So tonight I trained the new bartender. We're going to call him...Aaron. His real name is much cooler, and I'm sure that if I tried really hard I could come up with something better, but I'm sitting here, at my desk, with a plastic cup of skyy vodka and cranberry and I just don't care to think through the delicious buzz.
I think he's going to work out. I've never trained anyone before, and he could tell but he took it all in stride. He laughed at our jokes, teased back and after all of the hazing we put him through (not physical hazing, we just pulled out the stops on all of our crass, rude and inappropriate inside jokes) he's still planning on showing up tomorrow. In fact, I liked his attitude and capabilities so much that I went ahead and threw him on the bar for 4 days/week, which is twice what I had planned on when I hired him. The customers liked him, he learned quickly and had such a great attitude that I figured I'd treat myself and Katie to two days off each per week. It'll be a nice change of pace.
I explained to him why Guy doesn't work with us anymore, and he seemed appalled by the condition the bar had been left in those days. He restocked without asking, bussed dishes to the pit and reached the stuff on the tall shelves for me (have I ever mentioned that I'm about 5' tall?). I think I'll keep him.
On another note, today I had to say goodbye to two amazing customers, and I'm really really going to miss them.
Greg is from the same small town my Memaw is from - Decatur, AL - and is truly just one of the nicest guys I've ever known. The first night he was in my restaurant, I served him the wrong wine all night, and didn't realize until he decided to change to something else at the end of the evening. From then on, we played musical liquor every time he came down to the bar - he'd order something and I'd just serve whatever I could reach. It wasn't intentional at first, for some reason I just couldn't get his order right. I'm really going to miss the conversations and laughs - so I made a new AFP: Greg must return and bring me Big Bob Gibson's. The end. It's Ande's Fucking Policy, so you know it must be done :)
Jeff is a veteran who lost a leg in Iraq, and he has the best sense of humor about that situation than any amputee I've ever met. He does bar tricks with his false leg, grosses people out with it and laughs almost nonstop. He knows a famous porn star, likes football and beer, and can make almost anyone laugh. He finished a marathon a few weeks ago, and had to use a hand bike, but he finished it. How amazing is that? I'm really going to miss his smiles and his jokes, and the new AFP applies here, as well.
Happy Trails
10 November 2007
How to Be Hated by Restaurant Staff, Part 3
Don't say 'thank you,' don't tip. It's okay - if we wanted money, we wouldn't be servers!
So last night I gave last call, closed out the register, locked up the liquor and was in the middle of doing my paperwork, having a nice chat with a lingering (in a good way) customer (an older gentleman who was discussing his days in the Army with me) when...
"You're closed already?"
I look up to see a man who truly looks like he needs a drink. Unfortunately, I feel like I need a drink and a nap and a chance to eat my dinner, which has been growing cold in the server station for the last thirty minutes, so I tell him that yes, I am already closed out for the night.
He looks really disappointed and starts to walk away, when I realize that I haven't done my good deed for the day, and I decide that making his night better will be it.
"Sir!" I call, "What were you planning on ordering?"
"Gin and Tonic," he says, walking back towards the bar.
"Okay sir, your drink is on me tonight. With lime?"
"Or lemon, if you don't have lime."
"Sure, no problem."
I unlock the cabinets, pull glassware, uncover my ice, pour liquor, unlock the fridge, pull garnish, reassemble my bar gun, fill the glass and set it on the counter.
Before I go any further, what do you think this customer did?
He picked up the drink and walked away. No 'thank you,' no tip, no nod of appreciation, no NOTHING. I have never been so insulted in my entire life. I bought this complete stranger a drink, out of my own pocket, after we were closed (which required a ton of unlocking and extra work) and he didn't even have the common courtesy to say thank you?
My customer at the bar just stared after him as he walked away, and remarked on the rudeness of people these days.
A while back, I had a man who yelled at me, in front of a bar full of customers, because there was an automatic gratuity on his bill. At our establishment, auto grat is put on for parties of 8 or more, or if a bill goes over $50 for a single person. I know that sounds excessive, but you wouldn't believe how often you get screwed over at a hotel bar. Anyway, I explained the reasoning behind the gratuity - many customers mistakenly believe that we are hotel employees and make the same wages, but we are, in fact, paid just like any other restaurant employee, just over federal tipped wage.
I took the gratuity off of his bill (around $80, just for him) and he left me zero. He explained to me that he doesn't believe in tipping unless the service was exemplary, and while my service had initially qualified as such, the pretentiousness of putting a gratuity on his bill undid all of that. Nice.
Last night, I must have served a dozen beers to two guys at my bar who paid cash for every round and never tipped.
It was just that sort of night, really. *sigh*
Happy Tip Stiffing
So last night I gave last call, closed out the register, locked up the liquor and was in the middle of doing my paperwork, having a nice chat with a lingering (in a good way) customer (an older gentleman who was discussing his days in the Army with me) when...
"You're closed already?"
I look up to see a man who truly looks like he needs a drink. Unfortunately, I feel like I need a drink and a nap and a chance to eat my dinner, which has been growing cold in the server station for the last thirty minutes, so I tell him that yes, I am already closed out for the night.
He looks really disappointed and starts to walk away, when I realize that I haven't done my good deed for the day, and I decide that making his night better will be it.
"Sir!" I call, "What were you planning on ordering?"
"Gin and Tonic," he says, walking back towards the bar.
"Okay sir, your drink is on me tonight. With lime?"
