The Key to my FAME!

I see that I ruffled some feathers with my last post!
Since being a tad offendive is clearly going to be the key to my fame and success I have compiled a list of excellent topics for an upcoming blog post. Perhaps I should take a poll on which to choose?!

1: Canadians: Humans, or Aliens??

2: Gluten Allergies: A LIE to get attention!! Just eat the damn WHEAT!

3: People with children: Leave them home or drown them in the river! (the kids, that is- or yourselves if you choose to allow them to run amock.)

4: Christmas decorations/Christmas in general: Brainwashing at its finest...


BWA-HAHA! I can feel my fame skyrocketing!
(and really, if you don't understand that I'm kidding then please see topic #3 and consider doing the same!)

Canadians. Wine-O-s. Singing Brooms? Ahh, a day in my life..

Dear Canadians. I am sure deep down inside you are all lovely people. BUT! (and before I offend all of y'alls- I am NOT racist about anyone. There just happen to be a group of people out there who waitresses really dread and sadly, our friends from the North fall into this category. So no hate for the middleaged waitress, ok?) I have posted about them and their never ending shenanigans and terrible tipping skills before and my feelings (and their behavior) has not changed.
I'm sure that all of you Canadians are very nice people, and I know that you play a good game of hockey. But please learn to behave and tip!

I had a very long night of Canadian-itis recently. Table after table of $150+ check totals and $8 tips had me crying in my soup. Or cursing rather loudly and threatening to shoot myself in both feet so that I could just go home, damnit!
One table in particular had me gnashing my teeth and reminding myself to shut my fricking mouth... They ran me ragged... Their children were demanding and petulant and they refused to speak English except to boss me around. (and they could speak English. It was annoying.)

At the same time in the adjacent table I had a 2-top who were clearly from the Very Big City that is known to produce A-Holes. No offence. However, these two decided to break the stereotype and start off with full blown fabulocity. Perhaps it was because I had the table of truly offensive northerners that made them seem rather tolerable- but this 2-top started out full of promise. they ordered wine (had to get the HWF's wine key, obviously) They ordered apps and warned me that they were going to have a nice, leisurely meal. This sounded like an ideal plan because not only was it early and I had to be there- so I might as well be busy- but my Rude table was keeping me so busy that I had me big old hands pretty darn full.

By the time that the Rude table was ready to get a move on the Man in the friendly 2-top had drank his way right thru the bottle of wine. Needless to say, things at their table were starting to take a turn for the worse- or at least a turn for the strange.

As the Rude table left they demanded to see their bill again to "check the breakdown.. because it seemed really HIGH." Ok, no problem, here you go DOUCHEBAG! They studied the bill with a microscope and found it to be correct, much to their dismay. Since it was my fault that they ate and drank so much they punished me with a four cent tip and got the frick out.

After they left Mister wine-o had lots to say about them. "Soooo" he drawled rather tipsily "they think that their shit don't stink, now don't they?" Not wanting to spark some sort of insane debate, or to appear rude I just laughed them off. But he persisted "Tell us what you really thought of them, because we thought that they were first class assholes." "Well." I said tactfully "They were a bit needy but it isn't something that I haven't dealt with 100 times before...." This was not a good enough answer and he persisted in pestering me to spill my real feelings on the matter. (which I would not do. but I did get him to order more wine, knowing that his wife was DDing his drunkass home.)

Much time had elapsed at this point and they were my only table left so, much to my chagrin, I had very little excuse to hide from them. More fine had further loosened Mr. Wine-o's tongue and he prattled on endlessly. (this is why I hated bartending and never wish to do it again- escape is challenging. and at a table like this- you are suddenly the bartender, therapist and best friend EVER!) As they prepared to take their leave I was asked one more question "In the Disney movie with the lion and the princess, is there a singing broom?" Lion. Princess. Singing Broom? WTF? Thinking hard I said "Beauty and the Beast you mean? Are you thinking of the singing candelabra?" He was not convinced and spent 10 lawyerly minutes asking me if I had reasonable doubt that there was NOT a singing broom in Beauty and the Beast. The whole situation unnerved me a bit and I started second guessing myself and could not say with 100% certainty that there was no damn stupid singing BROOM! (anybody? have the answer?)

In the end all the ridonculocity paid off because they left me a gargantuan tip- but it was all around odd.
And I'd love to know if there is a singing broom in the movie about the lion and the princess....

ONE perfect day...

I can hear the gasps as you all recoil in shock. Yes, I said it. A "perfect Day" at Captain Rigatoni's!

We must remember that perfection is relative; what might seem perfect in a normal workplace is never, ever going to happen at Captain Rig's House Of Pain so we must take whatever bone life throws us.

