More Work, Less Pay

Business has slowed so dramatically at Sports Bar that I am left wondering if I will be able to afford my apartment, let alone things like food. I'm sure the story is the same everywhere, but I am seriously thinking about seeking employment elsewhere.
Monday I made a whopping $11 on the lunch shift. Because business is so bad the bosses have been cutting hours. The SA doesn't work Mondays anymore and as soon as lunch hours are over I am free to go. This works well for me as I have more time for homework and am freed from tipping anyone out.
Tuesday the SA didn't show up for work or call. Wednesday was the same story. I fear we have lost Ramon. This doesn't really present a problem with the bussing of tables as I am perfectly capable of doing this myself. The problem appears in the other duties our SA performs. The bar isn't being stocked, the floors are unswept, the dishes unwashed, and bustubs overflowing. I'm not sure that they will be filling the position since it is so slow. My job description is about to expand.
Yesterday morning was an indication of things to come. When I arrived at work I had to take all the chairs down from the table, roll silverware, set up the bar (my bartender was late), and not only put the specials in the menus, but actually type them out on the office computer. After an hour the place was finally set up (45 minutes after we opened).
I had more tables than I had Monday or Tuesday, but they came in one at a time. I would receive one table and, upon cashing them out, would receive another. I ended up staying at work until 5 and making less than $10 an hour,including my hourly. Beyond frustrated, I apologized to my bartender for being so crabby.
Today,in an attempt to make the day go better, I will be taking my own bustubs to the back of the house and washing my own dishes. It's not right that my cook would have to do this, I might as well help out. Besides, with business the way it is it will atleast provide something to keep me busy. The bartender working today has been complaining that she is getting sick so I will offer to send her home and complete her shift. If I have to stay past the lunch hours I atleast want to be doing more than caring for one table at a time!
I'm heading in early today so I can finish setting up by the time we open. It's going to be a long day.

No Waitress Necessary

Friday was fairly slow at Sports Bar. The economy is killing business and good tips. A new trend I have noticed is business guys tipping less than 10%. This happened with several tables this week. I could spot them when they sat because they made jokes about the stock market crash asking what our "crash specials" were and then ordering the cheapest thing they could from the bar and the most expensive menu items.
Being as slow as it was, by 8 pm I was starting to get tired. Knowing I had 6 hours left I made some coffee and drank a few cups quickly to get a quick energy boost. Then it happened; something that I would try to keep from bothering me for the rest of the night, but would still sting when I woke up in the morning.

I look at the clock with dread. It's only 8:30 and Sports Bar is dead. So much for Friday night.
"This is one sucky Friday night." I say to my bartender. She looks up from her cell phone and laughs.
"Yeah,so much for making good money tonight."
She turns away to help some thirsty customers and Red Shirt Guy walks up behind me. Red Shirt Guy is friends with one of our beloved regulars. A sweet guy who stays for many hours on Fridays, I have often given TJ a ride home from the bar so he can leave his car. We always go through a drive through and he buys me dinner before I drop him off. He is one of the few bar regulars that, when sitting at a table, allows me to serve him, waits for me rather than going directly to the bar, and tips me the same as the bartenders. Tonight TJ and Red Shirt Guy are sitting at a small table right next to the bar and are going to the bartender for service. This doesn't bother me since it is a table the bar regulars usually spill over to and I rarely serve anyone that sits there. Their choice, not mine, but I have accepted it.
"Tell Stacy there are no paper towels in the men's room." Red Shirt says.
"Why tell Stacy?" I turn to him confused. She can't change the towels in the men's room.
"Because I don't know who else to tell."
"Oh. Well you just told me." I replied amused by the guy.
"Well tell her for me so she can take care of it. She's the bartender."
"She can't take care of that, but I'll tell someone." I'm less amused.
"Just tell her. She's the bartender. She's the most important person here. F**k the cooks and the managers. They don't do anything." Red Shirt says with the tone of an ass.
"What about the server?" I ask with a little smile, hoping to turn the conversation around.
Red Shirt looks at me with something resembling agitation. "People can serve themselves. You don't need a server."
"OK. Well that's nice." I say as I turn to find my SA to refill the paper towels in the men's room.
About an hour later I am talking to the bartender and standing in my usual spot next to the opening for the bar. Red Shirt walks up and pushes past me to get behind the bar. He stands next to Stacy with a menu in his hand.
"I wanted to order food but I guess I have to talk to the waitress." He says with not so much as a glance my direction.
I am amazed at this guy. What the hell is his problem? He places his order with the bar and goes back to the table. I want to tell TJ what an ass his friend is, that he's being rude...but I don't. It eats at me for the rest of the night. My manager asks me what's wrong at one point. When I tell him his only response is not to let jerks like that get to me. I know this. I know it's silly, but there are so many reasons why it does bother me.
The economy stinks right now. Tips are down in general, customers are coming in less. My wallet is taking a hard hit. It's more than that though. There is a bar nearby that cut all their servers. They only run bartenders and let the customers go to the bar to get their own drinks and order food. This scares me. What if Sports Bar does the same thing or decides that they don't need a server on the slower lunch shifts? Good for my bartenders, terrible for me.
Another reason Red Shirt's comments bothered me so much is because of the dynamic of the bar. The bartenders serve the same amount to half the customers a server does. They make two to three times the money. The bartenders at Sports Bar have little to no "sidework" at the end of the night. The put the fruit back in the cooler and the spill mats by the sink for the barback to clean. A server is in charge of the silverware, replacing the specials in the menu, the specials board at the door, the salad station, setting the tables, and refilling condiments among other things.
To hear from someone, even a complete ass, that my job is unnecessary is hurtful. I already get the short end of the stick and to hear someone say what I already know so many bar patrons think sucks. It just sucks.

