The Thong Police

Ashley had been lying dormant for a while, or at least as dormant as any of the axis-of-evil members can lie.

Evidently, keeping quiet had lost it's charm and appeal for her because she came out with vengeance and a high level of mouthiness during a Friday evening shift.

I might have previously mentioned that while Ashley pictures herself as a lean, bodacious supermodel that simply is not the case. While she might not carry the heft of Jan she is a portly soul, and has enough rolls to fill a basket. None of these things stop her from being exceptionally critical of the physical stature of others (she might not run... but she does run her mouth!)

For whatever reason she became agitated by the fact then in the kitchen on occasion when one (or several) of the girls leans over to get something their shirt hikes up and there might be a momentary flashing-of-the-thong. THE HORROR!! The sensible approach would be to say "your showing too much skin there, pussycat doll wannabe!" But as we all know, the sensible approach is the road less traveled at Captain Rig's.

I witnessed Ashley not walking, but literally running (while gasping for air, I'm sure) to tattletale to Bobbi, Momma Rigatoni and anybody who would listen. She went ON and ON about it in a rather bizarre, but quite passionate way! I had not realized how deep her desire was to be the leader of the thong cops of America.
Sidling up to me she whined "You know... I just can not figure out why all of these BIG girls will not buy cloths that FIT! Maybe if they actually bought pants that would button then we wouldn't always be seeing their underwear... I know it must be really hard to have to buy a size 16 instead of 14 but they might look a little better." I studied her figure intently and came to the conclusion that she had deemed her pants to be well fitting, since her muffin top was only jumbo sized. (and then I went to beat my head bloody against a wall, as hearing her berate everyone in sight was downright painfull.)

Suddenly, we were all summoned to the kitchen for a Very Important Meeting. Mama Rigatoni gathered us all around and said "when you girls are in here bending over and we can see your THONGS I wave to the boys and point down your PANTS!" (lucky you guys, way to get an eyeful of coin slot!) Continuing on she said "From now on everybody has to wear pants that FIT, shirts that are LONG and NO MORE THONGS!" As people dispersed she made a point to tell all of us "girls" that she planned to line us up at the end of the night and (wait for it....) have us all bend over- so that she could check on the thong escapage. OH. MY. GAWD! This middleaged waitress don't bend over for nobody- you had better believe it.

Several of the girls, including the poor NNG were very embarrassed by this encounter and outraged at Ashley's false sense of self-pride/worth/beauty. Not to be stopped, Ashley continued to steamroll on all evening blathering on and on about unacceptable thongage, poorly fitting pants and her own slim figure. It was all very strange. Stranger still, was how she chased the NNG around all night trying to talk to her about the incident. Being rather offended by the whole mess (hmmmm, why might that be?) the NNG grew more and more pissed off. I was waiting for a fistfight... It never happened...

I was pleased that Mama Rig forgot about the promised Bending-Over because that might have been a bit too much for me to take. I was pleased to know though, that I'm not a grownup enough girl to be able to choose the knickers that I might wear what with thongs being banned and all. So, high waisted granny panties it is. I wonder how everyone will feel when they get an eyeful of those sexy things!
(Editors note: can't do it. I don't even own a pair of high waisted granny-pants. but whatev- it's a great visual!)

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....

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.

Cakes, Cleavers and Car Trouble. Or: I'm BACK!

I was on route to Captain Rigatoni's not too long ago, all shiny and well dressed (as usual) running punctually on time (as usual) and with a smile on my face and a freaking song in my heart (aren't I just the picture of perfection!) When I heard a pop.... I pulled my car over and sure enough, I had the very most flat of flat tires. I was not too bothered by this as I was raised to be an independent and clever woman, one who does not need any stinking AAA. I got my jack, and my winter coat. I dug out my tire iron and the spare tire. I got to work. Much to my dismay the lug nuts would NOT BUDGE! Inwardly cursing my mechanic for tightening the little buggers with the air wrench thing I realized that I would have to call for some serious help (AKA my poor put upon Dad. The middleaged Huz was at work.) The entire situation proved to be challenging (it was cold. my phone service was questionable. My Dad was very hard to locate.) But to make a veeeery long story short and reasonable the tire got changed. Being that I am a gifted and responsible employee of Captain Rig's most Magical Bistro I got on the hop and drove like a lunatic to arrive a mere 37 minutes late.

