Back from oblivion.

I have never ever gone this long without writing.  Over a month! Holy crapsticks, batman!  I apologize. I'm going to try to get back on track of updating this twice a week. We'll see.  In my defense, I have been sick for the entire month of November. No joke. I started feeling poorly the day after Halloween, and it developed into what was most likely pneumonia.  I'm  mostly recovered but still hacking every now and then. Please note that it is now November 18th.  And yes, I realize my last entry was October 8th. So what I was doing in October those three weeks before I got sick, I have no idea. I'm sure it was something extremely cool and social though, and certainly not me sitting around watching every available episode of Top Model on Hulu starting with Season 1.

Anyway. Still kicking it at the Uptown Restaurant, though I don't know for how much longer since they've just announced they're closing indefinitely in January.  In any case, it does sound like I got out of the Cafe just in time, as I've been hearing horror stories about how psychotic it's getting.

Anyway. Some random thoughts in general regarding the industry, before we get into Roasting stories.

I'm at the point where I just want to laugh at people who order Budweiser. Especially the place I'm currently working at. It's this gorgeous, secluded, somewhat finer dining place in the middle of the park....and you want BUDWEISER??

I also laugh at people who want "white zinfandel," but I'm pretty sure everybody does that.

Not a whole lot of  "crazy" has been happening at the Uptown Restaurant, aside from when we host weddings and you get a lot of drunk weirdos.  I remember one a couple weeks ago where half the family was from Staten Island and trying to act classier than they actually were. That was fun.  That and another wedding a week or so later where a guy promptly inhaled his fish within the first two minutes, then asked if he could also have a steak...just if I had any "extras lying around."  Of course. I always have extra steaks lying around. Piles and piles of extra steaks.  Dumbass.

On a side note, my friend Kathryn sent me this image several weeks ago, and I kept meaning to post it on here and never did.

This is true no matter where you work. Granted, I could tell you horror stories about brunch at the Cafe, and brunch at the Uptown Restaurant is still a million times better, but it's still brunch.  People at brunch are horrible. They're nastier than people during the week, and even more demanding. And I'll never understand it.  Unless you're in a service related job, Saturday is your day off. What the hell are you doing? Why are you in a bad mood? Calm the fuck down!

Anyway. I think that about does it for "current" stories. Let's get into some old school Roasting Lore.

January 15, 2012

"You order an apple at this place, and it comes with a pig!"

--man at table 30

Honestly, I have no idea what this means, whose table this was, or what the hell this guy was talking about.  I'm incredibly confused by all of it.  Also, The Cafe certainly isn't a fancy place, and in over four years of working there I don't know that we ever served roast pigs.  I mean....we didn't serve shit on a plate or anything, but we certainly weren't on the fine dining end of things.

Moving on to a much more exciting story.

January 16, 2012.

"A woman comes into a busy brunch (MLK Day) with a Bud Light can in hand. Obviously drunk and maybe a little crazy too. She asks for some hot water to put in her Ramen cup-of-soup. I say no, and she leaves in a huff. She comes back and wants to order eggs. I send her to the bar where she orders and then walks back over to me, gives me the receipt and tells me she doesn't have enough money, says sorry and leaves!"

And that, my friends is why I do not miss the Upper West Side at all.  UWSiders are kind of crazy in general, but I will say that the Cafe was definitely a magnet for a certain type of person. It probably also didn't help that we were across the street from a methadone clinic.

Winding up with one more quick anecdote:

January 20, 2012

"What gauge of plastic is the menu?"

And THAT is the kind of shit I dealt with five days a week for four years.  Part of me misses the crazy, but part of me is glad I don't have to worry about keeping my subconscious eye-rolls in check.

Til next time!

dirty socks and creepy bread

Holy crap! Can it really have been almost two weeks since I've updated this blog? In my defense, I've been super busy doing important things and being important and stuff. Or...y'know...waiting tables.

The time must be going somewhere though because I haven't done laundry in almost a month, and I'm starting to run out of options.

I was going to update last Saturday, but I had to go to a crazy lamesauce wedding where they spent the entire ceremony warning the newlyweds about the "lure of the devil." So that was fun.

Some of my old regulars from the Cafe found me on Facebook, and according to everybody the entire place sucks balls now, and honestly who's going to tell all the crazy stories, if I'm not there to document them?  Luckily we're not even close to finished.

