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.
Showing posts with label War story Wednesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label War story Wednesday. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
War Story Wednesday! MAW Style....
I'm going to steal WSW for myself today but I feel that is my prerogative since it is my blog, after all. I have had this story waiting in the wings for quite some time and it is time for it to be let out into the open! BWA-HAHA!
Back in the day when I was a young, innocent child I had a waitressing job in a (very) local restaurant. Not only was it known for it's questionable managerial style but it was known for bringing in a varied and somewhat seedy crowd. Clearly, a nice and wholesome place for a nubile young girl to work....
One evening I was waiting on a table of one man and his flock of three ladies. They made no attempt to hide the fact that this was most definitely a date with a one way ticket to some kinda funky bedroom action. Yikes! Anyway, I minded my own business, brought them their food and tried to stay away because their promiscuity was frightening to my impressionable young eyes. (ooooh kay. maybe I wasn't quite as naive as that. but still people, really?)
As they all languished around, pawing at one another and getting their drink on the man beckoned to me to come over. I was somewhat terrified, imagining that he was going to ask me to join in the (ahem) fun. Thankfully he just wanted to let me know that he was a psychic! And would I like a display of his powers?? I took a look around to see who would have my back if this was some sort of nasty trick. Seeing that the manager was nowhere in sight and that the bartender was getting loaded with some locals I tried to politely get the eff out. He wasn't hearing of it and told me that he was going to use his mental prowess to discover what color toenail polish I had on. Relieved that his intentions seemed pure I told him to go ahead and give it his best creepy guess.
He made a big show of closing his eyes, pretending to draw power from the universe and all kinds of wacky BS. His harem oooohd and ahhed and giggled to each other, very impressed with their boyfriend's skills. Nonplussed I eyed the spectacle with growing doubt. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he gestured towards my clog clad feet. "PURPLE" he shouted "WITH SPARKLES!" Aghast I exclaimed that this was indeed true, and that I was duly impressed and had noted his one life skill as being legit. "Take off you shoe!" the girls exclaimed squealing in ecstasy "we want to see! we want to see that it is true!" Since there were no rules in this restaurant pertaining to the removal of one's shoe. I kicked off the clog and showed my purple hued toes to the salivating and scantily clad pussycat doll wannabees.
And then the unimaginable happened. Like a flash Mr. Creeper reached out and grabbed my foot (like, off the floor) and..... Bit it. With his teeth. My foot, in his mouth. Agog, I tottered on one foot and tried to repossess my appendage (lucky for him this happened before I developed cat like reflexes, as now I would smartly kick him in the teeth. And then in the junk.) Just when I did not things could possibly ever get any worse he stuck out his nasty tongue and licked the bottom of my foot. Which had been in a smelly, sweaty, dishwater soaked clog for no less than six hours. No really, he did! My horror was immense because not only was this a disgusting display but I have very serious issues with anyone touching my feet. I have to get a beer before I get a pedicure so that I can make a good show of trying to like the experience (I don't. But sometimes the toes have to look good!) All the girls burst out laughing as he freed my foot from his hairy hand, and jumped all over him in awe of his foot fetish. "Heeeey Baby" he crowed in delight "Howdja like THAT!" (not at all) I fled the scene in complete horror, dry heaving a little to myself as I ran to the relative safety of the wait station. I was completely repulsed, and refused to go back to the table choosing instead to have the rather inebriated bartender get them their check.
This was one of my all time worst experiences with a customer and it taught me to never take off any article of clothing upon request (like I have previously mentioned I was young. Full on Youth Of America, ya know? Very trusting, OK!!) The image I could not shake (along with that of my foot being bitten by nasty, nicotine stained teeth) was that of all the prancing ladies making out with Mr. Creeper, and him having a mouth full of dirty foot crud. Let's all say it together: EWWWWWW!
Back in the day when I was a young, innocent child I had a waitressing job in a (very) local restaurant. Not only was it known for it's questionable managerial style but it was known for bringing in a varied and somewhat seedy crowd. Clearly, a nice and wholesome place for a nubile young girl to work....
One evening I was waiting on a table of one man and his flock of three ladies. They made no attempt to hide the fact that this was most definitely a date with a one way ticket to some kinda funky bedroom action. Yikes! Anyway, I minded my own business, brought them their food and tried to stay away because their promiscuity was frightening to my impressionable young eyes. (ooooh kay. maybe I wasn't quite as naive as that. but still people, really?)