To achieve the day of perfection there is a key ingredient: the elimination of almost 100% of the staff. This includes the obvious players: Capt Rig himself, Jan, Her Man Slave, Bobbi, Ashley, Gina and pretty much any new people who declare retarded things like "Where is Captain Rig today? Things just aren't the same without him!!" VOM DOT COM bitches- don't say ridiculous things like THAT if you wish to live in my little world.

The perfect day would be rather overcast because who wants to be inside on a nice day (I'm getting picky here but am actually setting the scene for the "perfect day that WAS") On the "perfect day that was" it was cool and cloudy out.. The perfect day would also be a weekday, because the head-honchos are always there on the weekend (and the "day that was" was a Monday- rock on!)

I arrived at my own personal hell to find that things were going to be fan-freaking-tastic! On the schedule in big, obvious letters were my Fab self, my HWF, the NNG (who was slightly less new at that point) Marissa and (sadly) the HWF's nemesis before she got fired for running her mouth. Bobbi was there but was in a magnanimous mood because she had just fired several people and that get's her feeling all powerful and kind of... high. Yipes!

Since The Nemesis was good for garbage I proclaimed myself to be the Boss, the queen of The Kitchen and the master of Everyones Domain. Watch out suckers, there was a new sheriff in town! No doubt about it: I spent the night hollering at everyone to dry silverware, to not be idiot douchebags and I generally tried to morph into a little hybrid of Jan & Gina. I kid, I kid!

Somehow even without Jan there to micromanage our every move we got things done! It was busy enough to keep us all moving right along and- GASP- by some stroke of luck everything got taken care of (including, rather shockingly, the CUSTOMERS) and nobody felt like killing anybody else because we all were nice to one another. We were a happy group of people and to add to the joy I hollered "THIS is the BEST DAY EVER" approximately every .2 seconds. I like to make my feelings known to the world.
The good feelings and happy mood must have rubbed off on my customers because I made an absurd amount of money for a Monday. A two top left me a 110% tip which had me literally bouncing off the walls in joy and ecstacy! (I'm really annoying when I get too happy. Oh well!)

The whole night was the bombdiggity and it was determined that if every day on the job was like that we would all work there forever with smiles on our faces and springs in our steps. High fives were exchanged for jobs well done. We all patted one another on the backs for being a team of rock stars who do not need to pillage and plunder in order to take care of business. None of us missed the Head Harpies even one little bit (maybe the Nemesis did. She did not enjoy working with a kitchen full of happy "new" people. Poor her!)

It was no shock to any of us when things returned to their hateful norm the very next shift. The good thing was we all had memories of the one and only perfect day ever to make things a little bit better. Like I mentioned, in a crazy crummy place like Capt Rig's you take what you can get, make lemons out of lemonade and appreciate the luck that is getting ONE great day.

And then there were four....

When you are a new girl (or guy) at Captain Rig's House Of Pain the pride and joy of being the newest member of the awesome-o team lasts about one hour. Not only because you realize that you are working in the worst place ever but because that is how quickly they hire people.

I was the newest girl for two days. Then after the new-new girls quit the following week I was the newest new girl all over again... This went on for quite some time until the Tattletale and Marissa were hired and decided to stick around for a bit.

Right around Christmas time a New-New Girl was hired in a rather unusual way. Marissa had been waiting on her and her fiancee and had taken a shine to her- had brought her not just an application but Bobbi herself to give an on the spot interview. She was hired straightaway (clearly I had no chance to warn her about the sloppy mess she was about to get herself into) and she arrived at my favorite place on earth just after New Year's.

I had reached the point of paying very little attention to the new hires. I had seen so many come and go with such predictability that I felt it was not worth my time and effort to even learn their names. I loved my newfound, bitter attitude. I found that it really suited my personality and gave me a whole new lease on life. I saw myself morphing into a mini-Jan, trundling about screaming "DOUCHEBAG" and bossing everyone to death. Lucky for me, I had a firm grip on reality and my HWF to be snide to- both of which saved me from continuing on a clear path to destruction.

Anywhoo. On the NNG's 1st day there, she had the best luck ever and was assigned to help my fabulous self in the infamous lettuce department. Despite my initial horror over the mass production of chopping lettuce (and my continued terror of being drowned in the sink) lettuce had become my favorite job and I was a freaking rock star at it. Marketable skill right there, not to mention an impressive line item on ones resume. She seemed like a quiet, timid little soul and I was not convinced that Marissa had had the right idea about her. And then.... She started to say funny stuff. And I discovered that not only was she a bit eccentric but we also shared the same views on letting our dogs sleep in bed with us (and that is more critical than having our poor husbands sleep with us. Sorry boyzzz.) This was clearly enough to build a friendship on and so we damn well did.

