, as I do not particularly enjoy any kind of sudden kidnapping. Surrounded by buckets of pasta, "homemade" desserts and carrots, Dan delivered a stern lecture. "We have an audit going on today" he said in his very best waiting-to-be-upper-management voice "and we need to go over a few things." I was confused, and was picturing some sort of tax evasion taking place and could not see how I could possibly have any part in such a thing. Continuing on, and carefully annunciating his words lest I be confused by the weight of my mission Dan said "They are going to be asking all of us some questions today about how this restaurant is run, how you get paid and what some of our policies are." "Reeeeaaaaly?" I said, as it dawned on my that this was the Labor peeps and not the Tax goons "What's the deal?" I inquired. "Well, there are a few things that need to be said by ALL" was his firm, and clearly pronounced reply. By this time it was becoming painfully clear to me what was going on: We were going to be told to lie. And if there is something that this middle aged waitress AVOIDS it is lying. It is well known in my circle of friends that my lying skills are on par with my coordination skills meaning, NOT good. Not only is lying something that I am (somewhat) morally opposed too but I just can't be smooth about it. I tend to stammer a bit, get overly exaggerated in my hand gestures and facial expressions and get all red faced and sweaty palmed. I just can't pull it off, period! This was NOT the kind of challenging social experimantation that I was intersted in. Clearly pressed for time Dan continued with his lecture on deceit "When he asks about our tip-out policy you should know that we DO NOT nor have we EVER tipped out any staff in this restaurant besides the service bar." "You don't say" I replied with great sarcasm "Because some little part of my memory remembers something entirely different..." "Well that part of your memory needs to be turned off right now" was his sensible thought on that matter. "Also, you have NOT nor have you EVER been required to pay for anything you have broken, screwed up on or damaged." Remembering that there was a small portion of my medulla oblongata (or similar?) that needed to learn to shut it's mouth I shut mine too... "Also" he droned on "it is not our policy to ask you to pay for a "walk-out" but we do reserve the right to terminate you if you have multiple people leaving without paying." "So the other day" I mused in my out-loud voice "when my work friend was let go for one walk out.... That never happened? Am I right?" Delighted with my quick learning skills Dan exclaimed that I WAS right and that I HAD it and could scurry right along and talk to Mr. Department of Lies.

Fortunately for me, a long line of liars had formed at that point so I had a bit of time to muse over my options. I saw this as a perfect, heaven sent opportunity to expose the shady work place principles that were applied at Capt Rig's. I saw this as a delightful opportunity to avenge my fallen and unjustly fired friend. I worked myself up into a fine state of indignation over the fact that people thought that they could order me to lie and expect me too! Seeing Dan run by to polish the halo that Captain Rigatoni had given him I asked a quick question "So Dan, why is it that you had to catch us one by one and tell us what was going on? Why did we not have a meeting to talk about this? It wouldn't be becasue "management" didn't want to be (ahem) involved? You know, in case we get asked if we were told by our "bosses" to say certain things?" "Ahhh" he said, clearly agitated by my quick thinking and perception "that might be... close to correct..." As he left the kitchen he turned and semi-shouted "AND it's a BEAUTIFUL thing!!" with more than a touch of sarcasm, which led me to believe that despite all the mumbo-jumbo he was still at least partially human. With my suspicions confirmed I went to the front of the line to get down to the dirty business of exposing the corrupt state of affairs going on in the kitchen. My imagination was having a delightful time picturing the way I would describe to Mr. Labor how I had been told to lie, how we did in fact have to tip out everybody and their brother, and how we most certainly had to pay for breakage and mistakes. I was going to be a champion of the masses, a freedom fighter on the level of Gandhi, and a patriot for waitstaff everywhere. That was the case, until I saw where it was that we were going to be having out "private meeting." In the office: NO. In a nice private area of the dining room: NO. Where, you might ask... Where would we have the opportunity to have a heart to heart chat with somebody who might be able to save us from doom and slavery (and the loss of tons of our own dollars, paying for busted up plates?!?) Dead front and center, under the close surveillance of several video cameras and right next to the hostess station, where Bobbi was conveniently located. Although I'm sure that she was keeping a responsible eye on things, not eavesdropping or anything. (See! I can lie!)

