Day Twenty-Four.A New Resolution

Ah, New Year's Eve. This is when we ditch the old year like a bad date, never hoping to see them again. The new year is fresh and frankly, I'm so excited to get started!

I resolve to be more compassionate
I resolve to finish Project 365
I resolve to graduate college
I resolve to figure out the rest from there

Also, I'm bartending on New Year's Eve, so dear public; don't be drunken assholes the whole night. Thanks!

Day Twenty-Three.-"The Bartender Hates You"

Just because you request 'no rocks' doesn't mean you get more alcohol. Genius!

Also, a fellow blogger introduced me to this series, and it's so true! I wasted so much time going through these, but it's everythng I wish I could do at work.

Enjoy!

Day Twenty-Three."-Why Your Waiter Hates You" Series

A fellow blogger introduced me to the series, and I gotta say, it's fantastic! Enjoy!

Day Twenty-Two.-The same nagging fears

So, I've been turned down for yet another internship.

The same whispering doubts I've had for the past year have come back for the time being. In five months, I'm going to have a Bachelor of Arts in English, but I'm worried it's not enough. I'm worried I'm going to be stuck waiting tables for the rest of my life. I'm worried that I won't be able to find an actual job. I'm worried I made a plethora of bad academic decisions. I'm worried that this is just the start of a myriad of rejections.

I'm tired of medocrity, but I keep getting pushed aside by potential employers. I'm worried that maybe I've reached a glass ceiling of sorts.

I want to acheive. I want an actual job, but potential employers won't give the opportunity. I hate when people underestimate me, because they have the preconceived notion that I'm set to fail.

My hero told me to never stop fighting. To always prove people wrong, but I'm just worried that maybe their right.

Tommorow's a new day and I'll continue looking, but for now, the Writer Revisor is a little sad.

Day Twenty-one.-Acid rain

I hate that in a mere mist people feel compelled to drive forty miles under the speed limit. No, dear driver it's not acid rain. So stop driving like your tires are going to evaporate.

Also, three weeks down!

Day Twenty.-The Mad Hatter Came to Dinner

Yes, that's right, the Mad Hatter came to dinner. The man had wild hair, crooked teeth and a nervous tick. He was joined by his four-hundred pound girlfriend (not embellishing here). Where upon they both grinned at me like Cheshire cats for the entirety of their meal. Their friendliness was just downright creepy. The creep factor rose when they both ordered two entrees a piece.

While waiting for their meal(s) to arrive, the couple decided to partake in exercising their strange love. That's right, they made out at the table. The Mad Hatter even managed to feel his lady friend up, getting some major boob action.

Once their food arrived they cleaned their plates within minutes, even going as far as licking the plate. That's when it hit me. They're high. That would be the most logical explanation for the strange behavior.

In the end, they managed to run up a forty dollar tab, only leaving me a buck.

Thanks freaks, go creep someone else out next time.

Day Nineteen.-If I've learned anything at all

After a marathon ten hour day, I'm finally home. Today was exhausting, tiring and frustrating, but it was equally eye opening.

If I've learned anything at all today, it is that I have to stop pushing the people in my life away. Although never intentional, I manage to alienate them further through stubborn words or actions. I'll always be indebted to those people who constantly let me back in their lives, after I hang my head in embarrassment.

There is one person in particular I'm hoping sees this. I hope he knows that I'm sorry for all the problems I've caused and the mere thought of losing is too much to bear.

One of my main goals for 2011 is to love and hold more compassionate in life. I may not be there, but I'm one step closer.

Day Eighteen.-You know what they say

The best thing you can do for a writer is to give them a camera. For the duration of Project 365, I'll be taking my new camera with me.

Day Eighteen.-The Day of Wishes

Following the rules of Project 365, I'm here to post Day Eighteen, but I'm not going to talk about Christmas. I know this day will be largely unread, for it is fucking Christmas for Oprah's sake. So...I'll be whining a bit.

I wish for a lot of things, and I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. So often I wish for life to be different. For live to throw me a freaking bone every once and a while. I want to be done with school. I don't want to be a waiter anymore. I wish I was pretty. I wish I was more outgoing. I wish I was smarter, or smart enough to get into grad school at least.

I've never been "normal", and sometimes it's difficult to merely talk to people. I just wish I was like every other twenty-one year old girl, satisfied with going to parties rather than talking to a blog.

If I was remotely religious I would ask some higher power for an improvement in my quality of life. Because I'm not religious, I have to remind myself that I only have myself to rely upon. But whats difficult is always fighting.

My hero told me to never stop fighting for change, and as such; I may not be able to change everything, but I sure can come damn close.

Day Seventeen.-'Twas the Night Before Christmas

Ah, Christmas. I may be bitter and disillusioned, but I truly hope that you can all find some happiness today.

The following is an excerpt from a short story of mine that will be published next year from the Lion Lounge Press. Enjoy!

The snow had been coming down for hours now, and no source of heat could be found. The peaceful wave of white had sent all transportation shuttering to a halt. My teeth relentlessly chattered, and my face stung from the cold. I pulled my jacket closer towards my body, but the wave of cold continued. Trapped between rail stations, the passengers had no choice but to wait for the train to come back to life, and continue their journey. All forms of communication to the outside world had been depleted, and the snow seemed to swallow us whole. Looking out of the foggy window, the downtown corridor had been blanketed in white. The city lights softly blinked in the distance, and not a car could be found on the streets. A once bustling city had gone to bed, and I realized I was in no rush to get home.