I said to my HWF later that day "I think there might be 4 of us now...." Which did in fact prove to be the case.

It did indeed, for that particular moment......

Coworkerdependancy....

Coworkerdependancy: A situation where ones enjoyment of work (or lack thereof) is based on the proximity of ones favorite coworker and their ever ready wine key.

I am a hostile beast who tends to repel people in the same manner that raid discourages wasps from coming to visit. So I have no friends what so ever.

OK. Not entirely true! However, at Captain Rigatoni's House Of Pain the thought of actually developing a proper (not to mention pleasant) friendship with anyone is a bleak prospect. Make a friend? They get fired the next day. (or we have a very important meeting in which we are forbidden to make friends.) Get all chummy with somebody? And you walk in on them talking smack to Jan about your skills/looks/temperament. HEY-OH! Nice.

The absolute and unarguable situation at Capt Rigs is this: if you do not have somebody who has your freaking back- and who you can also share moments of eye rolling sarcasm with- then you will just curl up and die from despair and mental anguish.

I remember at all of my jobs having a good work friend. You find somebody who has similar geek-like qualities, no bad feelings about making fun of everyone who acts like an idiot and POOF the next thing you know you are speaking in your own secret language and scampering off to the walk in cooler to gossip like a couple of school girls.

I have to give MAD props to my HWF for becoming no doubt, hands freaking down my best work friend. THANK HEAVENS! I need to borrow a wine key? No prob. I need to borrow that wine key FIVE times in one night??! Pssssh, no problem again. Do we share mutual disdain for Jan, her Man Slave and most people including all of management? Hells YES. Have we managed to assist one another in the saving of what is left of our sanity so that we can go home at the end of the day like somewhat normal- well adjusted people?? Maybe?... (I kid. Definately.)

Friends are good to have. Completely underrated in today's society of questionable loyalty and bus throwing-under. Does it warm the insides of my bitter stone-cold heart to know that I have a BF there to give the side eye to when Captain Rig has an "I'm Great" meeting, or when Gina runs thru the dining room criticizing everything and everyone? (or when Captain Rig entertains an entire room of Republicans, all spewing their Republican views?) MmmmHmmmm.

I don't want to turn this into a sappy diatribe on the meaning of true friendship in a harsh, uncaring world of idiots. Well, maybe I want to but I'm not so good at wrapping my head/typing fingers around all that sappy junk (just ask the middleaged Huz!)

But really people, when one works in a place where insanity and hatred is the norm it makes you appreciate your friend/s just a tiny bit more. Or a crap ton more, if you are me.

So here's to you, HWF. Rock on with your bad self, and cheers to our shared hatred of all the BS and the folding of millions of napkins. Good job having my back when things get especially ridiculous and absurd (would that be everyday? YES.) And clearly, I have your back too... And finally thank you times a million for saving/helping my sanity, for enabling me to open many, many bottles of wine and for being a helluva good person.

My adventure in fairly poor service.

I was thoroughly spent after my attempts to be the very best waitress in the universe. I was exhausted from the strain of repeating 19 specials a dozen times a night, fed up with figuring out what the house wine of the day was, and just plain fed up with giving 100% to be rewarded with 20%. BAH!

My plan for recovery? Spend one blissful Friday night being a horrible server. Evidently I exaggerate because on my laziest day I still do a damn good job and nobody goes home hungry and crying. My actual plan was to read ZERO specials, give ZERO extra effort, tell NO funny stories and be rather... Beige. Watch out world, I thought brazenly to myself at 3:59 on a Friday afternoon, HERE comes mediocrity!

I did not disappoint. Instead of running bread to my tables I wandered over with it when I felt good and ready. If I felt the need to reapply chapstick or run to the ladies room I did so, regardless. I made up outrageous names for the house wines "tonight we have.... billowing ferns shiraz!" (to which one lady replied "I have had that before and it is wonderful!" PFFT!!) I didn't feel like finding a new tiramisu when one ran out so I simply omitted it from my list of dessert specials. I pretended that the cappuccino machine was broken (and luckily nobody else used it during this period of time!!)

By the end of the evening I had not broken a sweat and was in a blissful state of calm and relative relaxation. It was quite lovely and a very unusual feeling, to be honest.

And how did this little experiment work out for me? FREAKING FANTABULOUSLY!!!! I made a CRAP ton of cash- averaging 25% per table and really hitting the mother load on a 14 top who loved the new and improved me.
Sadly, being this much of a slacker on a regular basis would draw a fair amount of attention to me which I would like to avoid. So despite the fact that being a BIG slacker pays off big time I will have to avoid it as a rule.