As I made my walk of shame into the restaurant I noticed that I was feeling a touch unwell. Thinking back on my day I remembered that I was running on no lunch, and that the cold weather and tire changing nonsense had put me into an icky state of low bloodsugar-itis. I am a scrawny little thing, who needs to be fed every hour on the hour to keep the hypoglycemia at bay. If I miss a meal, watch out... Not only do I get crabby but I get clammy, shaky and eventually just fall down and pass out, or become disgustingly nauseated. That's where I was at upon my arrival and I was rather hopeful that I would be able to snag some juice and crackers before being called into service.

As soon as I walked in Marissa and my Human Work Friend jumped on me. "You're just in time" they said with barely disguised disgust "We are being summoned to the kitchen for a Very Important Meeting!" Now, when one is summoned for a VIM one absolutely does not stop for a life saving smackerel of something. Looking longingly at the basket of bread, I woozily made my way into the kitchen and propped myself up against the salad cooler (and was promptly admonished for leaning on the salad cooler...)

Captain Rig crashed into the kitchen, very much in I-Just-Swallowed-A-Beehive mode. Faaaaaaaantastic. Glaring around at us in a tizzy he started in (and I knew we were in for a long one.) He reached into the dessert cooler and produced half of a cake, which had had something of an accident and had essentially slid off of itself earlier in the week. (we had been allowed by his majesty to eat some of said cake on that particular day- it was very good and we were all secretly glad that it had structurally failed.) Anyway, I digress. He pointed at the cake with a large meat cleaver and demanded the cooks to tell him why it had not been turned into some other type of dessert and sold. None of them happen to own a magic wand that transforms failed desserts into Ace Of Cakes like masterpieces so they were unable to answer his question. This displeased Capt Rig immensely which encouraged him to spend at least 15 minutes repeating the same question over and over again "WHY THE EFF DID YOU CLOWNS NOT MAKE THIS CAKE INTO SOMETHING THAT WE COULD SELL? WHY THE EFF DO I PAY YOU? WHY ARE YOU ALL SUCH IDIOTS?" This went on for long enough to put me into a stupor, one which was not even relatively pleasant. At this point I had reached the cold sweats and shaking part of my desperate need for food and was wondering what my punishment would be if I passed out and fell upon the floor.

Just as I had decided that vomiting on my shoes was the thing to do I was horrified to hear Captain Rig shout my name (he knows my name. mental note to legally change name as soon as possible) I shook my head in a weak attempt to revive and asked him to please repeat. He pointed and glared at the red faced cook behind the line and then he pointed at me. "SHOULD I" he intoned, slowly so that I would be sure to understand "FEEL SORRY. FOR THESE IDIOTS.... WHO WASTE! MY! MONEY! And EFFIN! RUIN! MY! BUSINESS!" I peered over at at the cook, who looked inches away from tears. I could feel the stares of Marissa and my Human Work Friend on the back of my head as they collectively held their breaths. In my hypoglycemic state I had a clear vision of what would happen if I said "Yes. You should feel sorry for them because you emasculate and demean then in a way that is unprofessional and unacceptable." I imagined how red faced and bug eyed Captain Rigatoni would get and how he would gesture wildly to the door and order me to GET! THE! EFF! OUT! I pictured myself high fiving the cook, grabbing my bag and shouting "Don't let the door hit me in the ass on my way out" or some such ridiculous nonsense. "Hey" hollered Capt Rig (in reality) "WELL, SHOULD I????" I looked at the cook, who looked back and from behind Captain Rig's back gave the tiniest shake of his head. "HEY!" shouted Capt Rig, fed up with my meandering nonsense "ANSWER ME!" "Welllll" I said, valiantly trying to see a loophole "I suppose that you wouldn't need to feel sorry for anyone who.... wastes your money.." And there was a huge sigh of relief from everyone around me who gave a crap. Not entirely satisfied with my answer Cap Rig jumped over to the sad looking cake and stabbed his meat cleaver into it. "WASTING MY MONEY, FOOLS" he ranted, stabbing and cutting in a manic frenzy "NONE OF YOU ARE ON YOUR A GAME!!! YOU DO A TERRIBLE JOB! GONNA RUIN MY BUSINESS!" After a few moments of ranting, hacking and frothing he was spent, and thankfully retreated to the dark, dank recesses of his office.