Also, here's a poem from fellow waiter/blogger/my hero, The Bitchy Waiter! Enjoy!

‘Twas the night before Christmas, in the front of the house
The only creature still stirring was that sad dying mouse;

The glue trap was placed by the reach-in with care,
In hopes that the rodents would soon be aware;

This server was ready to be home in his bed.
While visions of auto-grat danced in his head.

My apron now off, cleaning my last ketchup cap,
When I hear from the window a soft gentle rap.

I try to ignore all the obnoxious clatter,
But I walk towards the noise to see what’s the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Crack it open so slightly, do nothing rash.

The moon on the breasts of this tired looking ho
Gave me the feeling she wanted some mo’.

When, what to my wondering eye should appear,
This bitch had a coupon for one freebie beer.

With her Lee Press-on Nails and her mascara too thick,
I knew in a moment she must be some trick.

A hooker, a ho, or whatever the name,
“It’s Christmas Eve, bitch. We’re closed, it’s a shame.”

“Please, just a Bud, a Corona or Bass!
I have this free coupon I pulled from my ass!
In six more short days, the coupon’s not valid,
And if not a beer, maybe one small side salad?”

I looked at the lady, saw the need in her eyes,
And wondered how badly she wanted some fries.

“But we’re closed for the night and I’m ready to go”
So I turned off the light and shut the window.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
Scratching and gnawing giving me proof
That this crack whore was desperate and needed a beer
Or maybe she needed some holiday cheer.

She broke through the skylight and came down with a thud.
Her panties were twisted and covered with mud.

Way too much makeup was covering her face
And her sad bloodshot eyes were scanning the place.

Her eyes- how they crossed! Her hair was so scary!
I pitied the loser who had popped her cherry.

Her droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And her nose was all white from doing some blow.

The stump of a blunt she held tight in her teeth.
And the stench of her body encircled her head like a wreath;

She had a broad face and a round big fat belly,
And she reached to a table for a packet of jelly.

She slurped it up quickly and looked at the shelf
I picked up a steak knife to protect myself.

The bottles of liquor went straight to her head,
And I knew right away I had nothing to dread;

She spoke not a word, but went straight to the whiskey.
She downed the whole bottle and asked “did you miss me?”

And laying her finger aside of her nose,
She took one deep sniff and reached into her clothes.

In her hand was the coupon for the beer that was free
She said thank you, then burped and gave it to me.

I opened the door and she went out of sight,
Saying “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.”

Day Sixteen.-Bitches in training

Today kicked my ass. I had a six-top consisting of three mothers and three daughters. I knew they would be a problem the second they sat down. The daughters barely ten years old, all had their own Iphones and highlights in their hair. I greeted the table and the women were instantly annoyed.

Me: "Hey ladies, welcome to,-"

Ladies (Cutting me off): Um, we need to move. We want to sit in that booth instead."

The ladies pointed a manicured finger in the direction of an empty booth (one that was going to be used later for a large party). I regretfully informed them of this fact, and they weren't happy.

Ladies: "We want to see a manager". They said with a flip of perfectly coiffed hair.

My manager managed to smooth things over, and the ladies were moved to a different booth. I was over the moon that I didn't have to wait on the bitches. In the midst of my celebration, my manager shot my night to hell, informing me that I'd still have to wait on the table (outside of my section).

They had the most modified order, with dressings and condiments to the side. (No lettuce, add pickles, extra ranch, etc etc). This is when they threw me a curve ball. They ordered a kids chicken tender plate and instead of the vegetable they wanted to substitute pasta (A gigantic corporate no-no). My manager explained to the ladies that we're not allowed to do that, and it would only happen once. They thanked him, and their food came out. At this point they went back to being the horrible bitches I'd encountered the majority of the evening, sending me around for everything. (Extra ranch, extra napkins, to-go boxes). The women cast ungrateful glances in my direction, looking at me like I was scum.

At the end of the meal, they asked me the deadliest question.

Ladies: Do you do anything for birthdays?

I cringed and told them that we don't offer free deserts, but we'd gladly sing a birthday song. At this point they waved we away with their polished fingernails.

They refused to look at me or talk to me. I split their checks and they went on their way.

In the end I received $2 on a $27 tab. $1.38 on a $30 tab. And $2 on a $30 tab.

Thanks ladies. Also, your botox is disgustingly obvious and your daughters are growing up to be whores.

Have a good night, bitches.

Day Fifteen.-Will work for coughdrops

The winter blues have finally caught up with me, and I think I have a cold. Hurray! I'm close to losing my voice. The last I had a cold at work, I scared small children and the elderly threw hot tea on me.

This should do wonders for tips.

Day Fifteen.-The Crazies

There must be something about the holidays that causes people to go batshit insane. Maybe it's something in the water, or those damned candy canes are laced with poison. Regardless, I've run into more batshit crazy people in the last forty-eight hours.

Yesterday, I was at the gym doing my normal workout routine. I was lifting weights, when the gentleman next to me began moaning. I paused my music, and listened in shock. His moaning grew louder and sexual in nature to the point that he was asked to leave.