My head was in a terrible state at this point and I knew that if I did not lie, as soon as I went back to the kitchen I would be shoved out the back door and kicked like a junk yard dog. I reflected upon the sorry state of my bank account, the pile of bills on my kitchen table and the lack of available jobs in my town (or any town.) I knew at that point, that there was no choice in the matter. I would HAVE to do one of the top things that I AVOID. I was going to have to lie like a rug.... And there was no way that I was going to be able to pull it off because as soon as I sat down my blood pressure went up to 180/240 and clearly a stroke was imminent. "Hello, I'm Mr. Labor" said Mr. Labor, standing to shake my clammy hand, and not reacting well to the fact that my hands felt like the hands of a LIAR!! Wiping his hands on his pants (sorry) we got on with things. "What are your tipping policies here?" he asked sternly "Do you have to tip anyone at the end of the night?" "Um, yeah, um" I said smoothly, and calmly "We have to tip the bartender and ummmm. that's it. yeah, just them" (shut up!! I shouted at myself! Stop talking!) "So just the bar?" he asked again, looking at me with a firm expression "nobody else? Not a bus person? A hostess" THE KITCHEN??" I was in full blown freak out at this time, I could see Bobbi peering at me with slanted eyes and taking notes, I could see that I was directly in the line of the cameras. I wanted to jump up and scream like a freak, and then run out the front door like a crazy person. Gathering my thoughts as best I could I stammered that no, we didn't tip anyone else, and that it was just the bar, and that yes as far as I knew it WAS mandatory to tip the bartender because I had never been told otherwise. I jambled on and on. I could not shut up the word vomit pouring from my mouth. I was red faced and sweaty like a mass murderer under the spotlight of interrogation.. The interview went on for several minutes more, I continued to stammer like a guilty convict, Bobbi continued to give me the stank eye and Mr. Labor clearly did not believe a word I had said. And then it was over, I was allowed to run like a track star back to the relative safety of the kitchen. Where, oddly enough I found most of the staff chirping in indignation about the unjust questions that had been presented to them. At that point they all believed the lies that they had been told to tell (whoa- stop the crazy train right here please so that I can get the hell OFF!)

By far, the best part of the whole adventure was to learn that some of the staff who are supposed to be on the receiving end of out tip-outs at the end of the night had never seen any of that cash. Not a dime, not once! Good to know that we are lining the pockets of management with our hard earned money- really flipping awesome.

The result of this social experiment: OK, so this one was forced upon me and was not my choice! I don't think that I would choose lying as a way to spend my evening. Anyway: EPIC fail. I am a terrible liar and also clearly have no moral fiber since I made the choice to lie (my justification that I HAD no choice is BS- you always have a choice. And I choose to keep my craptastic job.) I'm clearly going to be getting coal in my stocking this year!

Many excellent adventures

Obviously the best way to spread the Holiday cheer is to violently scream obscenities at your employees at 10 minute intervals. I mean, DUH everyone knows THAT!

The stress of the Holidays has been taking a toll on Capt Rig, although it appears to have left his vocal cords intact. What a shame, what a shame.

To keep my sanity intact I embarked upon a stealthy adventure to amuse myself. OH EMM GEE people, hang onto your hats!


Adventure number one: I avoid boring my coworkers to death with stories of my life. They do not do the same for me, and due to the fact that I am an excellent listener regularly regale me with cringeworthy stories of their boot-knocking escapades, yawn-inducing tales of their children's school work and tedious tales from the front lines of post divorce dating. Yaaaaawn, yo, YAWN! Anywhoo, I decided it would be profoundly amusing to prattle on endlessly about my fav pet and his recent bout of disease. Complete with pics of the grossness and detailed descriptions of the whole situation. Rock on with my bad self!!

Conclusion of this experiment: Nobody is interested in hearing about other peeps business and I am a much better listener than most. Maybe I have to stop that? As soon as my story reached the really boring parts people just walked on off. Which empowers me to do the same the next time I'm stuck in a corner hearing about things that make me want to puke all down my front. HAH!


Adventure number two: I avoid talking about the middle aged huz at work. Everybody knows that I am part of an uber magical union and therefore am strictly off limits. Everybody else really loves to yap on and on about their ex-husbands, their current boyfriends, or their episodes of ultra creepy stalking. Awesome! Time to join in on the fun and expose the huz as the rascally renegade that he is. Wha-ha-ha!

The conversation one evening turned towards the general incompetence of men in general, something that all of us smokin' hot ladies can certainly relate to. I was all ready to raise my fists and man bash when my conscience caught up to me, and I got all guilty feeling in my heart. Listening to the hair raising chlamydia chaos talk that my coworkers were bringing to the table I realized that I had nothin'. They all turned to me expectantly and I said (weakly) that the huz is really, really bad at doing laundry and also quite poor at putting dishes in the dishwasher. BAD HIM! They all looked at me like I had two heads, and since I had pretty much taken the hate out of the convo we all dispersed.

Conclusion of this experiment: I'll bitch with my bitches, and not with my coworkers. Epic FAIL!


So as long as the Captain continues on in his full on asshat rage, I will continue to conduct odd social experiments on his dime.

Got to do something to save the sanity, no?