"Or lemon, if you don't have lime."
"Sure, no problem."
I unlock the cabinets, pull glassware, uncover my ice, pour liquor, unlock the fridge, pull garnish, reassemble my bar gun, fill the glass and set it on the counter.
Before I go any further, what do you think this customer did?
He picked up the drink and walked away. No 'thank you,' no tip, no nod of appreciation, no NOTHING. I have never been so insulted in my entire life. I bought this complete stranger a drink, out of my own pocket, after we were closed (which required a ton of unlocking and extra work) and he didn't even have the common courtesy to say thank you?
My customer at the bar just stared after him as he walked away, and remarked on the rudeness of people these days.
A while back, I had a man who yelled at me, in front of a bar full of customers, because there was an automatic gratuity on his bill. At our establishment, auto grat is put on for parties of 8 or more, or if a bill goes over $50 for a single person. I know that sounds excessive, but you wouldn't believe how often you get screwed over at a hotel bar. Anyway, I explained the reasoning behind the gratuity - many customers mistakenly believe that we are hotel employees and make the same wages, but we are, in fact, paid just like any other restaurant employee, just over federal tipped wage.
I took the gratuity off of his bill (around $80, just for him) and he left me zero. He explained to me that he doesn't believe in tipping unless the service was exemplary, and while my service had initially qualified as such, the pretentiousness of putting a gratuity on his bill undid all of that. Nice.
Last night, I must have served a dozen beers to two guys at my bar who paid cash for every round and never tipped.
It was just that sort of night, really. *sigh*
Happy Tip Stiffing
09 November 2007
How to Be hated by Restaurant Staff, Part 2
Use the restaurant as your personal bathroom/lounge.
I almost threw up on my own bar last night. This customer comes in, sits at the bar and orders his drinks (Fat Tire) and food (Quesadilla). In the time between being handed his beer and the arrival of his food, this man preened and picked himself so much that I had to walk away more than once. No, really - he cleaned out his ears with his pinkie fingers, blew his nose about a hundred times (and when that didn't work, he wrapped his finger in a tissue and stuck it up his nose!), cleaned the sleep from his eyes, examined his fingernails, hocked up some sort of loogie and picked his teeth. That was all super gross, but the kicker was this: he didn't wash his hands before eating his quesadilla. Seriously, did you completely miss health class in high school? Did your mommy forget to teach you any manners? What the hell! This is my bar, not your bathroom counter!
The same disgust and hatred applies to the following offenders:
Parents who change diapers in the restaurant
Parents who leave nasty wet wipes and kleenex on the table where we have to touch them
People who pass gas in my restaurant (audibly or olfactorily noticeable)
People who pick their noses
People who pick their noses and then eat it
People who leave spit out or chewed up food on the tables or plates
People who cut their nails in public
Women who brush their hair in the restaurant
People who do not wash their hands
People who fill their empty drink glasses with trash or old food
Just remember that when you're out to eat, you are in public view. Anything having to do with personal hygiene or grooming should be done in the restroom, after one has excused oneself from the table. I don't want to see that nastiness, and neither does anyone else :(
Happy Grooming
I almost threw up on my own bar last night. This customer comes in, sits at the bar and orders his drinks (Fat Tire) and food (Quesadilla). In the time between being handed his beer and the arrival of his food, this man preened and picked himself so much that I had to walk away more than once. No, really - he cleaned out his ears with his pinkie fingers, blew his nose about a hundred times (and when that didn't work, he wrapped his finger in a tissue and stuck it up his nose!), cleaned the sleep from his eyes, examined his fingernails, hocked up some sort of loogie and picked his teeth. That was all super gross, but the kicker was this: he didn't wash his hands before eating his quesadilla. Seriously, did you completely miss health class in high school? Did your mommy forget to teach you any manners? What the hell! This is my bar, not your bathroom counter!
The same disgust and hatred applies to the following offenders:
Parents who change diapers in the restaurant
Parents who leave nasty wet wipes and kleenex on the table where we have to touch them
People who pass gas in my restaurant (audibly or olfactorily noticeable)
People who pick their noses
People who pick their noses and then eat it
People who leave spit out or chewed up food on the tables or plates
People who cut their nails in public
Women who brush their hair in the restaurant
People who do not wash their hands
People who fill their empty drink glasses with trash or old food
Just remember that when you're out to eat, you are in public view. Anything having to do with personal hygiene or grooming should be done in the restroom, after one has excused oneself from the table. I don't want to see that nastiness, and neither does anyone else :(
Happy Grooming
08 November 2007
How to Be Hated by Restaurant Staff, Part 1
That's right. This is an instructional post, and I'm vowing here and now to keep it short & sweet (mostly because I have to clean the house before I get ready for work).
BE AWARE OF OPEN AND CLOSE TIMES
Yesterday was not my day. I came in early to run interviews for a new bartender, so I had the bar set up so that it would be pretty for my interviewees. I understand why a customer would take the set up bar to mean that I was open and serving (despite the restaurant being in complete disarray from breakfast) and want to order a drink. But even if I was open, the correct way to obtain an icy cold beverage is not to command, as you walk past my bar to a table, "bring me a diet coke." Um, no. Not at all. I told him politely that I was not, in fact, open yet, and so couldn't serve him a drink, to which he replied, "What? *hugely dramatic sigh* Fine, whatever."
