The Type of Customer: Part One

When we first opened the restaurant in my town, there was alot of talk about "Fine Dining" and how NOT to greet tables saying "Hey Guys." I suppose in an attempt to dumb down the cheesyness of having such a blatant themed restaurant, they wanted to remind the more upstanding members of society that it was ok to eat there.

However, I think there was a severe underestimation of the general populace of the town I live in. Those that don't study, work at the university teaching those of us that study or work for high powered law firms and property corporations and have migrated to the prettier northern suburbs- make up the "townie" proportion of where I live. And townies aren't the most pleasant calibre of person. Unfortunately giant servings of ribs slathered in barbeque sauce and the possibility of dripping cheese on anything edible is just the thing for the average townie.

Hence the introduction of my first typical customer... The "Rat-Tail"...

The "Rat-Tail"

I have seen more rat-tails (the sacred cousin of the mullet) enter the restaurant than any other stereotype of customer. Often they come in little families, the rat-tail clad kids, "Jayden's", "Brandon's", the "Skye's" of the world... obnoxious and rude, playing those new GameBoy things, stealing each others food, poking holes in their plastic kids cups so you have to make yet another excruciating trip back to the kitchen. The dad's usually have more impressive rat-tails and sport some kind of oversized tee-shirt with an old American basketball team symbol on the front and the mother's are usually drinking bourbon and coke... unless they're pregnant. They crack jokes that aren't funny and make you run around like crazy, often staggering their orders (any customers who read this: beware, staggering orders will make a waiter go wild), "Can I get some tomato sauce please?", when you return with the tomato sauce, "And can we have two kids cokes again.", when you return with the kids cokes "And I'll get another bourbon and coke." When you return with the bourbon and coke, "Oh and Kayleb will have another beer." The multiple trips, the absence of a tip and the general charm of these folk makes me avoid serving their tables at all costs, if possible.

The "Yuppie"

Generally late twenties to early thirties, the yuppies dress to the nines when they come out to dinner... usually they'll be on a double date and they rack up bills that rival my own fortnightly income. Having said that- chances of getting a tip are fifty/fifty and the men behave as though they capped off a lucrative property deal with three lines of cocaine and a bottle of whiskey, just prior to coming to dinner. Still... some of them are nice.

The Loner

Occaisionally we get people coming in by themselves. Sitting at the bar, this isn't a really big deal, we have a huge television which shows any kind of sport you could wish for and generally they get their social fix from any of our friendly barstaff. But there are a few wierd ones. One lady is renowned for coming in by herself and ordering the same meal everytime. It's as though she spends her life in a coma and randomly wakes up craving this dish because there is no consistensy to her visits. One time she rocked up at 11pm on a monday night, we actually had to unlock the door to let her in, we had all the chairs up, the lights on and the music off and she failed to recognise that we were closed, proceeded to shake her way over to the counter and stammer "Table for One Please." It broke me a little having to explain- twice- that the kitchen had actually packed everything away and it was physically impossible to cook anything at this hour.
Then there's the lady who came in by herself on her birthday and ate about as much as I would eat over the period of two days. I felt so bad for her I went to extra effort to write "Happy Birthday" on her desert and then came out with a candle on top ready to make her day and she was absent from the table- which only highlighted the fact that she was alone to the surrounding tables who had seen me excitedly preparing her surprise.

More on the way!

Found this awesome "Smurf-Rat" somewhere online.

second hiatus

As a result of limited internet access, and placing "getting messed up" as a priority for my spare time, it has been quite some time since I last blogged, but in an attempt to get my life back on track, I am investing time in healthier ventures. So I'm getting back into the confessions again.

Alot has changed, the Christmas rush has come and gone, the most amazing manager in the world has come and gone and the creepiest man in the world has taken his place (but not yet gone, unfortunately). We experienced a mutinty of about eight staff members in December, and have had an influx of new wacky and wonderful servers. My boss doesn't bother hiding how demonic she is anymore which kind of sucks because when it comes to people in authority we have only her, a creepy red-haired borderline paedophile who cracks obnoxious jokes and calls us "hunny", and a lovely southerner who, as motherly and adorable as she is.... clearly does not understand the intricacies of "hospitality".

So as horrible as it can be, it makes for interesting nights at work!