A side note: unlike my last lazy experiment I was a diva superstar all night in the kitchen, running food, drying silverware, singing and dancing. All of my coworkers must have thought that I had been bitten by the helpful good employee bug... If they only knew...

DEATH. Has entered the building....

"Death.... Has just entered the building..." my HWF said ominously as he, waiter Dan and I stood by the wait station.

"What. WHAT?" I asked, a bit perplexed. "Just watch" they both suggested, so I turned my eyes to the front of the building. A new girl walked in the door and made her way towards us. Actually, "made her way" is generous- rather, she moped and shuffled her way down the hall. Her mouth pouted petulantly and her heavily shadowed eyes were sorrowfully cast to the ground. She walked with the air of someone who has suffered greatly, and had known horrible troubles. She was clearly VERY sad (in a way that is clearly NOT sad, so nobody get too worried ok?)

I watched with a mixture of horror, intense amusement and honest shock that she managed to even get hired as she came closer to us. She was clearly attempting to sneak by the three of us without attracting attention but she was messing with the wrong group. "HELLO" said waiter Dan with the kind of intense cheerfulness that he can pull off (that I can not) "How are YOU?" She turned her eyes towards us in the manner of a deer in the headlights, literally squeaked and ran off. I fell down laughing "Are you SERIOUS!" I guffawed "NO WAY.... that is the best thing I have seen in YEARS!" They both assured me that not only were they 100% serious but so was this new girl, and that they were positive that I would enjoy her company.

I decided to get to know her so I asked her what her name was. She told me, with big pouty lips and an extra dose of sadness in her eyes. I was delighted to find that she had a very unusual name which meant "To build up to or reach a point of great intensity, force, or volume." Since she spoke in such a mousy little whisper I was a tad skeptical that this was a fitting name. I asked for details, wishing to know if it was a family name or just a bit of misfortune. AND SHE SAID (in mournful tones, growing more depressed my the second) "My parents had me pegged from the moment I was born..... They knew exactly what my personality would be like...." To which I enthusiastically thumped the reservation book and declared "Fantastic!"

She crept around all night, jumping at noises and freaking out at the crazy busy pace at which we all moved (it was a Monday. It was dead... Poor kid.) One of the other servers said to her "Hi." and she said (get ready) "Hi. Like I told you." WHaaaaaaaaat??

She was fully awesome and I was looking forward to watching the continued insanity- I was very curious to see what her level of nuts-o was! My attempts to help her out were met with such bizarre levels of crazy that I gave up quickly and took enjoyment in watching the train wreck. Sadly, during her next shift the powers that be had had enough of her pouting and inability to speak above a whisper and let her go. So sad... So surprising...

My Adventure in Excellent Service: Part 2

.....My evening continued.

After the Emo Princess fiasco I considered throwing in the towel and finishing up my night in a sub par state of angst. However, I had challenged myself to dole out the very Best Service Possible so I slapped myself a bit and carried on.

I got a table of "VIP's" so no check, but a bit of calculation proved that a 22% tip had been left (good, but if you get all that food for free this middleaged lady thinks that a few more bucks could be thrown down!)

Then I was seated with a John Locke (pre-smoke monster fiasco) lookalike and his buxom female friend. They were some odd ducks, let me tell you! He kept saying things like "I'd like you to bring me a Caprese salad- and I'll PAY for it!" Damn straight you will, bucko! I knocked their socks off with my fantastic waitressing abilities and I was rather disappointed to discover that they had left me a stingy 17% tip. Not really able to figure out why they had been such cheap little peeps I shook it off and got to back to it. Their table was placed in a manner that required that I pass it every time I went to another one of my tables. After a few passes by John Locke asked for more coffee, and when I retuned handed me a clump of folded bills. Hmmmm! Five more bucks (much better!) Another pass by their table resulted in another handful of wrinkly little dollar bills (this was a game that I encouraged, and could get used to! Tip me multiple times, bring it on!!) After all was said and done I had earned a solid 30-ish percent on them which made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And justified, since they had been rather full of themselves.