January 3, 2012

"Can I get the account, please?"

Apparently, this customer meant "the check." People are friggin weird.

January 4, 2012

"Tonight somebody came up to me and told me that somebody else had left their gloves next to the window. They were socks. Worn, dirty, SOCKS.."

Honestly, I don't even understand this bullshit, because this crap happened in January, which means either they changed their socks at the restaurant, or just took off socks at the restaurant and then....walked out into the winter? What the fuck? Who are you?  I bet you have foot herpes or corns or warts or something. Leaving nasty ass socks all over the place.


January 6, 2012

Table 17 brought their own bread and asked Meredith to make it into a sandwich.

NO. Just, NO.

And honestly, that wasn't the last time that happened.  A few weeks before I quit the cafe some crazy lady brought her own bread for me to toast.  WHY?!? Why would you do that?  First of all, it's just a dumb stupid awful pain in the ass thing that you should never ever do....but also, isn't it like, against health code to bring in outside food? I don't know where the fuck your food has been. Maybe that bread was just in your pants. I don't know!  Of course at that place, it was God forbid we ever say "no" to one of the precious UWSiders, so of course I'll take your bread and lovingly toast it with golden sunshine rays straight from the eyes of the baby jeebus.

One of the things I love about my new place is that people can't order anything that's not on the menu. And for the most part, the guests are pretty decent.

Of course, today I had a septuagenarian guy ask me if I'm a swimmer because he lives in a complex with a giant indoor pool and he wants to me to know I'm always welcome. So, you know , that's fun.

I promise myself to update this  more frequently. I've also been promising myself that I'll do the laundry, and that has yet to happen. 

One of these days. It'll happen!

These are the people in your neighborhood....

Shout out to anybody who recognizes the song title in the heading, first of all.  No guesses?
It's this shit:

Yeah dude. This song is my jam.  Anyway. I think one of the things that makes work so "special" for lack of  a better word, is the fact that UWSiders are just all kinds of crazy.  Also, we're located directly across the street from an old people's/ people with various other weird shit problems home, and they come in a lot. Honestly, I feel like I have a unique perspective on this, since I did spend some time in a ward back in the day, and the guests we get at work could give those patients a run for their money.

Like that one time that guy came in at 9AM, demanded pork chops, was sad when he couldn't get them, and then  sat talking to his invisible friend "Ivan" for an entire hour, sipping grapefruit juice out of a soup bowl. He was fun.

Guys like that always stand out because they're so far gone into weird territory, but if we're lucky they're one time visitors.  Sometimes they're not. Leg Juice Debbie came in for God only knows how many years before we could ban her.  But often the crazies tend to come and go.  The severe ones anyway.

Then there's the lesser category of crazy, the "not quite dangerous but definitely weird and annoying as fuck" people that you're forced to see every day.  Specifically, the booksellers.

There's a group of crazy old booksellers that set up camp directly outside the restaurant, and damn are they weird.  They don't seem to sell more than a book or two a day, but they're constantly coming in to use the toilet or ask for change.  There's a few of them, but the most notable are the guy with the horrible troll laugh, and the guy who looks like Exeter from This Island Earth.

And actually, he doesn't even look like this anymore because over the winter he grew a giant fucking Santa beard and also grew his hair out. So now he just looks like a crazy bum with a yellow beard. But when he's clean shaven he looks like Exeter which reminds me of MST3K, and because of that I end up hating him a little less.

The troll guy is a fat little fucker who wears a squashed pork pie hat, a t-shirt that says "Feh", and headphones ninety percent of the time.  Sometimes he'll come in and eat yogurt or something, but mostly he sits out on the street laughing like a hyena in a blender. I've actually been waiting on outside tables and heard some sort of hair raising other worldly sound, only to discover our friend the cackler laughing about God knows what.

The other day they were all out there measuring the sidewalk. Maybe they're planning a hostile takeover.  Books V Baguettes the EPIC SHOWDOWN.   One day the crazy book men will storm the premises, and I'll lackadaisically barricade myself behind the chairs, while deciding whether or not I actually care.

