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!

I still have so many roasting stories.

Yo internet! Here's a fun fact. It has now been a month....a whole MONTH since I left The Cafe!

omigod I know. I can't believe it either.

Haven't had much going on at the new gig, but there's going to be a medieval fair in the park on Saturday, so I'm sure all the code 3 whackadoos will be out, and I'll have some fun stories to share. Also, we're going to be selling turkey legs. Because nothing says class like turkey legs. We're encouraged to come in costume, but really, like I have money to go buy beer wench paraphernalia. I think not.

Okay. More stories

"January 7, 2012
Some lady called around 10 and wanted to make a 13 person "reservation" for noon

--I'm just gonna break in with some personal thoughts here.  The Cafe does not, and has never taken reservations.  No matter how many times we would explain this to people they would say things like, "well...what if we have a group" and "we're coming from far away" and "the attorney general wants to sit there."  Now really. I don't give a flying shit who you are. We don't take reservations, so fuck the hell off. But I digress.

She also wanted to order at that time (10 AM) and have the food ready exactly at noon. Uh...no. So ten people came in at noon, said they only had 30 minutes, then ordered steak sandwiches. And they wanted a free dessert "for a birthday." FUCK NO."

I'm not doing that.

Okay, so let's be real here kids. Unless you are going to a fast food place, there's no way in hell you're getting in and out at lunch in 30 minutes. Also, STEAK?! Fucking steak sandwiches! Do you know that meat has to cook? I mean do you? MEAT HAS TO COOK. Fun facts. Yeah...you're all a pain in my ass, but maybe if you ordered omelettes and salads I could get you in and out quick. STEAK SANDWICHES?! Fuck you. And you. And the eco-friendly adult scooter you rode in on.

Also...free dessert? NO. This is not a goddamn TGIFridays.

Please note: I worked at a TGIFridays for 3.5 years and found it lovely. 

But this is NYC. So no you can't have a "birthday dessert." You can buy a dessert and I will make them put a candle in it to shut you the fuck up. That is all.

Anyway. On to yet another story, also from 1/7/2012

Table 41- "Can I get a flashlight?! I lost the cap of my tooth!"

I don't recognize the handwriting on this one, so I don't know who wrote this, but honestly I'm just confused. Why do you need a flashlight? Are you going to open your mouth like a gaping chasm of doom and make me look in there? What is that? Who are you? I DON'T UNDERSTAND.  I do remember one time this lady came in at like 8 in the morning and demanded to look through ALL the garbage cans because she may have left her teeth in the bathroom the previous night.  And you know. sympathy for the dentures and all, but how did you leave WITHOUT YOUR DAMN TEETH the previous night? Isn't that something you kind of miss?

Bitches are insane. So glad I'm not working on the UWS anymore. And really, it hasn't been the same since Matt Damon moved to California.

I'm sure I'll encounter at least one or two ren fair loonies on Sunday though. And I just can't wait.

UPDATE!!

Addendum to the "tooth cap" story. One of my former co-workers has just informed me that they were working the night of the tooth cap incident and sent me a message with more detail:

"Love your blog. I worked the night of "lost the cap of my tooth". Next to 41 mice/roaches were running in and out by the heater pipe, remember? We were afraid that we will find animals instead of the fuckin' tooth! And there it was. The tooth cap on the floor! I couldn't believe it."

And there you have it.

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!

Old stories and new stories

   I'd apologize for not updating this blog in over a week, but I've been busy with the new job, and a new improv class, and driving people's pets to Ohio and stuff. Seriously. I lead a very exciting and fulfilling life.
I went by the Cafe last Sunday to pick up my final check and found out they were featuring this as a special:

I'd like to say that everything has gone to hell in my absence, but really....shit like this has always happened.  Because nobody really gives a fuck.  Lame shanks are lame, bro. It's just how it is.

I have a couple stories from the new Uptown Restaurant, though none so exciting as anything that ever happened at The Cafe.

Mainly, Tuesday night I waited on Dr Ruth, who to my great surprise was actually still alive. She's batshit as fuck but in the best way possible. She also came equipped with a handbag stuffed with "Sex for Dummies" key chains  and proceeded to hand them out to everybody in the damn restaurant.  Seriously.  When I first greeted her she asked me if I could make her plain pasta, and when I said I was pretty sure we could but I would have to check, she said "I am Dr Ruth. I will give you sex for dummies key chain." Okay then.

I also somehow wound up with two key chains, so now I have obviously have to wear them as earrings.

