In the hospitality system, crimes against common sense are considered especially heinous. The dedicated employees who tolerate these vicious attacks on reason are known as ...your wait staff. These are my stories.
One of the best things about working in a restaurant are all the various life lessons and bits of wisdom you seem to accumulate. For example:
1) Guys in business suits are dicks.
2) Old guys in business suits call you "sweetheart" and are thisclose to asking you to fix them a drink.
3) Young guys in business suits are always trying to impress old guys in business suits and as a result are even more dickish than the old guys.
4) Guys in business suits and suspenders are just total, fire-breathing, hellspawn assholes.
5) If the guy is young and wearing a suit and suspenders and has slicked back hair, just remind yourself before you attempt to interact with him that you have bills to pay and you need to have a job and punching people in the face is technically assault.
I was going to make this a whole list of various restaurant related things, but it just turned into a rant about how much I hate "businessmen." I think this entry can stand on its own.
Hi internet! I'm totally back and stuff. Basically, because my one friend who reads this messaged me and was all, "where'd your blog go?" and I was all, OH SHIT I DON'T KNOW. Fear not, my loyal fan base of approximately 5-10 people, for I am with you.
A lot has happened since I last wrote. The Uptown Restaurant finally went under, which we all kind of suspected and "re-opening at a later date" turned into "bought out by a coffee shop." C'est la vie. I now work legit around the corner from The Cafe, aka the original inspiration for this blog. That's kind of awesome though, because I can visit my Cool Former Boss after my shift at my new job and get free beer which is always a plus. I never visit my Asshole Former Boss because he is an asshole. Anyway, the new job is pretty decent. Good money, super laid back, and decent bosses. That said, we're open til 2 on the weekends which does provide its own share of adventures.
Last Friday I was working late and around 1:30 a group of heavily inebriated people came in. I made the decision not to serve them booze, but just kind of avoided the mention of alcohol because I hate having that conversation and it's always super awkward. Anyway, after I finally wrangled their food order I noticed one guy seemed to have pulled a bottle of beer from out of who knows where. We only serve draft beer where I work, so I knew he had to have brought the bottle in from somewhere else, which 1) is trashy and kind of stupid and 2) is illegal (damn open container laws!)
So I went up to him and as politely as I could (believe it or not, I can be super awesome polite if I want to....all those years of theatre training didn't go to waste!) told him that we didn't allow outside beverages and I'd have to take the beer away from him. He gave me a stunned look, and said :
"But it's from next door!"
exactly, Obama, exactly.
It's from next door??? What the fuck does that even mean? Why should I give a shit? I don't care if it's from up your ass, you can't have it in here! Dumbass. Anyway, a bit later they asked me for drinks and I had to turn them down, which I hate doing because it's always awkward, and I like to avoid coming right out and saying "You're drunk, bitch" unless I absolutely have to. So I went through a few excuses, "It's 2:05 and we close at two, you brought in outside alcohol, etc." Finally, I went with the ultra pc "I don't feel comfortable serving you as you appear to already have been drinking this evening." And what answer did that get me, you ask? One of the girls in the group looked at me and said:
"DUHHHH. It's Friday!"
okay then.
So, to reiterate. Things I have learned. You can break open container laws if your beer is "from next door." And you can be a drunk asshole as long as "Duh, it's Friday!" Obviously.
Of course, my long awaited (by perhaps two people) return to blogging wouldn't be complete without a few Roasting Stories. So let's get crackin.
January 29, 2012 "So for my dad I would like a chicken baguette, with no baguette, just a chicken. He is gonna split it with my mom. So make it bigger, because they are adults. It has to be a decent size for 2. (I suggested they get two, but she was like: no, just make it bigger.)"
THAT IS NOT A THING. I WILL NOT DO THAT.
So. Here are some things: 1) If all you want is a chicken breast, go to the store and buy a fucking chicken breast. 2) You cannot just have something "made bigger." RESTAURANTS DO NOT WORK THAT WAY GOODNIGHT.
Sometimes people just make my head hurt. Anyway, I think I have time for one more story. Actually, I have time for lots of things right now because we are all going do die from snow and never leave our apartments ever again. But I want to start blogging again at least weekly, if not twice a week (I always say that) and I don't want to use up all my stories. So. One more story to end the evening on. Actually, no. Two stories because they're both short.
"January 30, 2012 A lady with a giant cart came in and asked me for a PB&J. How do I say yes! to that? I didn't. I totally said no."
Side effect of writing this blog: I am now obsessed with this octopus.