Before anyone gets upset that I didn't just go ahead and serve him, let me explain. Before I can make any sales, at all, I have to count out the drawer on the cash register. Which means unlocking the drawer. And counting the money. And then I have to go retrieve my micros card so that I can ring it through. And before someone says I should have just given it to him, since it was only a soda, here's this: I haven't cleaned the gun yet, unlocked the soda machine, or assembled the spouts. I haven't unlocked the glassware cabinets or uncovered and checked the ice. Also, our open times are clearly posted, and he was about an hour and a half too early. So there.
Since yesterday was so long, I decided to break down my bar a little early (I kept serving until closing time, like always) so that I would have less to do at the end of the night and could get home on time. Every thing is looking good, I've closed out all of my checks and served all of my customers, so I print out my end of night report. For those who don't know, that is the tally of every sale you made all night, including your credit charges, cash totals and tips. It's the last thing you do before filling out paperwork at the end of the night. I love printing off my end of night report.
It is ten minutes to close when this guy walks up to the bar and asks if we're still serving. I tell him all we can really offer him this late is a sandwich, which is fine by him. He orders a Brie Burger, medium rare with fries and a beer. I hook him up, and instead of taking it to his room or eating quickly and leaving or whatever, he lingers. Did you hear that? Lingers. This asshat sat at my bar for forty minutes past close to daintily nibble on his sandwich. What. the. hell.
In the time it took him to eat a burger, I did all of my paperwork, set some stuff up for the next day, double checked the servers work, did my cash drop, hung out with the front desk girl and the head of housekeeping (haven't thought of a name for him yet), and gathered all of my things. I was an hour late getting home because this guy had to hang out and munch.
Just be aware of the open and close times at your restaurant, okay? Us servers have lives, too. I have two toddlers and a husband that I want to get home to at night, and the longer you linger, the less time I have with them before bed. I know that this is a hotel and your room is only a minute's walk, but my house is much farther than that, and I'd like to get to it.
Happy Lingering
BE AWARE OF OPEN AND CLOSE TIMES
Yesterday was not my day. I came in early to run interviews for a new bartender, so I had the bar set up so that it would be pretty for my interviewees. I understand why a customer would take the set up bar to mean that I was open and serving (despite the restaurant being in complete disarray from breakfast) and want to order a drink. But even if I was open, the correct way to obtain an icy cold beverage is not to command, as you walk past my bar to a table, "bring me a diet coke." Um, no. Not at all. I told him politely that I was not, in fact, open yet, and so couldn't serve him a drink, to which he replied, "What? *hugely dramatic sigh* Fine, whatever."
Before anyone gets upset that I didn't just go ahead and serve him, let me explain. Before I can make any sales, at all, I have to count out the drawer on the cash register. Which means unlocking the drawer. And counting the money. And then I have to go retrieve my micros card so that I can ring it through. And before someone says I should have just given it to him, since it was only a soda, here's this: I haven't cleaned the gun yet, unlocked the soda machine, or assembled the spouts. I haven't unlocked the glassware cabinets or uncovered and checked the ice. Also, our open times are clearly posted, and he was about an hour and a half too early. So there.
Since yesterday was so long, I decided to break down my bar a little early (I kept serving until closing time, like always) so that I would have less to do at the end of the night and could get home on time. Every thing is looking good, I've closed out all of my checks and served all of my customers, so I print out my end of night report. For those who don't know, that is the tally of every sale you made all night, including your credit charges, cash totals and tips. It's the last thing you do before filling out paperwork at the end of the night. I love printing off my end of night report.
It is ten minutes to close when this guy walks up to the bar and asks if we're still serving. I tell him all we can really offer him this late is a sandwich, which is fine by him. He orders a Brie Burger, medium rare with fries and a beer. I hook him up, and instead of taking it to his room or eating quickly and leaving or whatever, he lingers. Did you hear that? Lingers. This asshat sat at my bar for forty minutes past close to daintily nibble on his sandwich. What. the. hell.
In the time it took him to eat a burger, I did all of my paperwork, set some stuff up for the next day, double checked the servers work, did my cash drop, hung out with the front desk girl and the head of housekeeping (haven't thought of a name for him yet), and gathered all of my things. I was an hour late getting home because this guy had to hang out and munch.
Just be aware of the open and close times at your restaurant, okay? Us servers have lives, too. I have two toddlers and a husband that I want to get home to at night, and the longer you linger, the less time I have with them before bed. I know that this is a hotel and your room is only a minute's walk, but my house is much farther than that, and I'd like to get to it.
Happy Lingering
05 November 2007
The White Trash Wedding Reception
I'd like to say 'thank you' to a particularly awesome group I had not too long ago - The Single Most White Trash Wedding Reception in the History of the World (TSMWTWRITHOTW for short).
Let us begin by saying that NOTHING that went wrong that night was F&B's fault (except the pears, but I'm still not sure what happened there) - it all stemmed from Aubrey's complete lack of competence in writing an event order. This piece of paper had no times, no details for decoration or room set up, no specifics in the wine and liquor order, NOTHING that we needed to provide this new couple with the reception they were hoping for. And of course, throughout the night, Aubrey repeatedly tried to peg all of the problems on me, and Dawn, and Katie, and the busboy, and the houseman, and the homeless guy outside, and the President, and the Queen of England - pretty much everybody except herself. That she was the Bride's bridesmaid only compounded the problems (at first).