My final table for the evening started out just fine and dandy. A two top, obviously an old married couple who simply wanted to get down to the business of eating with no falderal. The husband had some problems getting the dish he wanted for dinner formed into words and out of his mouth. Pointing to the menu I helpfully inquired if the dish in question was the one I was guiding him to? Looking closely at the menu he confirmed that was indeed what he wanted: a formidable stack of italian meats and eggplant, smothered in layers of gooey cheese and blanketed with marinara. I delivered said items to the table promptly and everyone looked pleased as punch. Returning a moment later to confirm the gastronomic ecstasy they indicated boundless pleasure in their dinner choices. I returned once more with water and everyone was still as happy as a clam (really? how happy IS a clam? they have very small brains... or no brains at all?) When plate clearing time came around I was pleased to see that the dinners had been eaten down to the last morsel- more happy customers! I picked up the plates and the man said "Was that.... Chicken Marsala that I ordered?" Looking at him in a bit of shock I said no, it was the Magical House Specialty as he had requested. "Well" he replied bitterly "that is not what I wanted at all and I don't even know what was IN IT." I rattled off the list of ingredients, thinking at the very least the absence of both chicken and marsala sauce might have made him aware of his error. "NEVER" he muttered "would I eat EGGPLANT." "Well" I replied thoughtfully "there is a great deal of eggplant in what you just ate so perhaps you have found a new favorite since you CLEARLY enjoyed it?" "You know" he said in hostile tones "I should get this meal for free since it was your mistake..." "HA. HA. HA." I laughed brightly, wishing to deliver a swift kick to his face. I got their check. I comped one of their beers, which brought the bill to exactly what it would have been if he had received what he wanted. I examined his licked clean plate for any signs that he did not enjoy his dinner, and found none. I was not at all surprised to discover that they left me a 0% tip on a $55 check. Surprised, no, a little teensy bit pissed off? MmmHmmm. I asked you if said item was what you wanted, you said yes. I checked on you not one but THREE times to see if all was well, you said yes... You ate the WHOLE frigging thing..

COME ON PEOPLE!!!

At the end of the night, it all balanced out. I averaged an even 20% due to Captain Douchswizzle and his inability to differentiate marinara from marsala. And good times were had by all.

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!

Inside the head of a MAD MAN!

Captain Rigatoni was most disturbed.

Sitting in his lair (aka:office) he twisted his large, gold rings around his twinkie like fingers while ruminating over recent events. He was not sure what had him so on edge... But something did and he fully intended to do something about it!

Leaping up from his chair, in the way that only an unfit angry man can he strode to the kitchen filled with agitation. Suddenly, something caught his eye though a crack in the door. Intently he peered out and was disgusted and baffled to see that his staff of clowns had parked out in the back lot. AH-HAH! THIS must be the reason for his discontent, he thought to himself, his STUPID staff was doing things all the wrong way AGAIN! GOD, were they EVER on their A Game? Would he ever be able to get a moments rest, what with having to babysit the lot of them 24/7?!

"HEY YOU!" he shouted angrily to the first waitress he saw, pleased to have found someone so quickly on whom to vent his anger "WHAT are you all doing parking out there? WHY would you do such a thing." "Well" calmly replied the waitress "We are parking there because you told us to." "WHAT?!" he cried, eyeing this small, middleaged waitress with extreme displeasure "I NEVAH would have told you to do such a thing! NEVAH! Now answer me again: WHY are yous parking out there." Annoyingly unphased by his attempt at intimidation she sighed a little and with the kind of calm patience that made him want to kill someone she said "Well.... We are parking there because you told us to do so." This was not going the way he had planned at all. She was making him look like an idiot in front of everyone with her terrible, disrespectful lies! Luckily, at this moment in walked his Mama. He knew that for sure, she would have his back and save the day! Then he could kick that middleaged waitress right out the backdoor where she belonged with her insolent, ignorant LIES! "MAMA" he said "This here waitress is tellin' me that I told all of them to park out back. I did no such thing so what's she playin' at?" Looking at him with resignation his Mama said "Well Rigatoni, you did tell them to park out there." At this point Captain Rig was seeing red and could not believe the betrayal from his own MOTHAH!! From the distance he thought he heard the sounds of self-satisfied laughter (which made his blood boil) but there was nobody else in the kitchen at that point.

Right at that moment into the kitchen trundled Jan, dragging by his ear her faithful man slave. The man slave was a well trained employee of Captain Rig's and was Jan's poopsy-woopsy. She loved the way that he sucked up to the Captain in a way that was terribly disturbing to the normal idiots working there. She loved the way he massaged her rolls of fat after the hard hours she put in on the job. Oh she just loved everything about her man slave, especially the way that she could throw him at Captain Rigatoni to cheer him up, collecting tons of brownie points in the process. The Captain was delighted to see the man slave and jumped right over to where he was standing. With his fat finger he poked the MS in the ribs, causing him to giggle and nervously jump around. "You like working with these idiots" chortled the Captain, poking and tickling at the MS who continued to jump nervously from foot to foot, giggling all the while "you like what I have to put up with around here, DONTCHA!!" Agreeing with his every word while slobbering delightedly at the attention the MS nervously dodged the ever more violent pokes that the Captain was giving him. Tiring of their little game the Captain finished up the bizarre interaction by putting the MS in a headlock and mussing with his hair. "You go now" he bellowed "I know I can count on you to do a good job!" Running away as quickly as possibly the MS went to hide once again in Jan's formidable shadow, while trying to master the art of basic English.