Weekend Update: Blasts from the Past

Once again, I've proved myself horribly incompetent and for the second week in a row failed to write a Flashback Friday entry on an actual Friday.  Anyway, I've been delving into the Notebook of Roastings Past and reminiscing about things that happened a few years ago.

Like this delightful gem:

"Today I found a cheese sandwich sitting on a chair by the coat closet."

This was actually me. Like I've said before, the old journal that I get a lot of my old school postings from was a communal employee journal for a while, but the cheese sandwich thing actually happened to me.  I'm pretty sure it was a brunch shift, because that's when all the weirdos come out of the woodwork more than usual.  Anyway, I happened to look over towards the supply closet/bathroom area, and sitting on an extra chair was a plastic baggie containing a cheese sandwich. And I was just like....

Seriously. Bitches be leaving cheese sandwiches everywhere. Who the hell do you people think you are? I mean really.

I'll never understand people who bring extra food to a restaurant.  I mean....our purpose is to have food for you.  Do you think you'll get trapped in here and we'll run out of food and you'll need your cheese sandwich to survive? But then....if that's the case you should take better care of it and not be leaving it on random chairs by the bathroom.

I also had somebody pull out a pizza once, and just start eating it at one of the outside tables.  I didn't really know what to do, because it was after they'd already ordered a bunch of food. I just thought it was really fucking weird that they didn't like....finish eating at our restaurant and then go to a pizza restaurant or something.  Actually I can't remember if they ate the pizza pre or post brunch.  Maybe they brought it with them ahead of time because they were SO STARVING that they needed to eat a pizza while they waited for their eggs. Or something.

Speaking of fun food items, let's kick it back old school to the days of misspelled specials.  We used to have an adorable little Israeli manager.  And seriously, she was fun and I miss her, but her spelling was atrocious.
This was often listed as our soup of the day

I don't know how many times I had to explain to her that we don't want people to think our food will make them "leaky" this happened time and time again.  I think at one point we also had "Pumpkin Brisket" (bisque) soup and "Butternotscoth" cookies. I don't know what the hell a Butternotscoth is, but to me it sounds like some kind of freaky character from The Dark Crystal. 

These days there are less misspellings on the menu, and less weird random food items to be found, and I'm not sure if that makes me happy or sad.    

The weird shit keeps it all interesting, that's for damn sure.

The Saga of the Butler

    After about a year of butler-free bliss, we've recently seen a resurgence of The Butler at the restaurant.  The Butler is a curious looking fellow. Short, portly, bald except on the sides. Snow white hair on the sides of his head, and a snow white handlebar mustache.  He also wears a monocle. I've never met anybody in real life who wears a monocle.  Basically, he looks almost exactly like this:

except minus the tux, and plus a monocle.

     The Butler is English, and plays up his accent quite often.   By the way, full disclosure here, he's actually an ex-butler.  He went to a special "Butler School" in England, and I guess worked for a family here on the UWS til they couldn't pay him because of the recession, and now he's a doorman or something.  Still, he must be proud of his past, because he seems to begin every other sentence with "Back when  I was in butler school....."  Now honestly, I couldn't tell you what happened back when he was in Butler School, because I kind of just learned to tune everything out after I heard that phrase. Something about folding napkins into swans, or something.   I also somehow got it into my head (maybe because of the whole England thing) that there's some kind of secret Hogwarts-esque butler school out there, where they have secret passages, and I don't know.....magical wine cellars or something.  I was actually thinking about this for a while, referring to it in my head as "Butwarts" but I realized that doesn't sound too enticing.

(Also, I was totally tempted to google image search "butwarts" just now, but I completely wussed out.)