Luckily, the night before this horrendous event, the wedding party came in to the hotel to set up the room and do the table decorations, and I was able to fill in a few blanks on the event order by talking with them. Apparently, they wanted lilac linens - we only have white. They wanted fewer tables, so we broke those down. They wanted Red Bull at the bar for Tuaca and Jager bombs (oh yeah, we'll go there later) that we hadn't ordered (on that note, they initially wanted kegs and pigs-in-blankets, but we sort of quashed that in favor of something a little higher end - this isn't the freakin' Outback). The room needed to be set up almost opposite of the way we had it, which wasn't a big deal. The list of things that were wrong just sort of went on and on.
Long story short, we pulled the night off without TOO much discord and disarray, but... well, I need to get some things off my chest, so to the following participants:
To the Bride: Thank you for not hating me when you easily could have made a case for doing so. I think my favorite part of the night was when you told me, "If I were the GM of this hotel, I would fire Aubrey's ass." It made every mean feeling I'd had all night seem justified. Also, you were pretty cool about how effed up your reception was, and I appreciate you going with the flow. On the other hand, what the fuck? Seriously, flinging icing across my bar? You really thought that was a good idea? Getting married does not absolve you from the responsibility of acting like an adult! And it was fucking PURPLE! Do you know how hard it was to get that shit out of my carpet?!? Come on!
To the Father of the Groom: It's cool that you only have three teeth. And it's cool that you wanted to have a burger at my bar while the ladies set up the reception room the night before the wedding. But my God. You only have three teeth. You just need to accept that there are some things you aren't going to be able to eat politely without the aid of a blender and a big straw. That shit was nasty. Your tongue was working overtime trying to keep the gummed up burger in your mouth - I really didn't need to see that. Just invest in some dentures already.
To the Father of the Bride: That $500 tab you ran for the wedding party was cool. So was the little James Bond-esque code word you picked out. It honestly made the night more amusing and enjoyable. But you, sir, were icky and old and hit on me waaay too much. I had to bluff my way out of dancing half a dozen times by claiming that employees aren't allowed on the dance floor during banquets. And you kept telling me to look into your eyes and then you would wink and lick your lips? NASTY. I had to take three showers after that, and I still feel dirty, even now. Oh, and thanks for not including gratuity on that $500 tab, by the way. Classy.
To the Groom: There isn't much to say about you. You did lots of Jager and Tuaca bombs, apologized for pretty much everyone in the room and kind of kept quiet. You are what every groom should be. I mean, if we're honest, the day wasn't much about you, anyway.
To the Couple Having Sex on the Dance Floor: And pretty much everywhere else, really. You were old and unattractive and it was nasty nasty nasty. Also, I wanted to beat the shit out of you with your own hors d'oeuvre when you shoved that half-eaten meatball on a fork in my face and demanded to know if I thought 'this shit was done.' Honestly, yes. If you had any class at all you would know that 'well done' is almost never an option at a high-class eatery. Those damn meatballs were a perfectly acceptable medium well. Fuck you and the horse you're fucking. Oops, I think that's your wife. My bad.
To the Amature Wrestler: You were just sad. Apart from being irreparably fugly, you were kind of an asshat. You made sure that everyone knew that you were the regional middleweight amature champ or WHATEVER that no one at all seemed to care about. Way to make the day all about you, champ.
To the Weird Chick Doing Karaoke: I hear that you weren't even really a wedding guest. I also hear that karaoke was never on the menu - you bribed the deejay? Seriously? Again, way to make the day about you, tard. Also, you really suck at singing. You should never, ever ever do that again. Ever.
To the Aunt Who Criticized My Banquet Management Skills: A great big F U. I did my best with what I had. Blame the bridesmaid who wrote the event order for this mess. I bent over backwards and ran around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to fix everything I possibly could. You didn't even acknowledge that I was trying, and the bride felt the need to apologize for you later. Yeah, you heard me. She apologized for the way you were acting. What does that say about you?
To Aubrey: No one here was upset or surprised that you were canned two days after the busted-up reception you 'organized.' I know you're probably harboring some mental images of all of us sitting around work on Monday, sobbing on each other's shoulders and consoling one another - whatever will we do without Aubrey, the light of our day? *sniff* There was practically an effing celebration. Know why? Because Katie and I won't be called on to set up last-minute drink stations for twenty people in ten minutes. Do you have any idea how long it takes to properly set up a drink station? AGES. You have to polish glassware, pitchers, lemons, arrange trays, set up the service area in the banquet room - it is a pain. So we're not too miffed that you're gone, really. Oh, and thanks for blaming the entire reception fiasco on me behind my back. Thank goodness everyone knew it wasn't my fault - have fun in the effing ballet, bitch.
Okay, I'm a little hiked on adrenaline from recounting that whole mess, and there may be a part two in the future, but for now I have to go get ready for work.
So to close this out, here is a big THANK YOU to the following:
Katie & Rob for helping me out so much - I would have completely drowned without the two of you. I don't even know how to tell you how much you saved my ass. It was super nice to have someone to laugh at these people with, because until you got there, I was about to explode from holding it all in :)
Dee - Thanks for letting me try one on my own. Maybe next time can I have one that doesn't suck? Just Kidding! (but not really) Despite everything I enjoyed this, and am now more skilled at conflict resolution than ever. So thank you :)
Everybody else - thanks for helping make this work. I know there were some stupid requests (tables outside, Martin?) and last-minute change ups (curry, Vicki?) but at least we all survived!!