I RAN and had some juice. Revived. Shook my head in dismay.... And wrapped up the chaotic night by having an amusing conversation with Marissa and my HWF about what exactly they pictured me doing during the stand off with Captain Rig. Evidently they imagined me doing something startlingly similar to my groggy daydream.

This set off a several day tirade from His Highness about what a terrible job all of us do (pretty normal) about how we are never on our "A Game" (same message, dfferent phrase) and of course the standard stuff about being idiots, clowns, etc. Stay tuned to find out how long this rant lasted, or what it might take to snap a crazy man out of his madness....

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!!

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!

The many joys of waitressing....

From time to time one gets the misfortune of being stuck with a party that is intent on being dissatisfied. They come in already disgusted with life and simply refuse to be pacified with good service (or multiple cocktails.)

I was on the receiving end of one such party the other evening and from the moment that they settled in in my section I knew they would be trouble. Luckily, it was a night that was slower than molasses in January so I had plenty of extra time to deal with their shenanigans.

Looking over the drink menu they moaned that they could just not find a bottle of wine that struck the right cord in their hardened hearts. I made a few suggestions, which are usually taken well. Not this time.... I was given a ten minute lecture on what we should have on hand, and how the selection was not up to par. (side note: as I may or may not have mentioned on previous occasions this restaurant is out in the boondocks of east bum f***. A huge wine cellar of $200+ bottles would be unjustified.) Moving on.... They were able to select a few glasses of wine based on my suggestions which honestly I was not delighted with- as I know this could come back to haunt me. (insert doom music now.)

I brought the wine. I explained the specials in minute detail. I sang a song. I told jokes. I listened intently as they criticized every item on the menu and then scolded me for creating said menu. I did not bother explaining to them that I actually have nothing to do with the birthing of the menu, as I am just a old decrepit waitress. Not pleased with the 24,896 possible choices on the menu they went on to create their own epic dinner selections. Always a wise choice in my eye, as clearly you would not want to entrust your dinner choice to the staff of trained experts paid to create tasty dishes. No, that would be quite risky.

I took their self-created order and explained that if one were to order an appetizer as entree then they would not get a "free" salad. Aghast, the lady at the table inquired how could such a thing possibly be true? Attempting to keep her from working herself into a frothing frenzy I indicated that a garden salad could be purchased for x dollars. Crisis averted! Somewhat pacified she demanded to have less of this and extra that on her salad with a dressing that I would create out of several items (not on the menu) to meet her needs.

(at this point they took the time to tell me that their wine selections were "painfully..... average" "barely....adequate.") Noticing that they were a 9/10ths thru with their drinks I concluded that average must still be quite drinkable.

After delivering the detailed, impossible and fairly ridiculous order to the kitchen and dropping their salad creations of horror off at their tables I spied on them from a corner of the wait station. They were all rather fond of moving their food around on their plates, smelling it, and grimacing. Hmmmmmm. Off to investigate I went (oh, lucky ME!!) "How are the salads?" I asked in my most happy-to-help-you-voice. "This is not what I had in mind" the lady said darkly "and the dressing is just horrendous." Well, that is what you get for asking me to combine olive oil, vinegar, ketchup, and the still beating heart of the head chef to make a special just-for-you dressing!! Keeping my thoughts to myself I dumped it into a box for her and sneakily took it off the check to save myself a major headache when the bill was dropped off..

During my check-altering moment their self-created dinner masterpieces had been brought, piping hot from the kitchen. I waited for them to take a bite and seeing that it was going to be a long process I went to check on my other tables. Returning a few moments later they still had yet to take a single forkful. I asked in everything looked ok to which they replied yes (so off I went.) Yes, you all see where this is going now dontcha?? On my return trip to their side of the restaurant I saw the lady gesturing to me with wildly swinging arms. As I neared her table she said "My food is COLD I can not eat COLD FOOD!!" Squashing the desire to tell her that if she had consumed her food in a timely fashion it would have been quite hot, I ran it back to the kitchen for a quick warm up. When I brought the (once again) steaming dish back to the table they all took quality time to lecture me on how the food was "incredibly.... average" "really.... just so-so" "not really what.... I had pictured in my head..." I was fighting a loosing battle so I just smiled, offered ground pepper and ran away as fast as I could.