Anyway. Back to our friend the Butler. The Butler drinks house vodka martinis with extra olives, no matter what time of day it is. He also loves red wine, and actually threw a fit when we changed the wine glasses around a couple years ago. That in itself actually prompted an entire "butler school" tangent, and a lecture on proper glasses for the serving of red wine.  It was quite the kerfuffle, to say the least.   He's also got a bit of a pervy side to him, and when I say that...I mean he's a fucking creepy motherfucker. Way back in 2010, when I'd only been at work for a couple months, he added me on Facebook.  Because he's the kind of guy who likes to stalk the entire restaurant staff on Facebook. Maybe he doesn't have any real friends? I don't really know. Anyway, I didn't know that much about him at that point, so I added him back.  A few days later he was in with his wife. I waited on them and chatted about the weather, and mentioned that I had the next day off and would most likely be going out to Brighton.  He looks up and yells, "Oy! Does this mean we'll see more pictures of you in a bathing suit?" I'm sorry...what?!? First of all, don't say shit like that in front of your wife, and don't say shit like that to your waitress.  Secondly, I'm not ashamed of my body or anything, but I've never been the type to make a bathing suit pic my profile picture.  The most recent bathing suit pictures of me were from an album two years prior.  Meaning...he basically went through all of my photographs.   That was a little creepy, but I didn't delete him until I got annoyed as fuck by him making weird comments on all my posts. So I "unfriended" him, thinking he wouldn't even notice.  Of course he came in the next day and called me on it. So I had to block him completely.  Honestly though, this isn't even the weirdest shit.

     One time he found out via Facebook about a birthday party for a co-worker of mine. No, he wasn't invited, but I suppose lonely butlers have nothing better to do than stalk wait staff.  Anyway, he ended up showing up at this party on the LES, and he was already there when I got there and I spent the entire time hiding from him, which wasn't exactly easy to do in a tiny dive bar.

     I used to work with a  girl who happened to have rather large breasts. As in, sometimes she couldn't button her uniform shirt all the way up because....well, it just wasn't going to happen.  Anyway, one day we caught The Butler taking pictures of her with his iphone....and when we called him on it, he basically laughed and said "Can't blame me for trying!" DUDE. I totally blame you for trying. You're gross.

     Lest you think The Butler spends all his free time visiting the restaurant and harassing waitresses, I'll have you know he has a very exciting collection of hobbies.  He's some sort of volunteer New York policemen, which I've gathered involves carrying a fake badge and riding a horse around Central Park. I'm not sure if anything else is involved, because like I said....I try to tune it out. I also remember him telling me in great detail about some sort of British war reenactment that he participates in.  Again, not sure what all is involved, but he showed me some pictures and I know it involves wearing funny clothes and carrying a musket.  

     However, probably the most legendary of all his odd jobs would be "writer of erotica."  I actually don't know too much about this one because I heard it from a co-worker rather than The Butler himself, and that was traumatizing enough, but apparently The Butler has a little side business writing dirty stories for the internet.  Some kind of secret website that you have to have a password for, and also have to pay money for.  Fifty Shades of Butlers, perhaps? Honestly I really don't know.  All I know is that he gave the "business card" for these stories to my co-worker and she promptly threw it out.

     He stopped coming in for about a year, but now he's back with a vengeance.  He tries to chat me up by asking about friends of mine who haven't worked there in years, but so far he hasn't done anything too terribly disgusting. Then again, he's only been back a month, so only time will tell.

Flashback Friday!

Per usual, today will be a celebration of excerpts from "The Book"

Anything in bold italics is recounted here exactly as it was originally notated.

Nov 7, 2011

Some lady was yapping about getting dysentery from tomatoes.

Because, you know....that's a thing.  Looking back, I could have had much more sucess with my Oregon Trail games of years past.

Events of November 15, 2011

1. Homeless man shows us his pubic hair while demanding bread and butter
2.  Homeless man asks for can opener to indulge in his can of corn. After being told that we don't carry can openers, a guest demands that we bring his can to the kitchen to open it.
3. An innocent young girl, sitting at table 10.got her purse stolen from the back of her chair. A car that was passing by told her that a lady just grabbed her purse.  The young girl ran down Broadway to see the old lady toss her purse in the trash.
4.  A woman left the bathroom door open while relieving her lady parts. Not unlocked, OPEN.

Wow. Evidently November 15 was a hell of a day.   I think I may actually need to dedicate a future entry to all the weird shit that people do in our bathrooms. Because...I mean...there was the woman who used to go in and change her juicy leg bandages, the guy who used to shit all over the floor, the people who just didn't lock the door, and of course that woman body-checked a guy who was politely waiting in line for the bathroom and started screaming "You can't go before me!!!"

I guess we'll do one more flashback story before we close for the weekend.  Real quick:

November 17, 2011

A woman at 46 looks at the specials and asks, "Is this food?"