Happy Ever After
Let us begin by saying that NOTHING that went wrong that night was F&B's fault (except the pears, but I'm still not sure what happened there) - it all stemmed from Aubrey's complete lack of competence in writing an event order. This piece of paper had no times, no details for decoration or room set up, no specifics in the wine and liquor order, NOTHING that we needed to provide this new couple with the reception they were hoping for. And of course, throughout the night, Aubrey repeatedly tried to peg all of the problems on me, and Dawn, and Katie, and the busboy, and the houseman, and the homeless guy outside, and the President, and the Queen of England - pretty much everybody except herself. That she was the Bride's bridesmaid only compounded the problems (at first).
Luckily, the night before this horrendous event, the wedding party came in to the hotel to set up the room and do the table decorations, and I was able to fill in a few blanks on the event order by talking with them. Apparently, they wanted lilac linens - we only have white. They wanted fewer tables, so we broke those down. They wanted Red Bull at the bar for Tuaca and Jager bombs (oh yeah, we'll go there later) that we hadn't ordered (on that note, they initially wanted kegs and pigs-in-blankets, but we sort of quashed that in favor of something a little higher end - this isn't the freakin' Outback). The room needed to be set up almost opposite of the way we had it, which wasn't a big deal. The list of things that were wrong just sort of went on and on.
Long story short, we pulled the night off without TOO much discord and disarray, but... well, I need to get some things off my chest, so to the following participants:
To the Bride: Thank you for not hating me when you easily could have made a case for doing so. I think my favorite part of the night was when you told me, "If I were the GM of this hotel, I would fire Aubrey's ass." It made every mean feeling I'd had all night seem justified. Also, you were pretty cool about how effed up your reception was, and I appreciate you going with the flow. On the other hand, what the fuck? Seriously, flinging icing across my bar? You really thought that was a good idea? Getting married does not absolve you from the responsibility of acting like an adult! And it was fucking PURPLE! Do you know how hard it was to get that shit out of my carpet?!? Come on!
To the Father of the Groom: It's cool that you only have three teeth. And it's cool that you wanted to have a burger at my bar while the ladies set up the reception room the night before the wedding. But my God. You only have three teeth. You just need to accept that there are some things you aren't going to be able to eat politely without the aid of a blender and a big straw. That shit was nasty. Your tongue was working overtime trying to keep the gummed up burger in your mouth - I really didn't need to see that. Just invest in some dentures already.
To the Father of the Bride: That $500 tab you ran for the wedding party was cool. So was the little James Bond-esque code word you picked out. It honestly made the night more amusing and enjoyable. But you, sir, were icky and old and hit on me waaay too much. I had to bluff my way out of dancing half a dozen times by claiming that employees aren't allowed on the dance floor during banquets. And you kept telling me to look into your eyes and then you would wink and lick your lips? NASTY. I had to take three showers after that, and I still feel dirty, even now. Oh, and thanks for not including gratuity on that $500 tab, by the way. Classy.
To the Groom: There isn't much to say about you. You did lots of Jager and Tuaca bombs, apologized for pretty much everyone in the room and kind of kept quiet. You are what every groom should be. I mean, if we're honest, the day wasn't much about you, anyway.
To the Couple Having Sex on the Dance Floor: And pretty much everywhere else, really. You were old and unattractive and it was nasty nasty nasty. Also, I wanted to beat the shit out of you with your own hors d'oeuvre when you shoved that half-eaten meatball on a fork in my face and demanded to know if I thought 'this shit was done.' Honestly, yes. If you had any class at all you would know that 'well done' is almost never an option at a high-class eatery. Those damn meatballs were a perfectly acceptable medium well. Fuck you and the horse you're fucking. Oops, I think that's your wife. My bad.
To the Amature Wrestler: You were just sad. Apart from being irreparably fugly, you were kind of an asshat. You made sure that everyone knew that you were the regional middleweight amature champ or WHATEVER that no one at all seemed to care about. Way to make the day all about you, champ.
To the Weird Chick Doing Karaoke: I hear that you weren't even really a wedding guest. I also hear that karaoke was never on the menu - you bribed the deejay? Seriously? Again, way to make the day about you, tard. Also, you really suck at singing. You should never, ever ever do that again. Ever.
To the Aunt Who Criticized My Banquet Management Skills: A great big F U. I did my best with what I had. Blame the bridesmaid who wrote the event order for this mess. I bent over backwards and ran around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to fix everything I possibly could. You didn't even acknowledge that I was trying, and the bride felt the need to apologize for you later. Yeah, you heard me. She apologized for the way you were acting. What does that say about you?
To Aubrey: No one here was upset or surprised that you were canned two days after the busted-up reception you 'organized.' I know you're probably harboring some mental images of all of us sitting around work on Monday, sobbing on each other's shoulders and consoling one another - whatever will we do without Aubrey, the light of our day? *sniff* There was practically an effing celebration. Know why? Because Katie and I won't be called on to set up last-minute drink stations for twenty people in ten minutes. Do you have any idea how long it takes to properly set up a drink station? AGES. You have to polish glassware, pitchers, lemons, arrange trays, set up the service area in the banquet room - it is a pain. So we're not too miffed that you're gone, really. Oh, and thanks for blaming the entire reception fiasco on me behind my back. Thank goodness everyone knew it wasn't my fault - have fun in the effing ballet, bitch.
Okay, I'm a little hiked on adrenaline from recounting that whole mess, and there may be a part two in the future, but for now I have to go get ready for work.