J

I'm hating my job enough again to return to the blogosphere

It's been a bit of a hiatus... ok a MASSIVE hiatus.

I began to feel like I was simply writing the obvious. And to be honest, after a while... I felt like I was repeating myself.

But after a horrible shift two nights ago, I realise I desperately need this blog to GET IT OUT of my system.

I have been working in the bar by myself a bit lately which is a pretty sweet gig seeing as I don't have to deal with the angry kitchen staff, being triple sat by hosts and taking obnoxious orders. And its generally quiet so I can just mosey around wiping stuff and pouring beers.

We have these regular guys who come in every week or so, they watch American football on the tv and they eat their meals at the bar, they get to know my name and chat to me as I work and they tip pretty well. They usually order shiteloads of alcohol and come in late which is a bit of a drag... but whatever, they are cute and nice and I don't mind.

Anyway, after their most recent visit I completely forgot to charge them for a SEVERE amount of alcohol I had served to them. Something like 5 margharitas... which is about ten shots of alcohol... and about $50 I lost for the restaurant. It was a stupid mistake, a really stupid one... but I completely forgot to do it seeing as they ordered right as I got hit by a bunch of other orders from servers and ran out of tequila AND had to get everything out of the fridge I had packed away.

This was after I had spent about two hours on my hands and knees bleaching the walls of the bar (clearly something that hadn't occured for a while seeing as there was about a two centimetre thick layer of mould and god knows what else that had accumulated on these walls.) They were extremely hard to reach, Im pretty sure I bleached my entire uniform in the process and did permanent damage to my eyes. And scrubbing the wall behind the sink was possibly one of the most disgusting jobs I have ever done, second only to scrubbing out the wheely bins at the coffee shop where I used to work.

I was very happy to clock off and get out of there until my boss... the owner of the whole place noticed that there were no margharitas on the bill.

I have always been in the good books at work and when people complain about my boss being satan's spawn, I never really have had a reason to agree.

Now I do. I'm quite sure as she spat the words-
"Thats unacceptable... that really is... don't let it happen again or you WONT be on bar."
Steam actually came out of her ears. Her lips were so thin they were non-existent. I think I may have even seen horns protruding from her head... I'm not sure, it all happened very fast.

It was a mistake, I am an idiot... I am aware of this but jeez I have been there for fourteen months and its the first time I have ever costed that place money. Its the first time I have made a mistake that required her to morph into her soulless alter-ego, and considering how many freaking shifts I take for her, how many holidays and oppurtunities to see my family I have sacrified for her and how rarely I screw up (and this is a casual job remember, I am at university and do not want to pursue a career in hospitality) I felt like the possibility of cutting me a bit of slack may have been in order.

I left the place a crumbled shadow of my former self, recalling the primary school days when teachers would reprimand me publicly and I would feel myself going bright red, my throat tightening up and tears start welling in the corner of my eyes. The following night at work she was back to normal, being nicer than usual even, but its too late.. the damage is done. I am now petrified of her and if she blows up at me like that again, I may just quit... which isn't wise seeing as I am a poor student... but I can't handle being spoken to like that... if it was a regular thing I think it would honestly break me.

It seems to have blown over but I have nonetheless learnt a valuable lesson:

The restaurant industry turns people into demons. They come into the place with passion, energy and vision and slowly, over time, they become twisted and bitter and short-fused. They think mistakes that revolved around steaks and salads are catastrophic and that the perpetrators of these errors have committed some crime against humanity and deserve to be spoken to like their existence is a waste of time.
Maybe it's because I'm an idealist... maybe it's because I study the stuff, but I just think such vicious anger, laced with personal attacks and passive agression (in my boss's case) should be reserved for slightly more serious issues, like second degree murder, genocide, credit card fraud... whatever. Just not in the kitchen.

J

The Blame Game

So I've been doing a few bartending shifts lately, as a result of there being maybe five trained bartenders where I work (not enough at all).

It's been good, mistakes usually have less severe consequences... making cocktails is fun and it's something different from the norm.

However, the one thing I have learnt in the whole two shifts I have done is that the bartenders cop it.