Not shockingly they all declined dessert "we're really.... all set....with the so-so food...." So I dropped off their check, sweetly adding that I had removed the death-dressing salad from the total. The total of the bill was $79.13. They added $4.21 as a stunningly generous tip for the baffling total of $83.54. more than anything, I was glad to be rid of them and their slow talking criticism. Ahhhh people, you really make my job just a little more special!

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.

If you gotta problem yo, I'll solve it. Or not?

As a rule I am quite a good problem solver. I can help you to jump start your car, I am not scared to help you check out funny noises in the dead of the night (well, I am. but I won't admit to it! oops, just did.) Really, I am a fairly handy person to have around when it comes to being a minor problem solver- Ms. Fixit type of gal.

One problem that I absolutely CAN NOT fix? The problem with people being bat shit crazy.

It is a well established fact in my brain that Captain Rigatoni and Bobbi Rigatoni are quite far off the deep end of anything that pertains to reality. The way that the pair of them interact with the staff, each other and their own freaking family constantly appalls me and leaves me shaking my head in dismay.

Let me set the scene for you. As is the norm on a Friday or Saturday night we were all summoned to have a big, rousing pre-shift meeting. We were actually called to the dining room for this one, which rocks my socks since it means we get to sit down!! We all gathered around, and I placed myself as far away from Capt Rig as is humanly possibly, and situated myself behind the tallest person there because invisibility is desirable.

Captain Rig strode in, rubbing his temples in a most aggravated manner and adjusting his bluetooth headset so that we could see how busy and important he was. It is difficult to forget even for a minute that we are working with The Most Famous Person in the Land as we are all constantly reminded of that fact. "All of YOUS are trying to put me out of business!" was his statement du jour "I have never seen this place run so poorly!!" He continued on in a fairly normal (for him) way, expressing his usual level of disgust in the fact that all of us tend to tell people to eat elsewhere, scream obscenities at his guests, lock the doors and turn off the lights, and spit on peoples food right in front of them. Normal stuff, you know? I was very happy to be sitting and hiding and was inching oh-so-close to dozing off (or going to my happy daydream place. mmmmm, cozy) when the meeting took a turn for the worse. Captain Rig stood in front of the Male youth of America and pointed a chubby finger at him. "THIS is one of the big problems" he seethed "I have said from the beginning that this guy has no place in my restaurant, and no business waiting tables for me!!" THUNK! That's the sound of my chin hitting the table in a bit of shock (I quickly picked it up and resumed my hiding.) The poor MYOA had no opportunity to run for cover as he was front and center, and clearly the object of Capt Rig's attention and fury. DOOM! I watched in growing horror as Capt Rig demanded that the MYOA tell him the exact ingredients that made up several dishes on the menu. Cracking under the scrutiny the poor YOA was unable to even remember his own name, much less the amount of salt that goes into the meatballs. Stammering somewhat, but maintaining a remarkable level of cool headedness the YOA tried very hard to do the Captain's bidding (with no luck.) FURIOUS at the incompetence of his freshly minted and still untrained staff member he continued making an example of the poor guy. Stepping in, Bobbi joined in the fun and carnage. "Bobbi" said the Captain, slapping his palm to his forehead "Can you even begin to believe this guy? Why is he even working for us? WHY?" Bobbi eyed the YOA with nothing short of unbridled hatred, "DISGUSTING" she proclaimed, voice dripping with insanity "Just. Disgusting." All of my radars that detect extreme psychosis were going off hard core in my brain at this point as I continued to watch this poor kid get strung up by his toenails and publicly flogged. I snuck a peek around the room at my coworkers, wondering if my feelings of shock/disgust/pity were mirrored on their faces. Not surprisingly I noticed that Jan, Karen and Gina were looking pleased and smug, knowing that if they were called upon to recite recipes that they could do so with ease. They were practically jumping up and down saying "pick me! ask me! I'm crazy too, just like you Captain Rig!" Taking no notice of their flailing arms and eager expressions Captain Rig finished up his rant of terror. "This here is a good kid" he said somberly to YOA "but that doesn't mean that he should work here. All of yous should memorize the menu as I will be quizzing you on it, and firing the people who get it WRONG!!" As we scattered, one of the newer girls (the one who has a tendency to tattletale like a 3rd grader) announced her grand plan to make flash cards with menu items on them and diligently study them. Rolling my eyes with reckless abandon I held back the urge to slap her silly. Come ON people, you have just witnessed the execution of somebody's frigging SOUL and you prattle on about flashcards?? Sheesh, the lack of humanity of 98% of the people I work with is horrifying.