So to close this out, here is a big THANK YOU to the following:
Katie & Rob for helping me out so much - I would have completely drowned without the two of you. I don't even know how to tell you how much you saved my ass. It was super nice to have someone to laugh at these people with, because until you got there, I was about to explode from holding it all in :)
Dee - Thanks for letting me try one on my own. Maybe next time can I have one that doesn't suck? Just Kidding! (but not really) Despite everything I enjoyed this, and am now more skilled at conflict resolution than ever. So thank you :)
Everybody else - thanks for helping make this work. I know there were some stupid requests (tables outside, Martin?) and last-minute change ups (curry, Vicki?) but at least we all survived!!
Happy Ever After
01 November 2007
Why I Laminated Room Service Menus on Tuesday, or, The I'll-Quit-Before-You-FIre-Me Bartender
So there I was - Tuesday evening and I'm in Dawn's (oh what the hell, she couldn't think of a name she liked anyway) office, methodically laminating a stack of 120 copies of our new room service menu. Why am I back here when I should be in the front, taking care of customers and chatting merrily with bar guests?
Because Guy hates me. Not just the 'I don't like you so I'll make snide remarks around you' or 'I'll sit in stony silence and try to make you uncomfortable' kind of hate. I'm talking full-on, leaves the room when I enter, no words spoken whatsoever kind of hate.
Let me explain why.
Because we are not the biggest of restaurants, we often have only one waitress and one bartender on at a time. The bartender handles the lounge and bar, which is almost always busy, and the waitress handles any tables, to go orders and room service orders that come in. This way, the money is well distributed and everyone goes home happy.
Waitresses have a serious amount of sidework each night - they have to soak, polish and roll a bin of silverware, roll silverware for the breakfast server (because she's almost 100 years old and can't quite do it correctly herself), fill all of the sugarbowls and salt & pepper shakers on the tables, set the blinds, dust the windowsills and bottoms of the chairs and tables, break down the beverage station at the end of the night, break down the server station and clean the front of house. That's a lot for one girl to do.
Conversely, the bartender has sidework, but not much. He should soak, polish and roll his own silverware at the beginning of the night, clean out the chill chest for the beer, stock the beer following FIFO, check and fill his mixers and ice, disassemble and soak his bar gun each night, wipe down counters, set out his liquor display, stock his wines & liquors, handle the cash machine and set out the bar snacks each night. At the end of the shift, his bar should be sparkling, with all of the liquor and beer locked away.
Now, before I go any further, please understand that I bartend three nights a week. And every night, I do all of my sidework and the work that wasn't done the night before. I don't set any policies or requirements that I can't (or won't) do myself. Also, all of the sidework lists and lists of responsibility have been checked and endorsed by Dawn, and she occasionally comes out and checks how I'm handling things in the FOH. So it isn't like I'm throwing heaps of madness on this guy.
That being said, here's the problem: Since he started working here, Guy has only shown an interest in two things. 1) Making money, preferably more money than anyone else. 2) Being a complete and utter asshat.
If you are not paying attention, Guy will do the following:
Steal your tables
Steal your To-Go orders
Steal your rolled silverware (I think he's rolled his own twice, ever)
Never follow FIFO in the chill chest
Never clean out the chill chest
Leave things to rot in the bar fridge
Let mold grow in the bar gun holder
Never set up his bar display
Never set out bar snacks
Cut customers off who are not intoxicated
Let the bar trash overflow
Make waitresses run his dishes to the pit
Make waitresses stock his glassware
Forget parts of his uniform
Make waitresses run his desserts, dressings and condiments
Never marry ketchup and mustards
Never restock and just tell customers that we're out
Put red wines in the fridge
Open multiple bottles of the same wine or liquor
All of these things are problems that Dawn or I have spoken to him about before. These things drive me crazy because they make our bar (and restaurant and hotel, by association) look crappy and second rate.
On one memorable occasion, I discovered how little Guy cares by pure accident. I spilled some strawberry syrup (I had been making daquiris) onto the floor of the bar fridge. So what do I do? Grab a bottle of sanitizer spray and a rag and climb halfway into the fridge, of course. In a classic instance of me giving someone too much credit, I noticed that everything I had asked Guy to clean out and restock (the week before) appeared to be done. Wow, I thought, good job. Until I moved a container of pineapple garnish and noticed that it seemed to have dark splotches on the plastic. I tried to wipe them off for a moment before I realized - the pineapple was growing black fuzzy mold inside the container. And still, I gave Guy the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was just a bad pineapple to begin with.
And then I delved further into the fridge, and noticed that NOTHING HAD BEEN DONE. The carafes of simple syrup and maraschino had strings of slime floating thru them, there was uncorked wine in the back, the mixers had mold growing in the pourspouts and on the threads that screw the cap on, underneath the fresh fruit in the garnish bowl there were whole limes and lemons that were soft and growing white mold, there was soured half & half in the chill chest... the list goes on. I had not checked these things because I (mistakenly, obviously) trusted him to complete them. He's an adult, and I assumed that he had the sense of personal responsibility and lacking that, pride, to run a clean bar.
On the upside, that whole experience has taught me an important lesson, and one that Dawn has been trying to teach me from day one: YOU are responsible. People are inherently lazy, and will avoid hard work whenever possible. This means that I must go behind them and check their work, as though I were a kindergarten teacher, and sometimes guide them thru it step by step. That sucks, but it is part of life.