Sports

Just a short rant I need to get out.
Working at a sports bar during the playoffs really sucks. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that both Chicago teams made it to the playoffs, but my work schedule is now screwed.
Two weeks ago I made a doctors appointment for tomorrow afternoon. This is not normally a problem as I leave work at 3. Now there is a Sox playoff game at 1:20 tommorow afternoon and I have to reschedule the appointment. Since I don't know what the playoff schedule is for next week I can't reschedule until I do, but the office has a two week wait for appointments. Looks like no doctor for me until the playoffs are over.
I also have an unimaginable amount of homework, am moving on Saturday, and have been asked to work that night since there is another playoff game then. Being that Sports Bar has a total of three servers I can't get anyone to cover my shift or come in early so I can keep my appointment or not have to work Saturday.
With both the Sox and the Cubs in the playoffs I stand to make good money over the next month. This is a good thing as this is the time of year business starts to drop off. I am thankful for that, but today, I hate baseball.

Pick up artists

I have seen many posts on this issue, but what the hell. Here’s my two cents.
Hitting on the waitress.
I’ll start off with my theory on why this is so common.
I have been in the industry and out on the town enough to have observed many instances of guys hitting on the waitress, but not on, say a group of single women sitting at the table next to them. Why is this? I believe it’s because the waitress seems “available” simply by the nature of her job. She is friendly and keeps coming back to talk to you. She offers something many men are looking for; the desire to please. Most forget that this is her job. My brother says that guys hit on the waitress or bartender because that's "just what you do" when you go out with the guys.
I have the odd “luck” of getting hit on by guys frequenting the bar. They are not sitting at tables and therefore are not tipping me. Since they are customers of the bartender that cuts down on my obligation to be…”available”. Some may say that is a bad attitude to have, but I am there to make money. It’s not that I am unfriendly, simply that the conversations are awkward and forced. Also, they have been drinking at the bar for some time before approaching me so the combination of tipsy or buzzed patron and tired sober waitress does not make for good conversation. Also, and most importantly, I strongly feel that it is a bad idea to get involved with customers.
That being said, here are two examples of the guy you do not want to be at the bar.

A few years ago I worked at a bar whose main customer base was 20-something college students and corporate types. To place a drink order for a table the server had to stand at the server station at one end of the bar and wait for a bartender to come over. The server station was set up with a stack of trays, garnishes for drinks, straws, and coasters. It was obviously not the place to sit if you were a customer. It was located at the narrow end of the bar so there was no customer seating directly next to it.
There was a guy named Tim that would come in on the nights I worked and stand next to the server station at the bar so he could talk to me while I waited for drinks. This was distracting and intrusive. He probably thought he was being smooth or something by standing where he knew I would have to talk to him. Problem was I would often come across as rude because I was trying to work. I would interrupt the one sided conversation to order my drinks from the bar and when they were ready I would take them out. At first I would apologize and excuse myself, but eventually it got old and I would half ignore him. I figured he would understand that I was there working. Guess not because this continued for weeks. He asked me out a few times until I finally told him I had a boyfriend and pointed to one of the largest doormen employed at the place. I tried to reject him nicely but some people just don’t get it.