It was no great shock to me that Captain Rig maxed out my psychosis radar, and to see Bobbi so willingly jump on the beat down bandwagon was expected. How do they manage to live with themselves after so easily dishing out public humiliation? Like I mentioned before- bat shit crazy is a problem I can not fix- and the two of them are way beyond help.

A great side note- despite suffering horrible humiliation the MYOA has stuck it out and continues to work there in a manner that seems quite acceptable to my uneducated eyes. I'm not sure if I would have been able to stand continuing on after such an episode, so good for him for being such a tough guy.

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.

In which the insanity becomes even more insane...

Happy Oh-Ten everyone! We plunged into the new year at Captain Rig's with a bang (and a whimper...)

Not shockingly the arrival of the super new decade brought an unprecedented level of stress to our normally cordial and relaxed environment. New Years eve-eve did not run particularly smoothly and if you ask Jan and Karen it was all the fault of us new staffers. Idiots! Renegades!

Before I dive into the deliciously gory details of what was a truly hideous weekend I just want to pause for a moment and say one thing. I can honestly say that I have never seen such a display of absurdity by a boss in my life. Words fail me, and for those of you who know my true identity that is a rare thing. Sadly, I simply can not put into writing the level of crapola that Captain Rig brings to the table. Moving on...

New Years eve got off to a bad start right from the beginning. Tensions were running on overdrive and a delivery of critical items had not yet arrived, throwing several staff members into fits of fury. Preparing to chop up a Mt Everest sized pile of lettuce I discovered that I was missing the bags that the lettuce gets stored in. Inquiring about the whereabouts of said items was obviously the wrong thing to do "You're just going to have to START ON LETTUCE" Karen screeched at me, as her lips curled into a sneer exposing her desperate need for dental work. Looking at her it occurred to me that she had most likely suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury, rendering her incapable of being at all rational. Speaking very slowly, taking into account her extreme mental deficit I explained that I was indeed chopping lettuce but was unsure what to do with the finished product. "You'll just have to figure it OUT!!!" she screamed like a complete lunatic. Sighing in despair I retreated into the depths of the kitchen to beat my head bloody against the wall and contemplate the unjust world that I was sadly a part of. Lucky for me, within minutes the delivery man had arrived bags in hand.

As Marissa and I finished up with the 42,786 pounds of lettuce we were summoned to the kitchen by a roaring Captain Rigatoni. He and Bobbi were furious with all of us and our inability to perform even the most mundane of tasks. They were sick and tired of the incompetence and F***ing bull crap that they had to put up with. Captain Rig was especially disgusted by the fact that our idiocy had attracted the attention of the labor department. He stormed around, pointing, cursing, gesturing and hovering precariously closely to the brink of a major coronary event. And then I did it. I made the very poor decision to open my foolish mouth and make a comment on the bile that he was spewing every which way. (it was legit though, I was not being a smartass!) Hearing the sound of my voice Captain Rig whipped around, eyes bulging in horror that someone of my pathetic stature would dare to speak to his highness. Demanding to know my name, he asked if I wanted to continue working there. Much to the dismay of my brain, my mouth opened up all of its own accord and said "YES". WHAT the frick mouth?? Hush yourself!! Getting close enough to me so that I could see the pores on his nose he snarled that if I wished to continue to have the privilege of working for him that I had best zip it. He continued to rant in a manner of complete disarray and confusion for quite some time before concluding with: "Well I don't know about all of YOUS but CAPTAIN RIGATONI is going to have a damn good 2010." To which people actually applauded. After I threw up a little in my mouth and contained the urge to slap everyone in the face I unwillingly plunked my hands together a bit to blend in. AKK!