Yesterday at work, a fellow bartender told me of a lady who attempted to run out on her tab without paying. She thought she had it so planned out that she even had a getaway car waiting for her.

Today, I was pumping gas at a gas station. There were multiple pumping terminals open, but for some reason, this old man was jonesing for my spot. He kept his car running, frantically gesturing for me to fill up my car faster. The man never bothered to get out of his car. He merely pointed at me, and gestured for me to move. Hello? I gestured to the other open terminals, and I waved his off. Offended, he finally moved one terminal over. As he got out of his car and went inside to pay, I saw him flip me off in the reflection of another car. Happy holidays to you too sir.


People stop drinking the kool-aid! We can get through this freakin' holiday!

Day Fourteen.-Frustrations and Aggravations

So, I'm frustrated and I plan on taking it out on my blog. I've recently started bartending at my restaurant. It's a rush and its fun, when I'm not sucking. I'm getting better, but I'm still slow. My fellow bartenders keep trying to reassure me that the skill just comes with time and practice. Argh. Too frustrated to write.

Day Fourteen.-Two Weeks!

Whoo! Two weeks down, only fifty more to go!

Day Thirteen.-Gender Wars

Consider this my appeal across all races, social classes and gender lines. Ladies and Gentleman, stop treating each other like garbage. I don't understand the inherent need for people to slander members of the opposite sex.

"Women are dumb sluts".

"Men are pigs and will fuck anything that moves".

The madness has to stop! This way of thinking is so self destructive and hinders people to truly socialize with members of the opposite sex.

Writer and feminist, Christine De Pizan wrote about the gender wars in the 1380's. In her texts, she talks of men who slander women's good merit by slandering their name and integrity. From her descriptions it becomes evident that the war has been raging for centuries.

Stop categorizing each other in the preconceived notions that society has placed before you. Take the time to know someone of the opposite gender without judging them based upon sexual practices. Consider their merits and integrity, and who knows, we might be pleasantly surprised.

Day Twelve.-A Plea and Those Damned Onions

Dear Humanity,

Please don't suck today. I don't think I could take another shitstorm of awful like yesterday!

Thanks!

Also, I forgot to mention the lady who complained to a manager that our tower of onion rings were too greasy (but that wasn't until she consumed 3/4 of the tower by herself). Umm, wtf? Ma'am, what do you expect?

Day Eleven.-Loss of Humanity and Happy Holidays

I'll never understand what compels people to treat complete strangers like scum. Christmas is in one week, and humanity doesn't act like it. Regardless of your religious beliefs, the winter holiday is a time to spend with friends and family. It's been said that this is the time of year that 'we all treat each other a little bit better'. Bullshit. Waiting tables is a perfect example. Sure, people treat their friends and family better, but they don't treat members of the service industry any better.

Example: Today, during shift change there were only a handful of servers on the floor, and we were slammed. At my peak, I had six table, thus, very busy. I was exhausted, but I managed to keep up with the tables (drinks, appetizers, salads). I was dropping off the check for one table, when another table frantically flagged me down. I groaned, what could have been wrong? Drinks were full, their food had just come out, and I had just on them. I faked a smile and asked how they were doing. The man of the table spoke up.

Jerk: Umm, can you clear these plates? I mean how hard is it to clear these plates off? (NOTE: It was two plates. Not a tower of dishes). I thought you forgot about us. Where have you been?
Me: Well, sir, I have five other tables. I apologize for not clearing them sooner.
Jerk: How can you call yourself a waitress? How hard can this be?

I bit my tongue and cleared the plates. After snapping at me, he turned back to his family as if nothing had happened.



I believe that the ultimate test in humanity is how society treats complete strangers. Smile to the UPS driver, or tell the checkout cashier at the grocery store to have a good day. I'm not asking society to inherently change, I'm merely asking that society reexamine their behavior.

Day Ten.-The day of no unifying theme.

Hmm, I don't feel motivated to write today. Maybe it's the weather. I fully believe I lived in California in a past life. The cold is just so painful and numbing. Sadly it's the beginning of the work week, and I don't want to step out of the house. Nice cozy blanket and a movie? Sound spectacular. Just give me a moment to call into work sick. -cough- -cough-. No? Not believable? Damn.

Also, Christmas is about a week away. Fuck.

Day Nine.-Cutting corners and cardinal sins

Okay, moment of truth. As a server I do everything in my power to save myself time and energy. I cut corners in efforts of getting a better tip. Nothing that would be considered a fireable offense, but anywhere necessary, I will cut corners.


Truth 1: In my establishment, we don't have pots of coffee that we brew constantly. In many respects, the best way to describe it is syrup and hot water. During the wintertime, many of the older customers complain that the coffee is cold or stale. They suggest that I 'brew' a new pot of coffee, but I can't brew a new pot. I can't help that the coffee tastes cold. When I run into that problem, I take an empty coffee cup, and run the handle and mouth of the cup under hot water. Although I can't change the temperature of the coffee, I can make you think that I gave you hot coffee.

Truth 2: If you don't take the time to read the side items, I don't have patience for you. Don't ask me, "So what's good?" That is the most vague question you can ask a waiter. Do you like salt? Do you like meat? Your personal tastes? Peppers? Many of our veggies have meat in them, and if you're needy I won't tip you off. If you're the most needy vegan, I won't tip you off that our rice has chicken in it. If you're needy and vegan, I won't tell you that there is bacon in the green beans. Enjoy.