As they all languished around, pawing at one another and getting their drink on the man beckoned to me to come over. I was somewhat terrified, imagining that he was going to ask me to join in the (ahem) fun. Thankfully he just wanted to let me know that he was a psychic! And would I like a display of his powers?? I took a look around to see who would have my back if this was some sort of nasty trick. Seeing that the manager was nowhere in sight and that the bartender was getting loaded with some locals I tried to politely get the eff out. He wasn't hearing of it and told me that he was going to use his mental prowess to discover what color toenail polish I had on. Relieved that his intentions seemed pure I told him to go ahead and give it his best creepy guess.
He made a big show of closing his eyes, pretending to draw power from the universe and all kinds of wacky BS. His harem oooohd and ahhed and giggled to each other, very impressed with their boyfriend's skills. Nonplussed I eyed the spectacle with growing doubt. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he gestured towards my clog clad feet. "PURPLE" he shouted "WITH SPARKLES!" Aghast I exclaimed that this was indeed true, and that I was duly impressed and had noted his one life skill as being legit. "Take off you shoe!" the girls exclaimed squealing in ecstasy "we want to see! we want to see that it is true!" Since there were no rules in this restaurant pertaining to the removal of one's shoe. I kicked off the clog and showed my purple hued toes to the salivating and scantily clad pussycat doll wannabees.
And then the unimaginable happened. Like a flash Mr. Creeper reached out and grabbed my foot (like, off the floor) and..... Bit it. With his teeth. My foot, in his mouth. Agog, I tottered on one foot and tried to repossess my appendage (lucky for him this happened before I developed cat like reflexes, as now I would smartly kick him in the teeth. And then in the junk.) Just when I did not things could possibly ever get any worse he stuck out his nasty tongue and licked the bottom of my foot. Which had been in a smelly, sweaty, dishwater soaked clog for no less than six hours. No really, he did! My horror was immense because not only was this a disgusting display but I have very serious issues with anyone touching my feet. I have to get a beer before I get a pedicure so that I can make a good show of trying to like the experience (I don't. But sometimes the toes have to look good!) All the girls burst out laughing as he freed my foot from his hairy hand, and jumped all over him in awe of his foot fetish. "Heeeey Baby" he crowed in delight "Howdja like THAT!" (not at all) I fled the scene in complete horror, dry heaving a little to myself as I ran to the relative safety of the wait station. I was completely repulsed, and refused to go back to the table choosing instead to have the rather inebriated bartender get them their check.
This was one of my all time worst experiences with a customer and it taught me to never take off any article of clothing upon request (like I have previously mentioned I was young. Full on Youth Of America, ya know? Very trusting, OK!!) The image I could not shake (along with that of my foot being bitten by nasty, nicotine stained teeth) was that of all the prancing ladies making out with Mr. Creeper, and him having a mouth full of dirty foot crud. Let's all say it together: EWWWWWW!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
War Story Wednesday
Hold on to your hats blogger friends! This week I have no other than the QUEEN of the internet LiLu, from livitluvit gracing my small, simple blog with her witty and creative musings.
To say that I am excited that she is guest blogging for me is essentially the understatement of the century.
So without further ado, here it is:
Though I have long since retired from the world of restaurants and bars, I remember the trials and tribulations I endured throughout my decade in the industry like it was yesterday. I started out as a sixteen year old hosted at a suburban TGIFriday's; and yes, every cliché you can imagine about it? True.
I'd been eyeing the much larger tips servers made for some two years by the time my 18th birthday rolled around, and I started my first shift training "on the floor" the day I was legal. (Insert obligatory "barely legal" joke here.)
I was pumped, but (understandably) terrified, despite that fact that I was shadowing a good friend of mine.
The night went well; almost too well, in fact. I cavorted with customers, winning them with smiles and extra bread sticks and upselling them on booze and appetizers all the while. I was a natural.
That is, until we got seated with an 8 top.
"Just treat them like any other table," my friend and mentor coached me. "Drinks, apps, entrees. You can do this."
And so I did. Green though I was, I managed to get their drinks in record time, enter all the courses in the computer with the appropriate delay times, and was riding high by the time their soups and salads were up in the kitchen. The group had a one year old I'd been playing peek-a-boo with, and their wallets, I mean hearts, were mine.
I waltzed over to their table with three salads on one arm, proud as anything of my newly acquired "carrying" skills.
"Here we are, folks! One Italian, one Thousand Island, and finally, an olive and vineg-"
I saw it happen. I saw the ramekin of olive oil slowly, tenderly, terrifyingly, TEETER...
Before it gently slid off the edge of the bowl and upended its entire contents onto the bald little head of the toddler.
Stunned, the baby sat there with a little plastic yamaka resting on his crown, the oily yellow goop slowly dripping down his wee button nose.
And then I died.
Or, everyone uttered noises of surprise and clucking and frantically grabbed napkins and blotted while trying not to laugh because hey, if you think about it...
That's pretty damn funny.