This robust moment of bullying had helped the Captain to clear his head but had also exhausted him. To his office he went, shaking his head and muttering obscenities to all the cooks as he past them by. Couldn't leave them for a second, he mused to himself, because they'd be trying to put him out of business. Once back in his office he realized that he had some mail on his desk! Delighted, he pounced on it like a fat kid pounces on cake. Unwrapping the biggest package first he was giddy to discover that he had been mailed an Award Of Excellence. He, the master of the universe was finally being given the credit that he deserved! Never one to pass up an opportunity to shamelessly indulge in public self promotion he immediately summoned the entire staff to the kitchen. "STAFF" he said in his most preachy, big-news-is-coming voice "I have won the most important award in all the land." I wanted to tell you all this so that you know how powerful and wonderful I am. AND I wanted to tell you that this is what happens when EVERYONE does that job that they are supposed to do and EVERYONE is on their A GAME!!!" Not noticing the baffled and bemused expressions from most of his staff (with the exception of Jan and her MS who were jumping up and down, hyperventilating from excitement and high blood pressure) he solemnly led a round of applause and retreated to the depths of the restaurant to polish his new plaque.

And the moral of this story is: (we should all have a Man Slave) Just kidding! The real moral is that when one wins an award, of any caliber, the supposed slacking and ineptitude of the staff is momentarily forgotten.

Top Ten Tuesday. The sensible companion to Mental Health Monday...

I am still exhausted from running around like a chicken on crack for 12,000 hours on Valentines Day. Not only that but I have been struck with a vile plauge, which is normal as I always get sick or need a root canal on or around V-Day. Ahhhh, life... Anyway, since I simply do not have the mental or physical health needed to fill you all in on the fantabulous V-Day adventures that I had (NOT) I'm gonna hit you up with this weeks list.

Top things that I have been told NOT to do. Or have been yelled at for.

-DO NOT make friends, have friends or care about your friends.

-DO NOT speak out of turn in a meeting.... Or ever perhaps.

-DO NOT ever make a unilateral decision. Always ask questions.

-DO NOT ask questions!

-DO NOT use a dirty trash bag to put the left over lettuce in at the end of the night. Really? I never would have guessed!

-DO NOT tell the truth to the guy from the Dept of Labor.

-DO NOT!! Lean on that counter....

-DO NOOOT remove your shoe

-Absolutely DO NOT purchase a tiramisu. You renegade thief!

-DO NOT forget to fill up your salt shakers unless you enjoy being called a douche bag

-DO NOT forget to restock the rubber-salad-gloves. Unless you like being called a piece of shit effing waitress. Ouch.

-DO not- Trust people who are in good moods. Unless you wish to sustain whiplash when their mood swings back to BAD.

-DO NOT- Throw away nasty lettuce. Wave your magic wand and make it USEABLE!

-DO NOT! Take care of your customers when there is silverware to dry

-According to Ashley DO NOT listen to Jan. According to Jan DO NOT listen to Ashley. I make it all ok by not listening to either of them.

-Do NOT make mistakes when bringing food to Gina's table. Even if it is your first day on the job, she will rip out your spleen and eat it in front of you for being such an ass.

-DO NOT ask Ashley how she is. Unless you want sordid details of her ongoing sexcapades.

-DO NOT break anything or make mistakes of any sort unless you wish to be beaten soundly with the handle of the vacuum cleaner

-Do NOT cross your arms. Touch your face. Touch your hair. Use your words. Have thoughts. Be smart.

-Do NOT drop 4 loaves of bread on the floor and then pick them up and use them anyway. Oops, did I just say that?

-Do not congregate in the waitstation. Stand by the hostesses. Block the hallway. Talk to one another. Unless you are "everyone but US."

-Do Not throw a jar of sauce at Jan. It will just hit the floor and make a huge mess.

-Do not question the Wisdom. Remember that we are in the presence of someone great and famous

War Story Wednesday!

I arrived at work on Monday filled with anticipation of list sharing fabulocity! (dubbed mental health Monday by yours truly..) Marissa had dropped the ball but my Human Work Friend had enthusiastically done a good deed and banged out a top 10-ish list of his own. Being that this is Wednesday and every day at Captain Rigatoni's is a war I'm giving my HWF the honor of having his top 10-ish as the WSW today! Whoot!
I tried to contain my glee and keep my "mouth" shut but I could not help commenting on several items in this list. Ahhhh, the fun times we all have...

(in no particular order.)

1- The economic/political speeches we have to endure (ED note: good call. These are torture.)