Truth 3: There's times when a table is strange about smudgy silverware, I'll simply slink around the corner and wipe the silverware off with a clean rag. I return several seconds later with a 'new knife'. I can't change the fact that the silverware is smudgy or has water stains (stains from the dishwasher, meaing that the silverware has been cleaned).

Truth 4: I hate people order Shirley Temples for a myriad of reasons. For those who don't know, a Shirley Temple is Sprite and Grenadine. Our store only has Grenadine at the bar. Usually, people order Shirley Temples suck them down faster than I can keep up. When I refill your Shirley Temple, I'll pour the Grenadine down the straw, so the first sip receive is straight syrup. I realize this isn't cutting corners, but an act of passive aggression.

I have many more truths, but these truths illustrate the fact that there's so much that a waiter won't tell you.

Day Eight.-Some insight and history behind the madness

Some people have asked, what would compel me to write for the next calendar year. They asked if I was crazy, and I merely shrug. Probably.

When I was six I took a standardized test, and found that I read at a eighth grade level. I'm not touting my reading ability, I'm merely illustrating the fact that I didn't fit in with people my age. Rather than spending time with peers on the playground, I read books. I was ten when I first discovered Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde and Ernest Hemingway.

Because I couldn't fit in with my peers, I became a very introverted person. It's not that I never tried to socialize with others, I just couldn't relate. By the time high school came around, I was still socially awkward.

When I finally reached college, a wave of relief washed over me. I finally found kindred spirits. My fellow classmates shared the same love of literature and writing that I did.

Several months ago, I applied for a dream internship at a major publishing house. One of my former professors wrote me a glowing recommendation letter and I patiently waited. Weeks went by and I received no word. My former professor was quick to offer words of encouragement. Words that helped me start Project 365.

He told me, that I didn't belong in a publishing house editing other people's work. He went on to tell me that I was the type of person who should be doing the writing. Knowing that I'd been published in the past, he encouraged me to come back to writing; telling me that there is so much more to be said. A few weeks later he died of natural causes in his home. About a week ago, I found out that I hadn't received the internship, but by that point it didn't matter. By that point I'd gone back to writing, and I have no plans of leaving.

He helped me see that there is so much more to be said, and it was his words that motivated me to start Project 365.

Although I've become a more socially acceptable member of society, I'll always be same crazy book worm.

Day Eight.-The cast of characters

I've complied a list of the 'Cast of Characters' that I frequently come across in my job waiting tables. This will easier for the reader to reference later. Rather than divulging into their attributes each individual time, it's all listed here.

Management:

Monocle Manager: This is a manager who always plays it safe. He always follows the rules to the tee. Any request to be the rules, or make acceptations is completely unacceptable. Monocle manager never shows emotion and rarely smiles. Although he wears glasses, I believe a monocle would fit is character better (I can just imagine him walking around adjust him monocle and musing, 'yesss'). He is so serious that when the kitchen is getting hit during the dinner rush, the man falls back into a coping mechanism and sweeps the floor. This baffles the servers, and he refuses to take action, because that would require leadership.

Badass Manager: She can kick your ass. Although her techniques may not be liked by everybody, she has the ability to get things done. She's tough, and she is knowledgeable in the kitchen. After working her way through the ranks, she can run a kitchen in her early 20s.

Fedup Manger: This is a manager who mentally checked out months ago. Although he holds glimmering instances of clarity, he generally is too tired to care. He's an awesome manager who'll listen and he's incredibly knowledgeable in the kitchen. The servers love him, and he's the easiest to come to with problems. But, through circumstance he's grow too tired to care.

BOH-Kitchen Staff (generally as a whole): When the BOH is on top of things, they rock. Food comes out hot, quick and good. But, when their down, man, do they fall. Food will come back cold. Fish would come back raw. The BOH would run 20-25 minute ticket times. As a woman, I hate going to the BOH for things.
1.) They whistle and cat-call
2.) They're generally dicks about food, refusing to admit that they fucked up.

Servers: (Please note, this is not everyone. I'm merely listing the one's who stand out to me)

The Stoner: He or she feels compelled to come to work high. Their eyes are usually watery, and they smile-alot. This hinders Stoner to wait on his tables, and he gets confused easily. Management either doesn't know or care to address the issue.

The Drunk: He or she feels compelled to come to work drunk. This one is easier to spot (and smell). Their behavior is erratic, and it hinders them in their ability to wait on their tables. Management either doesn't know or care to address the issue.

The Jock: Jock feels like because he has muscles he can get better treatment from others. The women love the muscles, but generally, I think he's a pretenious asshole. His vocabulary consists of dude and bro. His excuse for being late to work today? (Well, I was at the gym workin' my quads and I was in the zone! I just lost track of time. Sorry bro!).

The Blonde: Blonde is perky, cute and bubbly. Tables love her because she is adorable. It's always hilarious to hear her talk, because regardless of what she says, it sounds like she's asking a question. (Hi there (?). Here's your napkinsss(?)). I'm also secretly jealous because she's hotter than me.

The Day Job: Day job is quick to let it be known that waiting tables isn't his only job. He does this to get extra money, and he feels compelled to let everybody know that he's above waiting tables.