Fortunately for me, the family was amazingly cool about it, but my mortification was complete. I hid in the kitchen until they were gone and ate my weight in Sesame Jack chicken strips to forget the pain.
I went on to be a helluva waitress, but I never forgot.
And I put the cocky away...
At least until I became a bartender.
To say that I am excited that she is guest blogging for me is essentially the understatement of the century.
So without further ado, here it is:
Though I have long since retired from the world of restaurants and bars, I remember the trials and tribulations I endured throughout my decade in the industry like it was yesterday. I started out as a sixteen year old hosted at a suburban TGIFriday's; and yes, every cliché you can imagine about it? True.
I'd been eyeing the much larger tips servers made for some two years by the time my 18th birthday rolled around, and I started my first shift training "on the floor" the day I was legal. (Insert obligatory "barely legal" joke here.)
I was pumped, but (understandably) terrified, despite that fact that I was shadowing a good friend of mine.
The night went well; almost too well, in fact. I cavorted with customers, winning them with smiles and extra bread sticks and upselling them on booze and appetizers all the while. I was a natural.
That is, until we got seated with an 8 top.
"Just treat them like any other table," my friend and mentor coached me. "Drinks, apps, entrees. You can do this."
And so I did. Green though I was, I managed to get their drinks in record time, enter all the courses in the computer with the appropriate delay times, and was riding high by the time their soups and salads were up in the kitchen. The group had a one year old I'd been playing peek-a-boo with, and their wallets, I mean hearts, were mine.
I waltzed over to their table with three salads on one arm, proud as anything of my newly acquired "carrying" skills.
"Here we are, folks! One Italian, one Thousand Island, and finally, an olive and vineg-"
I saw it happen. I saw the ramekin of olive oil slowly, tenderly, terrifyingly, TEETER...
Before it gently slid off the edge of the bowl and upended its entire contents onto the bald little head of the toddler.
Stunned, the baby sat there with a little plastic yamaka resting on his crown, the oily yellow goop slowly dripping down his wee button nose.
And then I died.
Or, everyone uttered noises of surprise and clucking and frantically grabbed napkins and blotted while trying not to laugh because hey, if you think about it...
That's pretty damn funny.
Fortunately for me, the family was amazingly cool about it, but my mortification was complete. I hid in the kitchen until they were gone and ate my weight in Sesame Jack chicken strips to forget the pain.
I went on to be a helluva waitress, but I never forgot.
And I put the cocky away...
At least until I became a bartender.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
War Story Wednesday.... Or, the WSW that wasn't.
I thought that I had the best entry ever for WAS. I was so excited because it was clever and funny.... And vaguely familiar?? And after a bit of thinking was proven to be an excerpt from "Waiting" by Debra Ginsburg. Umm, Debra, if that was you who sent it to me than my apologies! How-EVAH, evidently it is time for a couple rules.
1: Original work please. Although I certainly can not police this if you are gonna scam off a book them I'm probably going to bust you.
2: No racial crapola. All peeps are occasionally bad tippers. There was a lot of this JENK in my inbox. STOPIT!
3: Hey "lousywaitress" at whatever.com. I genuinely loved your 12 emails that all said "They wuz bad tippers. They left me like, 10 cents maybe." I might just have to combine all the fabulocity of your emails to make one big wacky post. I bet you would love that! And common sense tells me that maybe you only got a smattering of change becasue you were.... lousy??
Anyway everybody- better luck next week. I did get a few good laughs but nothing that I felt ok about sticking up on my blog-o'-fantabu-lism.
1: Original work please. Although I certainly can not police this if you are gonna scam off a book them I'm probably going to bust you.
2: No racial crapola. All peeps are occasionally bad tippers. There was a lot of this JENK in my inbox. STOPIT!
3: Hey "lousywaitress" at whatever.com. I genuinely loved your 12 emails that all said "They wuz bad tippers. They left me like, 10 cents maybe." I might just have to combine all the fabulocity of your emails to make one big wacky post. I bet you would love that! And common sense tells me that maybe you only got a smattering of change becasue you were.... lousy??
Anyway everybody- better luck next week. I did get a few good laughs but nothing that I felt ok about sticking up on my blog-o'-fantabu-lism.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
War Story Wednesday!
A fabulous guest post from Two Birds On A Wire
This is a good one and I can honestly say that I have never had to contend with this set of shenanigans!! Thanks to everyone for the WSW submissions- keep 'em coming!
What choo do wif my gold teef?