2: The public badgering and belittlement of the kitchen staff (Yep. bad news.)

3: The prevailing ANGER.

4: The restriction of our 1st amendment rights (rock on friend!)

5: Jan, Ashley, Gina

6: The distain the three of them have for each other (bwa-hahahha!)

7: The glorification of Captain Rigatoni by the 3 of them. Plus Dan. And one other nameless soul...

8: The fact that we all put up with it....

9: Filling the "premium" bottles of wine/liquor with the cheap crap

10: Yelling at us for not using common sense when clearly none of us have any, since we choose to continue working here. (this is quite possibly the best thing I have ever heard. I laughed for 10 minutes upon reading this.)

11- The overall hypocrisy.

OHH! A top 10-ish list!

Important things that I have learned from working at Captain Rigatoni's Most Magical Bistro, Formerly XYZ Restaurant Italiano, this is the Middleaged waitress, how may I help you?
Editors note: The one reason that I am willing to get into the car and go happily to work today is due to the fact that Marissa and my Human work friend are making lists too. We are going to exchange, laugh (maybe cry) and then cause madness and mayhem per the norm. I like my work friends. They make that place somewhat more tolerable. Here's to you, you guys!


1: Gratuitous overuse of the eff bomb is acceptable and encouraged. Show your ignorance! Limit your vocab!

2: There is such a thing as the word "YOUS". Awesome!

3: Public displays of evisceration are great fun. Let's have everybody come in and watch as the cooks are disemboweled.

4: People in glass houses should indeed throw big, ugly stones. It is a good thing to critique everyone's ability, physical stature and mental state even if you are an overweight, inept and insane (and incompetent) individual (nice attempt at alliteration there.)

5: Since we all live in a bubble it is a good thing that nobody ever brings Dunkin Donuts cups into the kitchen. If we found out that there were other restaurants out there who knows what might happen!

6: We are supposed be dedicated to the pursuit of excellent customer service. Unless their is silverware to dry, dishes to put away, a gluten allergy to deal with, an actual problem, or a "very urgent meeting" in the kitchen which requires the attendance of the whole staff.

7: All of us are trying to put the restaurant out of business! We are all idiots! Why do they pay any of us clowns?!?

8: There are dishes and silverware in the kitchen!! Who is the douche bag that took the last of the lettuce/pie/dressing!! Start on your SIDEWORK!! Who left powdered sugar on the COUNTER!!!???

9: We are not worthy of the greatness that we see before us. Let us bow down and kiss your toe cheese and then watch as you give the cooks their daily beating for mopping the floor with the incorrect mop.

10- The bus is there to throw people under. Utilize it at will. Rinse, repeat.

11- Instead of promptly getting our work done let's spend 456 hours reading 1.2 million specials to all of our guests. Primo use of time. (have I ever read all the specials? Oh, yes. And by yes I mean NO.)

12- DO NOT talk to one another, go behind the bar, congregate in the hostess area, speak unless spoken to, (or have any thoughts or feelings) Well, if it's me, Marissa of my Human Friend you can't. Everybody else CAN.

13- Being honest and genuine is so 2008. That is simply not how we roll!

And the most important that I have learned? Do NOT under any circumstances attempt to purchase a tirimisu. That is one of the 7 deadly sins and must be avoided at all costs!!

Adventures with Spaghetti...

At the end of a very boring evening I had this adventure:

Within minutes of closing I got a table of two, which happened to be my first table in well over an hour. It was a table of "mature" adults, obviously on a date. As I walked close to the table I was struck by a very unusual and altogether unpleasant odor. Realizing that it was heavily applied perfume radiating from my female dinner guest I attempted to place the exact scent that I was detecting. After a moments pause it occurred to me that it was the odor of a freshly cleaned porta potti, or to be more exact almost the identical smell to those little deodorizers that are placed in porta-crapper urinals. Ummmm-UM!

Breathing thru my mouth to avoid the noxious fumes I greeted my party and asked if they would like to partake in a beverage. "What do you have for beers" the boyfriend asked. Seeing that they did not have a drink menu I took a minute to recite the selection which, while not impressive is fairly lengthy. "I'll have a Bud Lite" he declared. If there is one thing that bothers me (and believe me, the there is more that one) it is when people ask for a beer recitation and then order a BUD! Howbout you just ask if we have Bud in the first place, if that is what you are going to drink? Spare me the trouble of going thru the whole shebang, you know?