Running away in horror, trying to shake the feeling of pure insanity I was stopped by my human work friend. "So..... what did you think of THAT?" he asked me. Being that I was genuinely disgusted and furious I replied that I had never in my life seen such a display of confusion and bullshit. As we finished our whispered discussion Bobbi rounded the corner and noticing that the two of us had paused, she shouted "STAFF, STAFF there is a LOT to do and we need to GET SHIT DONE!!!" Moving along, shaking our heads at her display of insanity we proceeded to circle like moronic goldfish around the restaurant. A few moments later I noticed that a bit of snow was on the floor so I stopped to pick it up. Like a freaking cat Bobbi pounced on me again. "STAFF" she hissed "IT is time to be paying attention to our TABLES!!!" Looking at my empty section I decided that I needed to hide. Passing my human work friend I declared my intention to hide out in the bathroom for a bit of time. I took a moment in the bathroom to take deep, calming breaths and try to lower my blood pressure to a more acceptable level. I reminded myself that I was not really an idiot, contrary to popular belief. I tried to get in touch with my inner zen like qualities, even while my stupid eyes were threatening to get all cry-ish on me. Realizing that I could not shack up in the bathroom forever I shook it off, tried to keep my inner beast dormant and got the hell back to work.

Fortunately at that point things became busy and we had a nice, smooth evening. New Year's Day went well too, with a minimum of drama and ridonkulocity. Imagine THAT! We can all do our jobs... Now this isn't to say that the Head Harpies were not on a rampage of destruction but most of them kept their thoughts to themselves.

What I managed to take away from the whole long, absurd and exhausting weekend were a few tremendously helpful tips on how to run my own business. Hooray! First of all I need to really start yelling at my staff a whole lot more, with gratuitous use of the F word as well as referring to myself in the third person. Awesome-o! Secondly, I need to schedule an "I'm Great" meeting, where all I do is talk about the fabulocity that is me, name drop, pat myself on the back and in general make my staff want to commit harry carry on the spot. Thirdly, and most importantly I absolutely need to remember that the way to get my peeps in the mood to do a helluva good job for me it to use them as my own personal punching bag right before the busiest day of the year. Cool beans!! I feel that if I implement these tips I will soon be the most successful person in the world, just like Captain Rigatoni.

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!

A blast from the past. Well, like 5 years ago.

I found this is the archives. It's an oldie but goodie.

Seriously, I have been schlepping food for 5 years and grow exhausted from it. I am tired of food, I am tired of watching people eat, I am tired of the constant noise in restaurants (clinking, clanking, yelling, breaking glass and exhaust fans- which I seriously think are rendering me partially deaf...)

I can quite often come up with humerous stories from the food service front lines- but today I'm telling the tale of the Harpie.

The Harpie is a 70+ year old lady who comes in most Sunday nights with her brow beaten husband. I will attempt to meet them at the door and am ususlly (no kidding) pushed aside by her as she charges in to her favorite table. God forbid that table 7 is occupied- God Forbid. I tried to offer them a different table one night and she grabbed my arm, dug in with her nails and shrieked "We're SITTING THEEEERE." Right you are, off you go. After they are seated I politely introduce myself and offer up a tasty beverage. This is met with "WE ARE NOT DEAF. DO NOT SPEAK IN THAT TONE." Okaay. I lower my voice to a hushed whisper, explain the specials and excuse myself. Every Sunday the Harpie orders sirloin, medium with a baked potato and a salad with bleu cheese. One time, long long ago she got a steak that was closer to medium rare. She has never forgotten that fateful day,despite the fact that she has consumed 2,300 steaks cooked to a perfect medium since then. I go to the table and inquire in my most silent whisper what they would like to have for dinner then I jump back (you'll see why.) "Sirloin" she barks, "Cooked MEDIUM." "Come closer" she says (as I cringe) and like a flash she reaches out and grabs my arm, nails digging in. "It must be done the way I LIKE it" she snarls "OR" (and at this point her beady little eyes narrow to slits and her voice lowers to a hiss) "I will send it back, I will NOT PAY and I won't come back" Oh, if only I could be so lucky I think to myself as I break free and dash to the other side of the table to take the husbands order. I put the order in and run to the kitchen and beg them to please, please send the steak out the second it reaches the right temp. Then I examine my war wounds and contemplate what sort of workplace compensation I can get for nasty-nail scratches. Typically at this point everything goes well, the steak is good, she temporarily forgets that she harbors an unprecedented level of hate for me and I am granted a moments peace. Until that is, the check has to come out...... Always, always without fail there is an item on the check that the Harpie has an issue with. My reflexes at this time have quickened to the point of being able to avoid her freakishly fast arm grabbing routine but I am usually subjected to a verbal beat down. I offer to get the manager, the husband at this point interjects, looks at the bill and reminds Harpie that she did in fact order, eat and enjoy the SIRLOIN and therefore must pay for it. GAHHHHHD, I think as I flee the scene of the disaster about $1 richer for all my troubles.