More recently…these both happened on Friday nights at Sports Bar. My bartender and I have an agreement that I fill my own drink orders and do not have to tip her out at the end of the night.
It’s been a busy night but is just starting to wind down. I’m behind the bar filling a drink order for one of my remaining tables when a guy at the bar started calling my name.
I look up to see what he wants.
“When you have a minute I want to talk to you.”
“OK,” I say a little apprehensively.” You can talk to me while I get these drinks.”
“When you have a minute I have a question for you.”
Is this guy hard of hearing or just dumb?
“OK, well I have a minute now while I make these drinks. What do you want to ask me?”
“I want to ask about your tattoos.” He says as he leans across the bar and reaches for my arm.
I take a step so I’m out of reach.” What about them?”
He leans even further and grabs my arm. With his other hand he starts rubbing the tattoo on my upper arm. I step back and pull my arm from his grasp.
“What’s your question?”
He asks where I got them and what they mean. I sigh and give him the scripted answer I give everyone specifically designed to discourage further questions. As I grab the drinks I have finished making he asks me to come back when I have a minute.
I tell him when I have time and make a mental note to look busy for the rest of the night. I still have 3 hours to go. A while later I am serving a table of regulars on the patio and see the Bar Guy sitting with them. I know he’s not friends with any of the people at my table so I pull aside one Daniel, one of the regulars.
“Did he just wander out here?” I ask.
“Yup. Don’t know why but he’s staring at you. He’s kinda creepy.” Daniel says as he glances over at Bar Guy.
Daniel returns to the table and I ask if anyone needs anything.
“I need you to talk to me when you have a minute.”
Will this guy ever quit?
“OK, but I am busy right now. Maybe when I have a minute I’ll find you.”
I walk inside to the POS. As I’m entering the order Bar Guy comes in and walks up to me.
“Listen, I just want to talk to you for a minute. Why won’t you talk to me?”
“I’m sorry, but you do understand that I am at work right? My table just ordered something so I have to go get it now.” I look him in the eye as I speak, wait several seconds, then walk away.
With an hour to go until close I start closing side work. Since the kitchen is closed I start with the specials board. I am kneeling on the floor by the board when I see someone walk up next to me. Bar Guy.
“Hey, looks like you have a minute now.”
“I guess.”
“Listen, I am just trying to talk to you, get to know you. Maybe ask you out. Do you want to get dinner sometime? You’re really pretty.”
I put down the marker I am using, prop myself up with one hand and lean back slightly to look up at him.
“OK, to be honest with you, I work here full time and I go to school full time. I barely have time for myself let alone to date. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not interested.” I pick up the marker and continue to write the weekend’s specials on the board.
“Hey, I understand but I’m just asking for dinner, maybe coffee. Not too much of your time. You can’t be too busy for that.”
“I appreciate the complements and the offer, but really I’m not interested.” I say without looking at him.
“I’m just saying, I’m a man, you’re a woman. You have needs. I get that and I can help you.”
At this I stand up and walk away. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m not interested.” I say as I walk away.
He goes back to the bar and stares at me for the rest of the night. He asks the bartender to call him a cab and calls my name again. I ask him to hang on a minute and go outside to check on my table. I hang out and talk to them for a while trying to kill time and waiting for his cab to get there. When I see it pull up I go inside and tell the bartender. I slip into the kitchen before he can say anything else.

I am not going to give any advice about the proper way to pick up your waitress of bartender. It’s almost always not a good idea and I am biased. I am not a fan. I know some people consider it “part of the job” but there is a line. Just be careful not to cross it. I guess I’ll leave it at that.

More Feta

I’ve been at work for an hour and a half and my first table is walking out the door; a pair of guys clad in casual dress office apparel straight out of the GAP catalogue. Upon taking their drink order I was surprised that one ordered a draft. As they walked past the front register where my manager was standing I overheard them ask “Do we pay here? We just left it on the table.”

“On the table’s fine guys. Thanks.” My manager says barely glancing up from the paperwork in front of him. He always decides to do paperwork on the counter next to the register instead of on the office. I’d better go get the money off the table I think. I seriously dislike when people just leave cash on the table.