One more quick little "story" from
"January 30, 2012
A woman at table 10 found a potato on the radiator"
Honestly, I don't really have anything to say about this, other than "not surprised at all." Also, I google image searched "weird potato" and came up with this:
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.
I suck at updating. I am the worst in the history of things ever. I'm also the worst at putting my laundry away. I've had clean laundry sitting on my bed for a week. Because...well mostly just because I suck at life.
So about a week and a half ago, there was a Sunday Medieval Festival in the park. Apparently the park does this every year. And I'm pretty sure I knew about it, because I remember one time I was going to the A and this dude with a tail was coming out of the elevator and I was like wtf is that shit?
Anyway. It's that time of year again. And my New Uptown Restaurant that I work at now had a special medieval menu (read: sausages and pretzels) and we all had to dress up, which basically meant the girls wore long skirts and the one guy with shoulder length hair wore it down instead of in a ponytail. We classy.
Anyway, to be honest I was expecting a lot of this sort of thing :
Because this is the extent of my ren fair knowledge.
Oh, and as a bonus, THIS EXISTS:
RUB A DUB DUB
Yup. Some guy made a re-mix of that dude going rub a dub dub. I swear, sometimes I just love the internet. So, so much.
Anyway. All the freaks were out. But, you know, whatever. It's their special day. Let em be. The thing I couldn't get behind were the random weirdos who just took the occasion to dress as whatever weird fucking shit they wanted. Like, there was a chick dressed as some kind of moulin rouge/french prostitute/can-can dancer thing. That was weird. Even weirder, however, were the two dudes sitting at the bar in full on Star Trek uniforms.
Exactly
Then, to cap off that day, who the fuck should show up but Douchey Bar Guy. I don't even know what the fuck he was doing there. He lives on the UWS near The Cafe. He shouldn't be so far uptown, he shouldn't be up in my hood, and he certainly shouldn't be all up in my zone in my new workplace. That was just friggin wonderful. And of course his horrible satan child was with him. Luckily I was legit busy and didn't really have a chance to say more than "hello."
I have to emphasize though, that this all occurred on a very weird, random day. On the whole, Uptown Restaurant is a million times better and easier than The Cafe. That said, two days ago a woman attempted to follow me into the kitchen because if her friend didn't get a hamburger immediately he'd "go into a coma."
Please, tell me more things I totally care about.
Of course that all happened more than once at The Cafe. The "coma" part. I may already have written about this on here, but at one point a crazy old man told my friend the hostess that he needed his food RIGHT NOW BECAUSE DIABETES. Then the food came and it was a waffle that he proceeded to douse in maple syrup. Ruh roh. There were also people constantly trying to enter the kitchen, though I think part of that was them just looking for the bathroom. I always wanted to say, "Bitch, do you SEE a toilet back here? Wanna crap in that bus tub? Be my guest!" One time a guy actually came back into the wait station though, and when I tried to direct him to the bathroom he told me he "needed salads" and proceeded to stick his face in the window and look through the food. WHAT IS THAT. GO AWAY.
But enough of that nonsense. We've got Roasting Backlog to do!
January 12, 2012
Woman: I'll have a carafe of cotes du rhone.
Me: I'm so sorry. I'm out of cotes du rhone. Can I get you a different red?
Man: Okay, we'll just have a bottle of the cotes du rhone.
January 15, 2012
First table of the day. Table 45 brought their own maple syrup. It's organic!
Shit like that was always happening at The Cafe. People were always constantly wanting me to microwave the maple syrup. Which...who gives a fuck? I could understand if it was refrigerated or something, but it's room temperature. It's not cold enough to alter the temperature of your food. So basically...No. No I won't do that. Eat a dick.
One more story for the day:
January 22, 2012
So...this scuzzy guy came in and told the hostess he was a casting director for a modeling agency, and he needed models to go to some church on Amsterdam. When none of the waitresses went with him he started soliciting my tables.
I remember this! If I recall correctly, it was already during kind of a busy brunch, and this guy that looked like a bum came in and started asking us all if we could model for him. And he was creepy. Like...picture some sleazeball pervert trying to pick up girls outside the Port Authority and lure them back to his "studio," after which they mysteriously disappear in a Lifetime Original Movie type scenario. It was that kind of guy. I think I was eventually the one who got him to go away, mainly because I'm kind of scary and I very rarely showered before a brunch shift, because what's the point if you'll smell like eggs by 8 AM anyway. So, you know. I'm good for protecting the pretty people and chasing off the scary dudes.
I swear on the newest episodes of all my favorite shows that I will update this more often. I SWEAR.
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."
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.
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.