No, bitch it's a fuckin practical joke.  We just PRETEND to have food, to mess with your head.  "Bouillabaisse" is actually code for "something that is totally not food, and I'm just going to bring you a can of Febreeze instead."

I swear to god, writing this blog I'm going to run out of eye roll gifs.

Flashback Friday: Paid Escorts Edition

     One of my favorite things that has ever happened at work happened a little over 3 years ago, when I dealt with a cranky old man and his somewhat sub-par paid escorts.  It was around 10 or so in the evening, early spring 2011, and a rather odd trio came in.  It was a man in his late 60s/early 70s and two very young women.  They ended up sitting in my section, and I remember  trying to figure out the relationship between the three of them early on.  One of the girls had an American accent, and the other had some sort of Eastern European accent, so I thought maybe I was dealing with a cranky old man, his daughter, and his mail-order bride.  Oh no.  The truth ended up being so much better.

     They were an odd party to begin with. They changed tables about three times and bickered over the menu.  Eventually they ended up getting bottled water, wine, cocktails, and a shit ton of food. First course comes out, no problem.  They finish it, I clear the plates away, bring new silver, etc. A few moments later I go over to see if they want more cocktails, and as I'm taking the order, all of the sudden the man looks at one of the girls and yells:

"STOP PLAYING ON YOUR PHONE AND ACT LIKE AN ESCORT! I PAID 800 DOLLARS FOR THIS DATE!"

Oh. My. God.  I'd like to say, I stayed pretty damn calm when this happened, and managed not to bust up laughing.  It was supremely awkward though, so I just kind of muttered "Uh....I'll give you a minute" and walked away backwards.  I turned around to see our bartender at the time absolutely losing his shit, which was kind of amazing. I mean...this dude was so stoic and rarely laughed. Very serious, middle aged Israeli guy. Every now and then he'd crack a joke or two, but for the most part he was pretty stone faced.  Not when this happened. He was laughing so hard he was shaking, and for a second I thought he was going to wet himself.  It was that great.

Anyway. I'm sort of keeping an eye on the table from a distance, and I see the phone girl get up, throw her napkin on the ground, and leave.  Prior to the phone girl leaving, the other girl had been trying to mediate and I guess calm the old man down, but it wasn't really working.  So the dramatic exit happens, and you can see the other girl kind of going over the situation in her head....you know, her girl left so maybe she should go after her, but on the other hand she's getting paid, so maybe she should stay.  Speaking of which....is the 800 dollars for the two of them, or is it 800 dollars per girl?  Inquiring minds want to know.

After a few moments, the second girl leaves. Then it gets good.  Remember when I said they ordered a shit ton of food? For the second course the girls had each ordered two entrees, and the man had ordered one as well.  So after all this business at the table happens, the old man is sitting at the table by himself, and then five friggin huge plates of food come out.  And of course the food runner is totally nonplussed by the fact that a cranky old man is now sitting completely alone, and just keeps putting the food down on the table.  At this point I'd kind of decided that I wasn't going anywhere near this guy unless he beckoned me over, because the whole thing was just too weird for me.

So he sits there awkwardly for a minute, kind of tasting a little something from each plate. Then he waves at me. I steel myself and go over.  Before I can even say anything, he opens the conversation with this:

He: That's the last time I go out with a 21 year old!
Me: Oh...uh....yeah...
He: How old are you?
Me: (kind of thinking "oh crap" in my head, but too flabbergasted to do anything but be honest) 28.
He: See! You're mature! You wouldn't do what they just did! *pause* Do you know what Bemelman's is?
Me: Uhh...no?
He:  Bemelman's is the most expensive bar in Manhattan! I told these girls I'd take them anywhere they wanted for dinner, and then we would go to Bemelman's!  Shouldn't they treat me nice? Shouldn't they be better to me? etc etc.

I ended up just saying yes and agreeing with him that he'd been horribly mistreated, mainly because he hadn't paid his bill yet, and I didn't want him to ask me to void any of those uneaten entrees off of his check.

A few minutes later he asked for the check, gave me some "dating advice" that I honestly don't remember, and left.

Over three years later that's still one of the best things I've ever dealt with at work.

I like to think that cranky old man is out there somewhere, wining and dining escorts who don't play on their phones, treating them to a life of luxury at "Bemelmans" that many girls can only dream of.  Oh...if only...