So it happened that last week I was working one of my waitress shifts with Guy bartending. As I return from running a room service order, I see an older gentleman sitting at one of my tables with a menu. Now, it is common practice for the bartender to seat a guest if the waitress is running room service, so I'm not bothered. I start over to the table to take the guest's drink order when Guy stops me.
"I've got it," he says.
"Okay. What did he want to drink?" I'm thinking maybe the guest just told Guy what he wanted to drink (some people don't wait for us to ask) so I'm still not worried.
"Don't worry, I've got it," Guy says, a little more forcefully.
"Okay, but he's my customer, and I need to know what he's ordered," I respond in kind.
"You need to calm the hell down!" He's doing that thing where you yell without raising your voice, and it really pisses me off. I'm having a slow night, and I'm not about to let him take this one from me. I'm also pissed because we're standing on the restaurant side of the kitchen window, where every customer at the tables and bar can see us, but Guy is blocking my path to the server station. I'm also also pissed because this is the second time I've had a problem with him this night, and I have stood up for him too many times before. If he screws with me on this, I'm going to make sure he doesn't work with us anymore. Weeks and weeks worth of frustration and indignation come spewing out of me and I yell:
"Guy, you are about THIS close to not working here anymore!!"
He hasn't spoken to me since. I went straight back to Dawn's office to tell her what had just happened. I have never lost my temper like that in front of customers before, and I was embarrassed and ashamed of myself. Dawn assured me that it happens to everyone at some point, so better I got it over with in front of customers who know me and understand the situation than new ones who might not come back after seeing someone yell at a co-worker like that.
Later that night, Guy went back to Dawn's office and put in his two weeks, and let me tell you, they are going by like molasses. Dollars to donuts, the next problem he had at the bar would have been his last if he hadn't quit. I just can't handle that sort of disrespect and ineptitude.
And you can bet your ass that I'll be training the next bartender from scratch, and I'll be their training wheels for as long as it takes; I'm not going thru this crap again. Until then, I'm enjoying the quiet.
Happy Molding
Because Guy hates me. Not just the 'I don't like you so I'll make snide remarks around you' or 'I'll sit in stony silence and try to make you uncomfortable' kind of hate. I'm talking full-on, leaves the room when I enter, no words spoken whatsoever kind of hate.
Let me explain why.
Because we are not the biggest of restaurants, we often have only one waitress and one bartender on at a time. The bartender handles the lounge and bar, which is almost always busy, and the waitress handles any tables, to go orders and room service orders that come in. This way, the money is well distributed and everyone goes home happy.
Waitresses have a serious amount of sidework each night - they have to soak, polish and roll a bin of silverware, roll silverware for the breakfast server (because she's almost 100 years old and can't quite do it correctly herself), fill all of the sugarbowls and salt & pepper shakers on the tables, set the blinds, dust the windowsills and bottoms of the chairs and tables, break down the beverage station at the end of the night, break down the server station and clean the front of house. That's a lot for one girl to do.
Conversely, the bartender has sidework, but not much. He should soak, polish and roll his own silverware at the beginning of the night, clean out the chill chest for the beer, stock the beer following FIFO, check and fill his mixers and ice, disassemble and soak his bar gun each night, wipe down counters, set out his liquor display, stock his wines & liquors, handle the cash machine and set out the bar snacks each night. At the end of the shift, his bar should be sparkling, with all of the liquor and beer locked away.
Now, before I go any further, please understand that I bartend three nights a week. And every night, I do all of my sidework and the work that wasn't done the night before. I don't set any policies or requirements that I can't (or won't) do myself. Also, all of the sidework lists and lists of responsibility have been checked and endorsed by Dawn, and she occasionally comes out and checks how I'm handling things in the FOH. So it isn't like I'm throwing heaps of madness on this guy.
That being said, here's the problem: Since he started working here, Guy has only shown an interest in two things. 1) Making money, preferably more money than anyone else. 2) Being a complete and utter asshat.
If you are not paying attention, Guy will do the following:
Steal your tables
Steal your To-Go orders
Steal your rolled silverware (I think he's rolled his own twice, ever)
Never follow FIFO in the chill chest
Never clean out the chill chest
Leave things to rot in the bar fridge
Let mold grow in the bar gun holder
Never set up his bar display
Never set out bar snacks
Cut customers off who are not intoxicated
Let the bar trash overflow
Make waitresses run his dishes to the pit
Make waitresses stock his glassware
Forget parts of his uniform
Make waitresses run his desserts, dressings and condiments
Never marry ketchup and mustards
Never restock and just tell customers that we're out
Put red wines in the fridge
Open multiple bottles of the same wine or liquor
All of these things are problems that Dawn or I have spoken to him about before. These things drive me crazy because they make our bar (and restaurant and hotel, by association) look crappy and second rate.
On one memorable occasion, I discovered how little Guy cares by pure accident. I spilled some strawberry syrup (I had been making daquiris) onto the floor of the bar fridge. So what do I do? Grab a bottle of sanitizer spray and a rag and climb halfway into the fridge, of course. In a classic instance of me giving someone too much credit, I noticed that everything I had asked Guy to clean out and restock (the week before) appeared to be done. Wow, I thought, good job. Until I moved a container of pineapple garnish and noticed that it seemed to have dark splotches on the plastic. I tried to wipe them off for a moment before I realized - the pineapple was growing black fuzzy mold inside the container. And still, I gave Guy the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was just a bad pineapple to begin with.