I walked out on the patio to collect. My busboy, SA from here on, Ramon, was already cleaning the table. Under the mustard I spotted the check and cash. I picked up $21 and walked inside. Pulling the check to the top of the pile I stopped dead in my tracks.

Total: $22.18

Cash in hand: $21

Shit. My first table of the day and they didn’t even leave enough to cover the bill. I turned around and walked back outside. I searched the patio, table, condiment caddy, and even surveyed the area around the patio hoping some of the cash had drifted off in the wind. There was barely a breeze and no rouge bills to be found.

I walked back in and handed the check and cash to my manager. “They didn’t leave enough to cover the bill. They shorted me.”

He studied the check, counted the cash, and then studied the check again. I had new tables being seated and work to do. “If you could take the soda off the bill then what they left would be enough. Can you do that? It was my first table of the day and I don’t care about the tip, I just don’t want to have to pay the difference.”

Thankfully he felt bad and agreed.

Shortly after the mathematically inhibited GAP guys left, I figured I could easily make up the lost tip on a table of regulars just finishing their meal. For the first time in 3 months we had the woman’s favorite soup. I approached the table.

“Can I get anything else for you this afternoon?”

“No. That soup is so wonderful. You should make it every week” stated the woman. I was hoping she’d say that.

“It is wonderful. Would you like to take some home with you? They don’t make it very often and I’m not sure when we’ll have it next.”

“Oh, what a wonderful idea! If you can do a quart I’ll take that.” Her eyes glowing. She reminded me of my dog when I had a treat in my hand.

“We don’t usually sell soup by the quart but I’m sure we can do that. I’ll be right back.”

I hustled into the back and told my head cook, Hector, I needed a quart of soup. He found a container to put it in and told me to charge for 7 cups of soup. After packing the soup nicely for her I talked my boss into letting me charge her a bit less.

I brought out her soup and ran the husband’s card for the tab. $54 up from $46. I know I gave them good service so I was anticipating the tip would reflect that.

$7 like always. So much for that.

Around the time I usually leave, 3, a table sat in the bar area. A table of regulars that usually sit at the bar. The problem with bar regulars sitting at tables is they will place orders with the bartenders directly if their waitress is not there the second they desire something. This means that whatever they end up tipping their waitress must be split with the bar separately from the tip out at the end of the night. Also, waitresses get tipped less than bartenders as a rule. Unfortunate but true. At the Sports Bar I know what the regulars tip the bartenders, especially when they charge. I process all charges for the bartenders and their tips from charge tabs.

The bar regulars order a water, a sprite, an iced tea, and “light vodka and iced tea with lemon.”

As I deliver their drinks I ask if they would like to order.

“Oh, we’ll be here for a while honey. Not yet.”

At least I brought some homework with me this morning.

As I take care of the bar regulars a couple moves from the bar to the patio without letting anyone know. I decided to let them come in and get their own drinks from the bar. I’ve served them before and they have never tipped me. I notice they are leaving the bartender $2 a round. At least she’s making some money off them.

The bar regulars close out with me at 4:30 and leave half the tip they would have left the bar. At 4:33, two ladies walk in dressed in skirt suit combos and carrying those super corporate leather trapper keepers, unzipped with papers peeking out at every angle. They walk up to the bar with cell phones in hand and looking so very important.

“What can I get for you ladies this afternoon?” Jen asks.

“We need menus. Menus.”

When Jen returns with the menus they have new demands.

“I want a chardonnay on the rocks. You know how to do that?”

“Yes, I think so.” Jen replies with a little bite in her voice.

“I want black cherry vodka and iced tea with a lime. Not a lemon, a lime.”

“Sure thing ladies.”

When they receive their drinks they seat themselves at a table.

Great. I stall greeting them.

After a few minutes they walk out to the patio. Their drinks are almost empty so I decide to go out back and have a cigarette, of course. As I smoke I wonder what I did to piss off the restaurant gods today. I take a long, deep last drag of my smoke before snuffing it out and walking dejectedly back inside.

Walking outside with my best fake smile I greet the ladies and ask if they are ready to order. They are, of course, not ready.

