I can count on it

One thing I always liked about waiting tables was the randomness, the aspect of daily change. You saw different people every day, you were an anonymous server. I don't have that at my current job. I can see almost exactly how today will play out. During the lunch shift I will see the same people; the guy who has one Honeyweiss and then water, the guy that always orders wings and never requires me to even check back, the two ladies with iced teas that always order a dinner special for lunch and then sit for 2 hours talking. After 4 there will be the usual after work guys, the MDG 64 in a bucket to keep it cold, two Coors bottles at a time because he drinks so fast, and the couple that will drink a pitcher, then order their dinner and another pitcher. At night I will have some dinner tables and my group of 25 at 10:30. When they leave I will have nothing for the remainder of the night and will probably get off work at last call.
There is no change, no anonymous serving. I miss this. It becomes tedious and boring when there is no change in the daily schedule. Maybe if I started working somewhere else I would miss the structure and reliability of the Bar, but today I miss randomness and change.

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.