The Flirt: Flirt will do everything in his power to get people to like him. At tables, he's charming and the cougars eat it up. Several of the women servers quietly hold feelings for him.

The Sports Guy: Sports Guy's introduction to his table is asking them if they like sports. I don't know if that's a tactic to waiting tables or if he has nothing to talk about. He always talks about sports and nothing else. He knows sports stats, and if he feels compelled, he'll even talk to tables who aren't in his section.
Example: Sports Guy: Hey, you guys like sports?
Table: ...No.
Sports Guy: Well, Kobe Bryant is the best...

This is nowhere near complete, but the reader should get the idea that the restaurant is full of people larger than life.

Day Seven.-Words of wisdom and other bullshit.

An old friend of mine whom I haven't spoken with in quite some time has been going thorugh a personal crisis. Today, he made me realize that the 'words of encouragement' come from people who truly don't know what to say. They become so uncomfortable with another's immense grief that they have no choice but to fall back on the cliche lines from greeting cards and literature. Their intentions are sincere, they just don't know what to say.

Life goes on.
Time heals all wounds.

For the person in pain, their tragedy consumes them and the world has fallen. I'm not claiming they're selfish, I'm merely stating that the pain is so real that its all they can see.

If anything the words of wisdom hinder the person's tragedy. The words of wisdom diminsh the person's story, and the person feels inadequate for not reaching the expectations of the words placed before them.

I personally believe that we should embrace the pain. I'm not necessarily advocating destructive behavior, but I believe that we should embrace the sadness. Yes, we're broken, but that doesn't mean that we won't be whole again one day. Pain is what is means to be human. Pain means that we're living.

Day Six.-The worst of the worst.

I was originally going to write about a different topic, but after this evening I'm compelled to push my original idea back.

After waiting tables for almost two years, I've had my share of ups and downs. But, today I think I finally came across the worst table I've ever waited on.

It was in the middle of the dinner rush, when a party of fourteen came in. My section was empty and could accommodate the guests. Cool, I thought. I've handled parties with large numbers before so I figured it was going to be a breeze.

First the group didn't arrive all at the same time. I got drinks for those who had arrived and waited for the rest to show up. While waiting, those present put me through the ringer. They snapped their fingers at me, bellowed at me, and flagged me down from across the restaurant. I must say that in theses situations, I'm usually skilled in what do, but they wouldn't let me establish my control. Finally after an hour of waiting for their party, and putting me through hell they finally decided to order leaving the others out of luck. I should for servers we have a seat numbering system to help us figure out who sat where. I failed in my ability to establish control, and they disregarded my warning telling them to sit their asses down.

In the middle of taking the order for the fourteen, they received a call the twelve more people would be arriving. Yes, twenty-six people in total. Needless to say when the rest of the party arrived, the others got up to greet their loved ones. Thus, screwing my number system further. I struggled to keep up with their myriad of demands, and they continued to play musical chairs. I was at the table constantly, filling drinks and meeting their needs. This is when all of the men in the group felt compelled to leave their group and go drinking at the bar. In total the men ordered four shots of tequila, and numerous margaritas. They didn't bother to pay the bartenders, and I put their alcohol on their ticket with me. By this time, the men were trashed and their food just came out.

After complaining that it took too long to cook (considering there's twenty-six people, it takes some time to prepare), they decided to complain about the taste of the food. The complaints ranged from salty, tasteless, and bland. In total my managers were forced to comp over thirty dollars worth of food. After the food, came time for the cake (which they brought themselves, cheap bastards). After the cake time time to split the checks. Now, I must remind you dear reader that my numbering system had been shot to hell, and it took me a good ten to fifteen minutes to figure out who went on what check.

After delivering their checks, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was almost done. I went to pick up their payments when I was met with harsh glares and a myriad of complaints.
1.)-I had charged them for too much alcohol (FALSE): My bartender told me who had what drinks and the quantity. They lied saying they only had one margarita, not seven.
2.)-I had placed a gratuity of the bill and a way of insuring I got some form of compensation for taking the party. They complained that my service didn't merit the gratuity.

After talking with my manager, they reluctantly paid for their food. The guests paid in intervals, some not paying at the same time as the others. I'd received all of the payments, except for two. It was then I realized that two people left without paying for their bill.

The only silver lining through the whole experience the support I received from my fellow servers. Without them, I would have burned in flames.

In the end I received only a couple of bucks for a two-hundred dollar tab. Not worth the sheer amount of stress I was put under.



Thanks fuckers. Go jump off a cliff.

Day Five.-The waiting game

Recently, I had a discussion with a fried of mine who isn't a member if the service industry. We were discussing the public's perception of servers and bartenders. Eventually, our discussion landed on the movie Waiting.

For those who haven't seen it, I won't ruin the ending, but I'm here to say that the movie isn't entirely accurate.

While there are many truths to the movie (relationships between coworkers), but the movie fibs on several occasions.

For instance, in many corporately run establishments, food is never tampered with. If caught, an employee is instantly terminated.

While comical, the movie glosses over the truth. Servers don't take the movie to heart and neither should the public.

Although, if you are mean to me, I won't use lemon tongs for your water. Enjoy.

Day Four.-If I could speak a different language, I would

Woo! Worked all day (13 hours to be accurate (!)).