DBG, WTF

     I have to say, I'm pretty sure the most universally hated patron at work is Douchey Bar Guy. I mean yeah, Pervy Ginger will come in and tell me extensive stories about his sexual escapades, and The Butler would come in and tell tired old stories of "butler school,"  but Douchey Bar Guy (hereafter referred to as DBG) is truly in a class of his own.

     DBG is the quintessential overgrown dudebro frat rat.  He's somehow a dad to two kids by different women, meaning he's convinced at least two women to sleep with him on different occasions.  That alone is enough to baffle me.  Then again, the woman who is the mother of his toddler is completely batshit insane, so that may have something to do with it.

If you want to get an idea of what he looks like, think this kind of thing:

(except pushing 40 and even less attractive)

   

  DBG likes to come in and tell me "you're always here!"  REALLY?  Bitch, I work here.  Five days a week. You're the one who's always here. How'd you like me to show up at whatever the fuck it is you do for a living and tell you that you're always there? I mean really, what is that?

     A few years ago, when DBG's ex was pregnant with their now-toddler, the two of them used to come in and scream at each other all the time.  It was a horror to watch. Then the woman birthed this horrible spawn of Satan child, who's now so neglected that I truly feel sorry for her.

     About a year and a half ago, DBG came in with his two daughters.  The Satan Child, and an older, well behaved Quiet Child, who looked to be about 7 or 8.  Satan Child started acting even worse than usual, and DBG decided he needed to take her home. So what did he do?  He flagged me down, and told me he'd be leaving to take Satan Child home, and he'd be back in 20 minutes or so, and could I watch Quiet Child and "make sure nobody kidnaps her"?  He was gone for almost 30 minutes. 

I mean yeah, it was broad daylight, early afternoon, and in a cafe full of people.....but what if this dickweed had gone and gotten himself hit by a bus?  What if he'd just never come back? And this sweet little girl, is just eating her pancakes, neglected as fuck.  I'm not a damn babysitter. I've got shit to do. I'm happy to watch a kid for a few minutes while you go to the bathroom or whatever, but who the hell just leaves their seven year old at a cafe, in the charge of a waitress whose name they don't even know?

     These days, DBG focuses most of his attentions on my bartender Kay.  She's told him no outright, said she's not interested, and he still refuses to take no for an answer.  It's gotten so bad that we've invented a "fake boyfriend" for her. Which, you know....fuck the patriarchy and all that shit. But really, it's just so obnoxious.  DBG will come in, sit at the bar, and tell Kay that he wants to take her on a date and discuss opera with her for four hours. Sexy, right?  And though she's his "dream girl" of the moment, I don't want you all to think that he tends to neglect me.  The other day he told me, "You know, I've seen you every day for the past ten years, it almost feels like we're family.  You should be on my Christmas card."  (This is especially odd considering I've only lived in NYC for 5.5 years, and I've worked at the restaurant for not quite 4 years.)

       Yesterday he told me he wants me to know he appreciates all my hard work, and if he has "extra money" any time soon, he's going to send me on a vacation. Sure. Bring it on, motherfucker. As long as it's by myself, and far away from you.

Flashback Fridays

So in between essays on restaurant life in general, and writing down things as they happen, I have about three years of backlog of stories that I've been collecting.  Some of these are straight out of a notebook that we used to have at work where we'd all anonymously write snippets of our day.

Every Friday will be Flashback Friday on the blog, and I'll post a few old snippets of conversation or descriptions of events.  Some of these are things that happened to me, some happened to co-workers. These are unedited, just copied from my notebooks:

October 13, 2011
Waiter Story
---I got home after work yesterday and fell asleep in my uniform. I woke up at 6:30 AM in said uniform, rolled out of bed without showering, and came to work.

October 14, 2011.
Conversation with a guest

Waiter: Hi! How are you?
Guest: I'm waiting for someone
Waiter: Anything to drink while you wait?
Guest: yeah....I'm waiting for someone.
Waiter:  Okay, so would you like a beverage?
Guest: I'm not eating right now.


October 15, 2011
Conversation with a guest

Waiter: Hi, how are you doing tonight?
Guest: No, no, no, no.
Waiter: Okay, but how are you doing?
Guest: Peru!

     That's all for now.  Plenty of stories where that came from.