We're also selling pie that saves kids or some bullshit.  I keep forgetting what the thingy actually is, but all the proceeds for this pie that we sell goes to like, starving children and crap. Which is cool. It also makes me want to tell people that if they by any desert other than pie a child will die a horrible death.  

Because I'm an asshole.

Anyway. I  continue to sift through years of backlog and look at hilarious stories of Roasts of Yore.

Apparently at one point we were keeping a running tally of which busboy could break the most glassware in a single shift.  I don't remember who the fuck Mohammed was, but apparently he broke a shit ton of glasses. I imagine he's somewhere else breaking large amounts of glass on a much grander scale.  

Oh and then there was this:

Jan 2, 2012

Old man eats oatmeal with a fork. I show him the spoon I've brought, and he continues eating oatmeal with his fork.

Yes, that happened to me.  And weirdly enough, that's the kind of shit I miss and don't miss at the same time. Weird fuckers eating oatmeal with forks.

In the meantime, I shall continue to sell life saving pie, and revel in the lack of complaints that creme brulee "tastes like burnt cream" Yes, that actually happened.

Hopefully I'll return later this week with more stories. Lord knows I have plenty left.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

    I guess now that it's officially over, I should probably announce that after a little over 4 years, I finally left The Cafe. I got a job bartending and serving at a nice restaurant uptown and  for the most part I've really been enjoying it.  Of course, you'll find assholes anywhere. You know, like the women I waited on Monday. I made the mistake of saying "good morning" to them at 12:00PM and they smirked at me as though I were and idiot and said, "Actually it's noon."  Dear god, I'm so sorry I offended you poor women. Please accept my most humble of apologies and bend over so I can kiss your ass. God, you're wonderful.

That being said, for the most part it's relatively tame. I shall be continuing this blog documenting stories from the past four years at The Cafe, as I was there for so long and started this blog less than six months ago.

Gratifying tidbit from my second to last shift:

(After telling my regulars the following day would be my last day)
"Wow! I guess this is our last time here then !"

BOOM! IN YOUR FACE MOTHERFUCKERS!
(To be clear, the aforementioned motherfuckers would be some colleagues giving me trouble at work, and not the regulars, who were actually quite delightful.)

Also, I left a surprise in the break room for my friends:

Why yes, I did hang my uniform shirt from the ceiling panel. 

Alright. Now that housekeeping is taken care of, let's catch up on some old school Roasting updates.

Dec 7, 2011

"Hi Sir! One or two today?"

"One or two WHAT?"

"Uh....people"

*blank stare*

I remember that guy. He sat himself at a two top, so I went over with two menus and attempted to inquire as to whether he'd be a part of one or two. Obviously I should have used smaller words, or pantomime, or maybe finger puppets.  I love it when I ask people questions that are so simple like "would you like a beverage?" or "are you ready?" and they stare at me like I've grown another head. It's kind of great.

Dec 8, 2011

After pouring a bar guest a new glass of wine she looks up and asks, "Are you going to charge me for that?" SERIOUSLY? Of course I am not to mention that even if I didn't you would still only leave me two dollars.

This is another great one. I love how this bitch was just acting like my bartender was forcing wine on her.  She wouldn't have poured another glass unless you ordered another. And...fun fact guys....if you order something you pay for it. Stunning concept, I know.

Anyway, I'm sure I will have a few stories here and there at the new place, but The Cafe was such a weird fucking place to work, and I have so many stories, that for now I'm going to keep this blog exclusively dedicated to my time there. If you can think of anything you'd like me to write about, suggestions are also always welcome. Keep reading!

The Madcap Adventures of Turtle Man and Raccoon Lady

The other day two of our most notorious "animal" guests where in at the same time, and I almost felt like I was in some sort of low rent zoo. To be fair, most days at work I feel like I'm in a low rent zoo, but that's kind of to be expected.

There's a man who comes in that everybody calls "Turtle Man," because he looks like a fucking creepy ass turtle.  He's probably in his 60s, he walks hunched over with a cane, and he has giant glasses. He also usually wears a bucket hat.  And I should mention the reason that he walks hunched over is that he has some kind of back brace equipment strapped to him, and normally I'd never make fun of somebody with a genuine medical condition, but he's so damn weird and annoying that he's exempt from any exemptions of mockery.

He actually looks a little like this:

except older and more hunched over and not wearing a big green suit...and okay maybe only vaguely like this

Turtle Man requires a full glass of ice on the side for his glass of tap water, extra napkins, and no matter what he orders he asks for a soup spoon. He has never actually ordered soup.   He usually orders a steak and eggs or a roast chicken, and woe to those who don't bring him a soup spoon ahead of time. He will get up and start waving.  It happens.  I'm not sure what he does with the soup spoon, since I've never actually watched him eat. I just know what when he's finished his plate is a mess and he only ever tips two dollars no matter how much his bill is.