It's hilarious to me when people don't remember what they ordered not even twenty minutes prior. I'll deliver food to a fellow server's table (not having previously waited on them, or seen them). Because I'm not their waiter, I don't know who ordered what.
Example:
Server: All right, I have a cheeseburger.
Guest: -Blank stare-
Server (louder): Who had the cheeseburger?
Guest (slowly enunciating each syllable): Is that a Ch-ee-se bur-ger??
Server (holding the plate up for the whole table to see): Yes, this is the Ch-ee-se bur-ger...

Heh, it always makes me chuckle.

Day Three.-Fancy clothes don't make the man.

“The best revenge is massive success.”

Oh Mr. Snotty customer, you're going to rue the day I become more successful that you ever dreamed. You may wear a suit and tie, but in five years I'll be kicking ass. Just wait and see.

Day Three.-Difficult customers

I hate when people feel compelled to be bratty customers when they go to a restaurant. They feel privileged. They feel they have they hold the right to treat the servers like trash.

When it comes down to it, we (the servers) should be the privileged ones. When it comes down to it, I eat, breathe, and sleep work. The customer is a guest in my house, and they don't act like it.

...sigh...that's my soap box for the moment.


On the plus side, I'll be working three doubles in a row this weekend. It'll be good money and good writing material.

More to come!

Day Two.-Novelty license plates

I don't understand the purpose of cutesy license plates on cars. I realize it's an inside joke for the owner of the car, but what people don't realize is that everyone else on the road hates them.

Other drivers believe that the plate is foolish and in turn the driver by association.

Once I was flicked off by a driver in a Prius whose plate read the mpg he received. Pretentious much?

Just now, I was almost hit by a woman in a bright yellow Hummer. The plate, you ask? 'hum-bee'

As I avoided a near accident my first thought was a string of expletives; not how adorable the car was.

Day Two.

***
“Frankly,” he mumbled, “I don’t know where to begin”. His chest heaved, and his thin frame shuttered. How do you explain everything? How can you go back?

“Start with ‘once upon a time’,” she whispered, feeling him watch her. His dark eyes explored every curve of her body. Disgust traveled the length of her spine, and she struggled not to run away. He sighed, stretching his arms over his head.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not that type of person,” he stopped, feeling a flicker of anger come across him, “And to be fair, you knew what you where walking into. You knew”.
****

Day One.

When I was eight years old, I would write short stories on my parent's old typewriter. I don't have the faintest recollection of the content, or writing style. I just remember writing for hours, it was during that time I knew I was going to be a writer.

Math and science seemed menial in the universe of writing, and I adopted those ideas into school. This way of thinking continued in college, and I got straight below average grades. But when I came down to it, I couldn't wrap my head around the way letters could even function as numbers. To me those beautiful letters didn't belong in a math book. It felt like the letters were cheating on the great works they'd once previously resided.

Six months from now, I will graduate with a B.A. in Creative Writing, and I still have trouble from overdrawing on my bank account.

A New Motivation.

So, I'm back...
After months away from the computer I hadn't been compelled to write anything. My time away from writing wasn't full of vacations in Aspen, or time in the Hamptons. I have no excuse for not writing, and it took a very good friend of mine, to help me realize that the biggest injustice that I could do is to stop writing.

Writing helps me think. Writing helps me breathe. Writing helps me live.
I have so much to tell the world, and the worst thing to do is to stop talking. I apologize for shutting off, and not talking. I apologize, because there's so much more to be said.

I'm writing with a new motivation. I believe that's where my problem laid the first time I went on this adventure. I drew too much upon writing about my job, and not about my observations about the world. I only knew how to write about work, so when the job got bad, I had shut myself off from writing. Yes, I'll still be writing about my crappy job, but I'm going to be talking about so much more.

Starting today, I'm challenging myself to write for the next three-hundred and sixty-five days. It may be one line, or a recipe. It doesn't matter, the only thing that matters is that words are leaving my fingertips. It'll be a tall order to write for the next calendar year, but I'm going to fight. I'm going to write.

The world is a beautifully messy place, and there so much more to be said.

Where Do We Draw The Line?

As a part of a corporately owned company, servers have to adhere to uniform checks and inspections daily. I wouldn't have a problem with that, except for the fact that I was recently reprimanded for having pens in my shirt pocket.

Um, wtf??

In the 16 months that I'd worked in that restaurant, I'd never once gotten in trouble for such a useless rule. When servers are getting written up for having pens in pockets (rather than aprons); I believe the management has bigger problems they're unwilling to address.




On a lighter note, a dear friend of mine has encouraged me to write a "Cast of Characters: Part Deux"! So look for that soon!

The Cast of Characters

To get a better perspective of my job, I figured it would be best to give the readers a better picture of my co-workers. The people I work with are loud, eccentric, and some of the best people I've had the pleasure of working with. No names are listed, but keep in mind, these people are very real.



The Quiet New Guy: He's just started waiting tables. Having never waited tables previously he's yet to come out of his shell (speculated serial killer).

The Pretty Boy: He's dashingly handsome and he knows it. Using this to his advantage, he has no problems with giving everyone around him attitude. He flirts with all of the female customers, and female servers to get a head.