When I got back to the table only girlfriend was there and she was all ready to chat me up and to become my very closest friend. She gave me a very long and boring story regarding the magnetic bracelet that she had on and how she could pick up her silverware with it. Trying to be a good sport I mentioned that she must need to be cautious when handling knives as that would be a nasty way to loose a phalange. She looked at me in complete shock and awe, and gasping, declared that she had never thought of such a thing! And oh my gosh, wasn't I just the smartest thing!! (yes.) Moving along, she asked to order an appetizer which is referred to as "toasted." She did not understand this phraseology. "Toasted" she said, flipping her menu over in confusion and looking at me with a wrinkled brow "you mean they put them in a toaster?" I explained that no, this was something that was baked or "toasted" in the oven and it was just another way of saying the same thing.... She was baffled, and said thoughtfully that the menu was very confusing indeed. Sighing, and shaking my head I left to put their order in and was intercepted by a most agitated Karen. Looking at me in an irritated was she said "The people at your table smell TERRIBLE! I am going to have to go and apologize to MY tables about the SMELL!" I agreed wholeheartedly that eau de urinal cake is not the way to go, and that if nothing else perhaps the stench would get people out of the restaurant before it got too late. Looking at my watch I noticed that it was indeed getting very late and due to the chatty Kathy nature of my table things were moving slower that molasses.

Since I knew that their apps would take a few moments I returned to stink bomb central to take the dinner order and get the show on the road. "I'll have spaghetti and meatballs" girlfriend said. "We don't have spaghetti" I said, but we do have the following pastas..." Listing them carefully I noticed her drifting into la-la land, clearly overcome by her own odor. "OK" she said dreamily "I'll have the spaghetti and meatballs." "Actually." I deadpanned "We. Don't. Have. Spaghetti. Why don't you try the angel hair with that?" "Hmmmm. OK. I'll have Spaghetti and meatballs!" "Al-righty!!" I exclaimed writing "Angel Hair and Meatballs" carefully on my pad of paper. Turning to boyfriend I asked what he might like to have on this very fine and confusing evening. "I'll have the shrimp scampi!" he drawled. Sighing mightily I explained that we did not have that item, but I would be happy to see if it could be prepared specially for him. "NONO" he said "I'll just have the spaghetti (yes, he said spaghetti) and red clam sauce." Wondering if either of them had bothered to so much as pick up the freaking menu I explained that again, that was not an item on the menu but I could check on the special order situation. Turning down my offer once again he finally agreed to have some good old fashioned manicotti. AHHHH!

All the while I had been at this table, attempting to avoid breathing in the thick cloud of epic perfume nastiness I was getting an eyeful of the table-next-door, wrapped in a full blown make out session. Which made me think of This Madness! Imagining that I was going to have to go and get the broom and poke them apart like horny dogs I told Marissa that it looked like her table was ready to leave (to get a room.) "Oh CRAP" she said "Really? Do you think that you could go over there and make them uncomfortable so they stop?" Thinking that if the eau de latrine was not making them feel icky than nothing would I prepared to stop the madness via a pitcher of very cold water thrown upon their writhing bodies. Much to my surprise the lady from my table has broken up love fest Oh-ten by stopping to chat with them (I could hear her telling them the story of the magnetic bracelet. Fun!)

Fortunately for all of us, crazy in love table included the big bad spaghetti dinners came out at this point so everybody had to go back where they belonged. I asked if there was anything else that I could get for either of them to make their dining experience more enjoyable? "I'll have a peanut" said girlfriend. I was a bit staggered, as there was absolutely nothing on the menu that I could think of that had anything to do with peanuts. "A peanut...?" I said slowly, attempting to buy myself some thinking time "Could you be a bit more specific about what you mean." "Yeah, yeah" she said, nodding helpfully "you always have a couple different kinds of peanuts? maybe two different ones." PEANUTS. BRICK WALL. I had nothing, no matter what way I twisted my brain I could not conjure a recollection of ever seeing a single peanut. I was ready to admit defeat when she perked up "I remember!" she exclaimed "I always get the PEANUT GREEEEGIO!" Ah. Pinot Grigio- gotcha!! I scampered off to get her a nice glass of peanut, and to get them more sauce for their spaghetti and to escape the fumes of perfume death. Returning to the table I asked how things were, and if they were enjoying dinner. "Don't know!" crowed the boyfriend "Haven't even tried it yet!!" Sneaking a peak at my watch I noticed that we had been closed for almost 30 minutes and this table had taken ne well over an hour to get to this point (appalling on a slow night.) Sneaking peeks at them I saw boyfriends fork hovering in the air, bite ready to try. And it hovered. And hovered. And did not move. For well over 5 minutes. Awesome! I give up!

After a time they did hurry up and eat, and then I hustled them around and forced them to pay up and get the eff out of my freaking section. As much as I love hanging about at Captain Rigatoni's it was time to leave.

The best part of the whole situation was that they wrote on a comment card about the "great spaghetti...." ummm hmmm. Some people never learn.

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.