And then I delved further into the fridge, and noticed that NOTHING HAD BEEN DONE. The carafes of simple syrup and maraschino had strings of slime floating thru them, there was uncorked wine in the back, the mixers had mold growing in the pourspouts and on the threads that screw the cap on, underneath the fresh fruit in the garnish bowl there were whole limes and lemons that were soft and growing white mold, there was soured half & half in the chill chest... the list goes on. I had not checked these things because I (mistakenly, obviously) trusted him to complete them. He's an adult, and I assumed that he had the sense of personal responsibility and lacking that, pride, to run a clean bar.
On the upside, that whole experience has taught me an important lesson, and one that Dawn has been trying to teach me from day one: YOU are responsible. People are inherently lazy, and will avoid hard work whenever possible. This means that I must go behind them and check their work, as though I were a kindergarten teacher, and sometimes guide them thru it step by step. That sucks, but it is part of life.
So it happened that last week I was working one of my waitress shifts with Guy bartending. As I return from running a room service order, I see an older gentleman sitting at one of my tables with a menu. Now, it is common practice for the bartender to seat a guest if the waitress is running room service, so I'm not bothered. I start over to the table to take the guest's drink order when Guy stops me.
"I've got it," he says.
"Okay. What did he want to drink?" I'm thinking maybe the guest just told Guy what he wanted to drink (some people don't wait for us to ask) so I'm still not worried.
"Don't worry, I've got it," Guy says, a little more forcefully.
"Okay, but he's my customer, and I need to know what he's ordered," I respond in kind.
"You need to calm the hell down!" He's doing that thing where you yell without raising your voice, and it really pisses me off. I'm having a slow night, and I'm not about to let him take this one from me. I'm also pissed because we're standing on the restaurant side of the kitchen window, where every customer at the tables and bar can see us, but Guy is blocking my path to the server station. I'm also also pissed because this is the second time I've had a problem with him this night, and I have stood up for him too many times before. If he screws with me on this, I'm going to make sure he doesn't work with us anymore. Weeks and weeks worth of frustration and indignation come spewing out of me and I yell:
"Guy, you are about THIS close to not working here anymore!!"
He hasn't spoken to me since. I went straight back to Dawn's office to tell her what had just happened. I have never lost my temper like that in front of customers before, and I was embarrassed and ashamed of myself. Dawn assured me that it happens to everyone at some point, so better I got it over with in front of customers who know me and understand the situation than new ones who might not come back after seeing someone yell at a co-worker like that.
Later that night, Guy went back to Dawn's office and put in his two weeks, and let me tell you, they are going by like molasses. Dollars to donuts, the next problem he had at the bar would have been his last if he hadn't quit. I just can't handle that sort of disrespect and ineptitude.
And you can bet your ass that I'll be training the next bartender from scratch, and I'll be their training wheels for as long as it takes; I'm not going thru this crap again. Until then, I'm enjoying the quiet.
Happy Molding
27 October 2007
The Bestest is Yet to Come
Oh me, oh my - there is sooo much to tell you. I'm drop-dead tired right now, but here's what we've got coming up in the next week :)
The single most white-trash wedding reception in the history of the world
The famed Frosting Fight of '07
An absolutely amazing group from LM who are welcome back in my banquet rooms any day
A truly great customer - yes, you, Grey Goose & Cranberry
The let-me-quit-before-you-fire-me asshat and what I did to provoke it (unintentionally, I assure you)
My F&B Manager who thinks I have slighted her on my blog
and
How not to be an utter effstick at the bar
Doesn't that sound like fun, boys and girls? I'm finally back to my regularly scheduled programming, so I'll have plenty of time to write in the next week. Until then, keep it tuned to the same Big Deal time, same Big Deal station :)
Happy Snoozing
The single most white-trash wedding reception in the history of the world
The famed Frosting Fight of '07
An absolutely amazing group from LM who are welcome back in my banquet rooms any day
A truly great customer - yes, you, Grey Goose & Cranberry
The let-me-quit-before-you-fire-me asshat and what I did to provoke it (unintentionally, I assure you)
My F&B Manager who thinks I have slighted her on my blog
and
How not to be an utter effstick at the bar
Doesn't that sound like fun, boys and girls? I'm finally back to my regularly scheduled programming, so I'll have plenty of time to write in the next week. Until then, keep it tuned to the same Big Deal time, same Big Deal station :)
Happy Snoozing
21 October 2007
Oh Holy Poopstick.
I'll not be posting much this week because I'm working triples - yes, you heard me, TRIPLES.
That is from 6am to about 11pm all week, with a few hour breaks throughout the day. It doesn't sound so bad, and I'm making boucoup bucks, but I have two small children to care for and keep up with at the same time, so it is wearing me a little thin.
On the upside, I'm harvesting post ideas like cotton on the side of the road, so I have lots to say after I get some sleep this weekend.
On a totally unrelated note, I saw my first prostitute. How cool is that?
Happy Boinking
That is from 6am to about 11pm all week, with a few hour breaks throughout the day. It doesn't sound so bad, and I'm making boucoup bucks, but I have two small children to care for and keep up with at the same time, so it is wearing me a little thin.
On the upside, I'm harvesting post ideas like cotton on the side of the road, so I have lots to say after I get some sleep this weekend.
On a totally unrelated note, I saw my first prostitute. How cool is that?
Happy Boinking
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