There are plenty of perfectly nice people who come in to make up for this wretched little woman, but it's the bad ones that you remember to avoid.

My word of wisdom for today is to treat your server nicely, we work very hard and are smart people (much to the dismay of many!!) So be nice people, please and thank you. XXOO MAW

Excellent Jan-isms

As the months pass on, I have grown oddly fond of Jan. To be sure, she is a cold hearted snake and certainly not the most friendly or personable individual but she is quite honest about this. She also has the ability to say things that are so painfully obvious that they make me laugh hysterically, after I slap her for being suck an epic dork. I have some fine examples prepared for your amusement...

The scene: The end of the night at the restaurant. Time for me to clean up the salad station! Uh-Oh, I am not able to find the kind of bag that I usually put the lettuce in. Time to find Jan!!
Me: "Jan, I can not find the normal lettuce bags. Shall I take a trash bag from over by the dish washing station?"
Jan: "Yes. BUT IT CAN'T be a DIRTY Bag! The lettuce can NOT go in a dirty BAG!!!!"
Me: Feigning complete ignorance "It can't?? Really??" (slaps Jan upside the head) "DUH!!" "I am not 50% retarded. I know that lettuce can not go in a DIRTY bag..."


The scene: The beginning of the night. The chairs need cleaning.
Jan: "You know that when I said that the chairs need to be cleaned it means the WHOLE CHAIR, RIGHT??"
Me: (puts on the worlds dumbest expression, complete with slack-jaw and big wide eyes.) "Nooooooo, they dooooooo?"
Jan: (getting quite worked up) YES, I mean the BACKS, the BOTTOMS, THE LA-DE-DA BLAH, BLAH BLAHRGH."
Me: (interrupting ranting.) "JAN, NO CRAP!" Calm Yourself!!"
Jan: "Don't make me hurt you"
Me: "You couldn't even if you tried....."

The scene: The gellato cooler, prior to opening.
Jan: (working frantically to remedy the mistake that my fully incompetent self has left her poor weary hands to deal with.)
Me: (in head) "Ummm. Hmmm. Where's the fire?" (in out-loud voice) "Jan why are you taking all of the gellato out of the cooler."
Jan: "Because you put in all the WRONG GELLATO!!!! xx**##@@
Me: (confused to the max) "How can that be? I took it out of the freezer like always!"
Jan: "It should be coning out of THE OTHER FREEZER!!!"
Me: "What other freezer. I had no idea there was another freezer."
Jan: "Well you should have asked."
Me: "Why on earth would I have asked that? I had no reason to think that there would ever be more than one gellato freezer!"
Jan: "Well, you should have KNOWN!"
Me: (massages temples with exaggerated motion of irritation.) "OK Jan. No problem. I will just read your mind and continue to learn my osmosis...."
Jan: "I'm going to kill you"
Me: "I might kill you first."
Jan: "You can't! You would already be dead!"
Me: "No, I'd just be faking to trick you."
Jan: "AHHHHRGH!"

The scene: Busy busy night. Many things to do.
Jan: "YOU HAVE TO DRY THE SILVERWARE!"
Me: "I just dried 4 racks of silver, put away 5 racks of glasses, ran food, took care of my tables and still have enough energy to give you trouble."
Jan: "Well. How cone I didn't see you doing any of that?"
Me: "Hmmm. Just because you didn't see it happen doesn't mean it didn't. And maybe because you are hard of sight? Or because I'm unusually fast and clever?"
Jan: Takes a swipe at me which I easily dodge...

The final scene: The VERY end of the night. We are all leaving. As we walk out Jan makes the horrific discovery that one salt shaker is missing several grains of salt. Unable to contain her disgust at the laziness and inability of her coworkers she goes into full blown ranting.
Jan: "I had better not get that section tomorrow!!! All of you are going to catch hell from me!!!" ....and as she exits the building her voice reaches a raspy fever pitch.... "YOU.... ARE.... ALLLLL..... DOUCHE BAGS!!!!" she screams into the night.
ME: walking with coworker, laughing hysterically. "Well, that just about says it, doesn't it?"