The Pretty Girl: She's breathtakingly beautiful and she flirts with all of the males that walk in the door. She bats her eyelashes and men offer to help her with the simplest of tasks. On a Friday night, she can sucker hundreds of dollars worth of liquor from all of the male customers.

The Stereotypical 'Dumb' Guy: Not to be confused with the Pretty Boy. Dumb guy gets tips purely based on the fact he's just plain dumb. He holds a look of intense confusion on his face for a large majority of the service, and the definition of big words can keep him confused for hours.

The Over-Acheiver: He or She (for this role is not gender specific), is always a team player. They volunteer to close, pick up shifts, and they go out of their way to be a legendary server. They are always so excited to come to work (even early in the morning), and they're always a stickler for rules, structure and order. They're the managers best friend and closest line of communication (i.e. kiss-ass).

The Drunk: He or She (for this role is not gender specific), is always looking for the next party. They come to work hungover or still sometimes drunk. They're the first to be at the bar after work, and all of their tips go towards the next pint of beer. They always talk about the most 'epic' party you missed out on last night, and they reek of booze.

Looks Can Be Deceiving.

In my time as a server, I've seen a lot. There is very little that can catch me by surprise, but this weekend, I can say I was truly shocked. I waited on a party of six people, all in the mid- 30's. They were young, educated, and very kind. They bought alcohol, appetizers, 11 oz. steaks, and desert. Collectively, their bill was over $101.

By the end of their meal I was so excited! They were laughing and joking with me, and they seemed so nice! They paid with cash, leaving me $106 dollars.

Strange, I thought. That couldn't be right. But then it hit me, I received a five dollar tip (barely five percent).

The run-in with the table left me speechless. I was so incredibly shocked, and I realized that in my time as a server, I shouldn't assume anything or take anyone for granted.

Some People Shouldn't Be Allowed To Breed

I firmly believe that there are people out there that shouldn't breed. This opinion is bases wholly on the fact that, when they had children of their own; they would be spreading their terrible attributes onto a new generation.


Last night, I waited on a table of two parents and six children (four boys and two girls). The oldest looked to be about ten and the parents were exhausted.

The kids bounced around, running wild, and destroying the table and it condiments. All the parents could do was let the children run loose, and take their frustrations out on me. They waved me down from across the restaurant for the smallest of things.

"Um miss," the mother said, "I clearly asked for french fries, but these aren't enough. Look! There's hardly any on the plate. AND, the fries you gave me are soggy".

"No worries ma'am! I'll get you some new fries!"

"I mean I can't be that difficult to put some fries on a plate." She said, throwing her hands in the air.


It was towards the end of the meal when the children, taking note from their parents, decided to order me around.


"Lady, get another chocolate milk, and step on it!"

"Go get me more crackers! NOW!"


In the end, the terrible family left a measly seven percent, and thus solidifying my assertion that some people shouldn't be allowed to breed.

The Burger From Hell...

Yesterday, a family sat themselves in my section. We weren't busy, so I figured I'd take the table. Within seconds, I knew it had been a terrible mistake. Upon arriving to the table, I wasn't even allowed the courtesy of finishing my introduction.

"Hey there! My name is,-"

"Yeah, uh, two Jack and Cokes. FAST. Hey look Ma, they have Chicken Fried Steak." [[[not exaggerating about the 'Ma'. Yes, the wife was called 'Ma' by her husband]]].

They quickly ushered me away, as I fetched their drinks. I returned, and took what turned out the be the most modified food order I'd ever taken as a server.

"No onion, no tomato, add horse-radish, add onion straws, make sure the burger is medium well. NOT well done. I don't want to add a piece of charcoal. Put the veggies is separate dishes..."-[[[And, well, you get the picture]]].



I took several minutes to double check I'd put in their order exactly as specified, and continued. When it came time for their food to be delivered, someone else had ended up running the food. I arrived to the table, met with seething stares.

"So how did everything turn out?" I asked, attempting to add some pep into my tone.

"How the hell do you think it turned out? Terrible!" He said, as bits of food splattered across the table.

He continued, "I mean how hard is it to cook a damn burger?? I mean Jesus Christ! I wouldn't feed this shit to my dog!"

In the end, they complained loud enough that they received a free meal to go (exact same order, you know, the one that was so disgusting in the first place), their whole meal was taken off, including liquor.

-sigh- I hate people sometimes.

A Beer is Just a Name...

Several days ago, I was waiting on a young family. The husband wanted to order a specific, well known beer on draft. I had to regretfully explain to him that we didn't have that type of beer on tap, but we did have it in the bottle.

"What?" The man snapped, "How do you not have [insert name of well known beer]".

"Well sir," I said, "the keg is out for the rest of the evening, and we'll have that beer on draft tomorrow. But, you're than welcome to enjoy the same beer from the bottle. It's even the same price!"

The man's face turned a vivid shade of crimson, and his hands clenched in anger.

"That is unacceptable! We're leaving!" He snapped.

The family quickly hurried out of the restaurant in search of cafe that held his beverage of choice.

Not So Awesome...

The other day, I approached a table and I asked them if they wanted an appetizer before their meal.

"Sure," they said, "We'll have an Awesome Blossom."

An 'Awesome Blossom' is a popular onion flower common at a restaurant that shall remain unnamed. My restaurant, on the other hand, has onions in a tower form.