Before ordering they both spend 20 minutes talking importantly on their cell phones. Their eventually order? One Greek salad. At least I don’t have to wait for the kitchen to make anything. I take time to make a nice looking salad and even throw on a little extra feta and Greek olives. I deliver the salad and another iced tea cocktail. Now they need another wine on the rocks.

“Jen, what did that lady have in her chardonnay? Lemons?”

“Nothing. The other had lime in hers.”

“Well she has something now.” Wonder where she got the lemon wedges.

As I deliver the wine I notice they are large slices of lemon. The bar cuts their lemons in tiny triangles. She must have helped herself to lemons from my drink station. Lovely.

“Can I have some more feta? There was only, like, two pieces in this salad.”
“Sure.” There was definitely more than two pieces in the salad. I made it myself. I should know.

I ring in $1.00 misc food on her tab and bring out the feta.

I know she’ll be unhappy about the charge, but I am positive I am not getting a tip from them before I leave and I won’t be here when she gets her check.

When my relief waitress arrives I give her a heads up on the charge. She giggles and says she can’t wait to give them their check and claim ignorance.

Text Message Breakup

I know they say good help is hard to find. The last few months that has proven true at my bar.
The Sports Bar is a small beer and shot place with a separate dining area for lunch and dinner patrons as well as the late night underage crowd. The bar area has seating as well. All together the dining room consists of 21 tables ranging from 2 to 6 tops. The bar area has 10 tables, and when the weather is nice there is a patio with 8 tables. There are no sections, no rotated seating, and no hostess. On any given shift there is only one server working the floor. This is one of the reasons I applied for a job at the Bar.
I had been working at a place that had no less than 3 servers working at a time. Most nights we were fighting over tables. There were sections that were unfair and assigned (some sections had over 10 tables, including a "party table" seating 20, while some had 5 tables consisting of only 2 and 4 tops) and customers were asked to seat themselves. There were nights when one server would have no tables and another would be in the weeds with their entire section full.
Most servers are coming from places with sections and multiple servers. In fact, I have never been to another place with only one server working the entire floor unless someone called in sick or quit. It can be difficult and overwhelming at first, but when you count your take home at the end of the night you realize it is totally worth it. I have made one third of my rent on a lunch shift, and my entire rent in 2 weekend shifts. I love this aspect of my job.
At the beginning of the summer we fired the only other server the Sports Bar had (yes, there were only two servers). One of the bartenders picked up two of the shifts while we looked for a replacement. We hired 2 new girls about 3 weeks later. I trained both of them on the second half of doubles and their first nights with me were Friday night, our busiest night by far. After training both girls a few times, the first worked her first shift and called to quit the next morning. The second never showed up after training (there is a story on this but I will tell it later). We were able to hire another girl who worked all summer until she went back to school.
After she left we hired two more girls, both part time. One is OK, Katie, the other...
In the middle of the lunch shift I received a text asking if I could work Katie's shift that night. I told her I was sorry I couldn't but gave her the number or the other server and a bartender that sometimes covers serving shifts. As the lunch crowd began to thin out I received another text from Katie. "I hate 2 do this but i can't get no one and its 2 much stress have them mail my check i quit" I replied telling her to call the boss. She sent me another text saying she was not going to call. Great. Now I was left with the unpleasant task of telling the boss that the server that was supposed to be there in 4 hours was not coming in ever again.
Who quits their job by texting a coworker?
I ended up staying at work past the point of making it to class.

Rainy Day at Work

Friday night at work I was extremely busy. I was walking quickly from tables to the bar and back. It was wet outside and inevitably water was streaked all over the floor. Sometime around 10pm I was delivering a bottle of beer to a table of men and slipped on some water. I landed gracefully in a sitting position with my legs curved slightly. My knee took the weight of the fall. The men at my table all freaked out asking if I was OK. I found out later they all had daughters. I assured them I was and cracked a joke to break the tension. Some of the beer had splashed on the guy sitting closest to where I fell. As I was apologising to him, my manager came over and asked if I spilled beer on the guy. He said it wasn't that bad and that he was fine. The rest of the table told my manager I had slipped but he didn't seem to care about that. He apologized for me spilling beer on the guy and told me to bring another one to him on the house. His reaction to mewas very cold and not the least concerned. I was a bit surprised at this. Not only did he not care that I could have been hurt on the job at his place of business, but he reacted like I was clumsy for spilling on the customer (which was a minimal spill at most). I wish my other manager would come back to Friday nights.