The Raccoon is a whole different breed of crazy.  She has crazy dark brown hair that seems to be a cross between an 80s perm and a mullet,  but more importantly she has her entire eye area covered in black makeup.  All around the eye. Big black circles. We've actually debated whether or not this make up is tattooed on or if she actually just smears big sticks of charcoal around her eyes every morning. The Raccoon comes in with her comparatively normal looking husband/boyfriend/whatever and they always get one cup of coffee and one order of scrambled eggs.  If the eggs are too well scrambled they will send them back. They also request a bread basket, but only the brown bread, not the white bread, and for the love of god don't forget to give them jelly.

I long for the day when I can tell Turtle Man we are out of soup spoons, and Raccoon Lady that there's a shortage of brown bread. I doubt it'll ever happen, but it's good to have dreams.

In other news, all that ever plays on our radio any more is six different versions of  "Girl From Ipanema" and now the slightest mention of that song makes me want to punch somebody.

Love to say "you've gotta be fuckin kidding me"

Hello internet!  I've been a bit MIA the past couple weeks due to working every day until going out of town, and then you know....actually going out of town.  And, well I love writing this shit but I'm sure as hell not going to update my blog via smartphone.  Way too much work, too much potential for typos, and anyway I was too busy living it up in my hometown, The Rubber City (that's rubber as in tires btw, though rubber as in condoms would be way sexier.)

I have to say, going back to my hometown and seeing how other restaurants are run, and speaking to Akron waiter friends, it once again occurred to me how goddamn weird my job is.  Not to say that it was always easy working at the chain restaurant but problems were pretty "normal" as far as problems go.....shitty tippers, unruly prom kids, drunks at the bar, Lebron being a non-tipping classless asswipe.  The rest of the time it could be a hell of a lot of fun.

I do love my job at the Cafe despite all the weirdness, but it really is filled to the brim with insanity.  Anyway.  We have a policy at work called "Love to say Yes." It's a pretty straightforward spin on "the customer is always right."  Basically, do whatever you can to accommodate. And, in the most basic sense, I do support this.  My job is to make sure that my guests have a good experience. It actually benefits me for my guests to have a good experience. If my guests have a good experience they will tip well, come back, and maybe even compliment me to my boss.  If my guests have a shitty experience, they won't tip, they'll demand free shit, they'll complain and they might yelp me.  I have never actually tried to make somebody have a bad experience.  Yet the entitlement in the neighborhood is off the charts, and often "love to say yes" just turns into "bend over and take it."

Way back when we first instituted "Love to Say Yes" as a rule back in January 2012, a co-worker of mine drew up this response in the notebook.

And honestly it's not too far from the truth. Everybody has gotten so chicken shit and paranoid about what crazy bullshit these nut bags may post on yelp, that they've taken to bending over backwards to please these people.

Here are some things people have asked me over the years:

Can you butter my toast in the kitchen?

Can you cut my food up in little pieces?

Can I have hummus instead of salad dressing?

Can I have pancakes instead of toast?

The list goes on and on. One time I had a woman who wasn't even my table flag me down and demand that I open her butter packets for her.

Which....just. How helpless are you? There's actually a guy who comes in who either has an artificial arm, or just a non-functioning arm, and he somehow manages to cut his own food and spread butter on his toast. If he can do it, so can you.

One time I had a guy demand that I have the kitchen hand make a custom sauce from scratch for his mussels, because he didn't like the sauce we offered. I made the mistake of saying no and he complained to the manager about what a horrible rude excuse for a human being I am. And honestly, I kind of am a horrible excuse for a human being, but not because of refusal to hand make mussels sauces.

The problem is that these people are so used to having everything exactly as they ask for it, that they actually don't know how to respond when any minor conflict may arise. Last week we had a woman come in who asked about a cocktail we featured last summer.  I recognized the name of the cocktail but couldn't recall the ingredients off of the top of my head.  I told the woman this and she started to tear up. Actual tears were dripping down her face.  And I kept telling her that if she could tell me the ingredients, we'd probably be able to make it for her. But the level of distress was unreal.

My former co-worker once told me he had a theory about Upper West Siders:

You could take them out of the neighborhood, drop them anywhere on earth, and they'd all look around horrified and say "What?! I have to wipe my own ass?!"

Yep. That pretty much sums it up.