I worked in a larger chain restaurant for about 2 years and had many memorable moments, but this was one of the gems. It was a Saturday afternoon in the summer and the lunch hour was pretty dead. I was working upstairs in the smoking section for my shift and had only about 2 or 3 tables. One of my tables was a younger couple that was in to eat before seeing a movie across the parking lot at the movie theater. The guy was all decked out in gold chains around his neck, his pants hanging off his butt, obviously he was too cool to take his sunglasses of inside because they had been on the whole meal and his girlfriend was all dolled up with her hair recently braided, her nails recently painted a nice bright purple with little rhinestones glued on each one, and she was wearing her silver stilettos out for her afternoon date. I knew right away that they were going to be a handful, but I was not prepared for what was about to ensue. Serving them was similar to many experiences I had had before, running back and forth for countless ramekins of ranch, barbeque, and hot sauce, refilling sodas, requesting new fries because theirs were not "crispy" enough for them and expecting a less than 10% tip. They were a lot of work for two people and I was ready for them to go. Finally when I dropped off the bill and they strutted out of the restaurant I went up to the table to find a nice $2.13 tip for their $40.00 bill. Whatever. They were out of my hands. Now I had one table that was completely low maintenance so I thought I'd go visit my friend up at the bar and chat for a minute. In the middle of my conversation I hear the man from my table storming back into the restaurant and yelling "Where's my gold teef?!" He proceeded to march upstairs and grab the collar of one of our sweet bus boys who hardly knew a lick of English and yell at him about his missing gold teef. The bus boy was obviously frightened so I hurried upstairs to use my spanish skills to ask him if he found gold teeth while bussing the table. After finding out that he wasn't aware of any gold teeth I thought maybe they could have been wrapped up in a napkin and thrown in the trash. So I asked the bus boy to go grab us some gloves and we then began to dig through the trash can right there to see if we could find the gold teef. The bus boy found a napkin that was shaped strangely and opened it up to find the set of 4 gold teeth and held it out to the man. The guy said "Dude you was trying to steal my gold teef!" then ripped the teeth out of his hand and then placed them back over his normal teeth and stormed back out of the restaurant. You better believe the whole restaurant saw this scene and was just staring at me with their jaws dropped and speechless. It was quite the disgusting display but I do have to thank the man though because of his display my one remaining table felt horrible that I had to deal with his shenannigans and gave me a hefty $30 tip. I will never forget the man wif the gold teef.
This is a good one and I can honestly say that I have never had to contend with this set of shenanigans!! Thanks to everyone for the WSW submissions- keep 'em coming!
What choo do wif my gold teef?
I worked in a larger chain restaurant for about 2 years and had many memorable moments, but this was one of the gems. It was a Saturday afternoon in the summer and the lunch hour was pretty dead. I was working upstairs in the smoking section for my shift and had only about 2 or 3 tables. One of my tables was a younger couple that was in to eat before seeing a movie across the parking lot at the movie theater. The guy was all decked out in gold chains around his neck, his pants hanging off his butt, obviously he was too cool to take his sunglasses of inside because they had been on the whole meal and his girlfriend was all dolled up with her hair recently braided, her nails recently painted a nice bright purple with little rhinestones glued on each one, and she was wearing her silver stilettos out for her afternoon date. I knew right away that they were going to be a handful, but I was not prepared for what was about to ensue. Serving them was similar to many experiences I had had before, running back and forth for countless ramekins of ranch, barbeque, and hot sauce, refilling sodas, requesting new fries because theirs were not "crispy" enough for them and expecting a less than 10% tip. They were a lot of work for two people and I was ready for them to go. Finally when I dropped off the bill and they strutted out of the restaurant I went up to the table to find a nice $2.13 tip for their $40.00 bill. Whatever. They were out of my hands. Now I had one table that was completely low maintenance so I thought I'd go visit my friend up at the bar and chat for a minute. In the middle of my conversation I hear the man from my table storming back into the restaurant and yelling "Where's my gold teef?!" He proceeded to march upstairs and grab the collar of one of our sweet bus boys who hardly knew a lick of English and yell at him about his missing gold teef. The bus boy was obviously frightened so I hurried upstairs to use my spanish skills to ask him if he found gold teeth while bussing the table. After finding out that he wasn't aware of any gold teeth I thought maybe they could have been wrapped up in a napkin and thrown in the trash. So I asked the bus boy to go grab us some gloves and we then began to dig through the trash can right there to see if we could find the gold teef. The bus boy found a napkin that was shaped strangely and opened it up to find the set of 4 gold teeth and held it out to the man. The guy said "Dude you was trying to steal my gold teef!" then ripped the teeth out of his hand and then placed them back over his normal teeth and stormed back out of the restaurant. You better believe the whole restaurant saw this scene and was just staring at me with their jaws dropped and speechless. It was quite the disgusting display but I do have to thank the man though because of his display my one remaining table felt horrible that I had to deal with his shenannigans and gave me a hefty $30 tip. I will never forget the man wif the gold teef.
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