I was forced to kindly explain that we didn't have the onion flowers, but we have onion towers. Needless to say, they weren't too pleased.

"Can't you arrange them like a flower?" The wife asked.

"No, ma'am, we only have towers." I slowly explained.

"What kind of place has onion towers?" She said, snipping her words. At this point, I had trouble holding back a smile.

"Well, we're that kind of place." I said, attempting to keep a straight face.

"You know what?" She said, "We're going to go to [unnamed restaurant establishment].

The couple ended up walking out unfed and in an un-awesome mood.

Please Understand...

Please understand that servers aren't in the profession of waiting tables by choice. Whether it be financial or personal difficulties, we all find our way to serving. The reasons for becoming a waiter may vary, but one thing will never change. We don't do this willingly. I have yet to meet a person who 'chooses' to serve people their food in a casual dining cafe. If someone likes helping others, they should join volunteer projects.

As such, waiting tables isn't something one plans on doing for the rest of their lives. For me, I'm one year away from graduating college. In one year, I'll have a Bachelor of Arts in English. Waiting tables is how I pay for my education. My future depends on the amount of tips I receive on a nightly basis. I exist at the bottom of the social ladder, just so I can one day have a better future.

In my time of waiting tables, I've come across people who're quick to pass judgement on my level of education. When this happens, it's demoralizing and embarrassing.


Today, I waited on a group of people I knew from high school. These people were beautiful, smart, and charming, then and still are today. Some of them are now married with children on the way. Some of them now have achieved successful careers. After exchanging pleasantries an awkward hush grew across the table, as they asked me what I'd been up to since high school.

"Me?" I mumbled, "I want to be a writer. I justwork here to help pay for college."

"Oh," my former acquaintance said, "good for you. That's honorable".

[[[Please understand, that when something is deemed as honorable, it's anything but. People are very quick to admire an action, but are unable to join others. It's even evident in literature. The small townsfolk praise the knight about to go slay the dragon, but they stand away from a far distance. Honorable? Bullshit.]]]

They ordered their food, and their meal came out without a problem. They paid their bill, and just as they were leaving we talked one final time. By this point, my self esteem had hit a new low.

"It was good seeing you" I said, attempting to keep a cool composure.

"You too. Congratulations on graduating soon. You're going to be a great writer," she said with a forced smile.

As they were walking away, I heard one of my former acquaintances ask another a question.

"Did you really mean that?"

"No, she'll be waiting tables for the rest of her life." She said, laughing.

This is exchange is one of many I've been a part of. Many are quick to believe that, just because we are 'waiters' that is all we're destined for in life. They don't realize that we're people with hopes, dreams and a future.

Waiting tables isn't glamorous, but I'm so close to my diploma that I'm going to fight. I don't believe in honor. I believe in hope, my dreams and the future, in spite of others and their unknowing assumptions.

Overheard At The Table...

It was a busy Friday night, and it was taking a long time for food to come out of the kitchen.

*****

"How much longer is this going to take?"

"I mean seriously! I'll go into the woods, catch, and kill a rabbit before our food gets here."

The man's buddy speaks up. "But you don't know how to hunt."

"I can learn! I have time."

*****

They didn't catch any small woodland creatures, but they did gourge on crackers.

Overheard At The Table...

Yesterday, I had dropped off the check for a young couple. They were polite, quiet, and nice throughout the meal. I went to pick up the check and run their credit card, when I heard something odd.

Right as I walked by the young man told his perky blonde girlfriend that, "Well, you can blow me".

It took them a slow second to realize that I was standing at their table. The girlfriend proceeded to bust out in laughter, while her significant other began turning a vivid shade of crimson.

He attempted to akwardly mumble, "Not you. I meant her". Pointing to his girlfriend, as her laughter became louder, filling the restaurant. I processed their bill, and they went on their way (leaving me a large tip to make up for his table conversation).

The Nature of Waiters,-In General

In general, waiters live a very hard and fast life. We never sleep, live paycheck to paycheck, drink copious amounts of alcohol, and we try to hook up with each other. The life of a server is fast and a little wild. We talk like sailors, and we are afraid to call you out on your shit. I have yet to meet a waiter that doesn't smoke, drink, or both.

The resteraunt is a very political place. The only way to get ahead is to hook up, sleep around, and grovel.

We are nomads, going for restaurant to restaurant (which explains the high turnover for waiters). Maybe we're inherently unhappy, or maybe we've run out of people to hook up with.

In general, we're masters of persuasion. We're masters of small talk. No, I don't care about your sick poodle, but if I 'pretend' to give a shit; you're more likely to give me a bigger tip.

-The Snide Server

The One to Start It All.

So, the awkward 'introduction' post. After this, my posts won't be so formal.

My name is The Snide Server, and I started this blog to let the world know the secrets of waiting tables.

Although the location will be witheld, it's is a casual dining establishment with 62 'convient' locations throughout the country.

In the time I've waited tables, I've seen fist-fights, and arguments. I've had entire bottles of wine spilled on me, and I've slipped in puddles of apple sauce. I've been hit on my disgustingly drunk men, and I've had my intelligence challenged by people who don't know better.

I plan on telling my juiciest secrets, and showing the world all that I've seen.

Let's get ready for one hell of a ride!



-The Snide Server.