The dish guys might complain about their job, but they get a free feed and we get yelled at for stacking dishes incorrectly. Kitchen staff usually do the yelling. Hosts admittedly cop it a fair bit, but that's usually because they are within a metre radius of the server when they find out they got quadruple sat and someone unfortunately ends up bearing the brunt of the frustration.

But bartenders really cop it. They get blamed for all the mistakes, they get blamed if drinks take a while (even though serving customers at the bar is a clearly stated priority so there is not much you can do if five guys want to order beers when you are after your Daquiri), they get blamed for takeaway orders not getting paid for (which is usually a simple communication problem), they get blamed for glasses being dirty, drinks not being alcoholic enough and beers having too much head on them (pouring New into a frozen glass is ridiculously difficult to do). They get blamed for everything.

I know I make mistakes... we all do, so that's why when something goes wrong I would rather fix the problem straight away than spend ten minutes trying to find someone to pin the problem on.

Maybe its because the servers see bartenders in an enclosed space with no way to escape or because it appears that they are cruising around doing nothing while servers are getting smashed, but if another server gives me attitude because I didn't abandon the man sitting at the bar to pour their orange juice I will flip.

I think it is an example of a much bigger problem in the hospitality industry... this incessant need to make someone burn when something goes wrong. Not only does demanding retribution waste the time you could have used to rectify the situation, but it makes the recipient mad. And anger is like a virus, it spreads to everyone. Before you know it, everyone is pissed off, nobody is willing to help each other and it makes it so much harder to get the job done.

I myself have mouthed off openly when someone messes up and makes my life more difficult. But working behind the bar has demonstrated that a) EVERYONE makes mistakes and thus nobody has the right to go around swearing and yelling about something they'll probably do next week and b) usually there is a reason you're drink hasn't been made and its usually not the bartenders fault.

Before you assume that it's my incompetence that is preventing you from getting your drink made on time just consider that there's actually a reason behind it. And hey, at the end of the day, shit happens and sometimes there is just nobody to blame.

A disgruntled employee.

J

arrogant customers

I have been training on the bar for the last couple of weeks so it's been a while since my last blog.
Being on bar has so far been uneventful mainly because I've been on quiet nights and seeing as I'm new to everything, I have remained super cautious. But I probably will have a disaster story prepared after Friday night, my first "real" bar shift, and one of the two busiest nights of the week. Blending cocktails without the blender's lid securely in place? Could happen. Breaking wine glasses from shoving the dishwashing tray into the machine to fiercely? Could happen. I'll keep you posted.

I did pick up a server shift this week though (I must have been momentarily drunk or something to agree picking up a fifth shift this week when I have exams around the corner) on Monday. Being the Queens Birthday we opened during lunch. I rolled up hungover and tired, hoping that the equally hungover folk of where I live (you see all ages out the night before a public holiday... and I mean all ages) would assume everything was going to be closed. I was wrong.

We were reasonably busy, and by reasonably I mean, it might rival a sunday lunch or a thursday night or something, so nothing we couldn't handle. But one table I had to deal with made me loose my nut on what would otherwise have been a successful shift.

We have this regular that comes in about monthly. I always end up serving him and I don't enjoy it. He usually comes in with one or more arrogant rich, but stupid friends. They are the kind of guys that call their mates "gay" or "pussy" for not ordering a steak. They get drunk and rowdy, order craploads of food and talk over booths to other tables and whenever I ask a question they respond with some sort of wisecrack that I usually fail to recognise as a joke because I am usually too swamped to even care. So this guy, we call him "corona guy" came in with three people I didnt recognise. First of all they had to wait for ages to get service because a payment took about fifteen minutes for me to take because of the stupid eftpos machines and I had three other tables demanding my attention. Not really my fault. So I tried to make everything perfect for them so I wouldn't have to deal with this guys crap.

I took all their order and asked corona guy what he would like to drink by saying "Are you going to order another drink mate?" I tend to pick and choose who I call "mate" and who I call "sir" based on their appearance, company and the way they talk to me. This guy wears a hoodie and regularly drops the c-bomb. He was most certainly not a "sir". So I called him "mate" and that really got him going. Everytime I asked a question it was "Ohh maaattteeee... I'll have a diet coke maaaattttteeee" in a really biting, sarcastic tone. I wanted to run away from the table then and there. I had been nothing but polite and he already took a jab at me.

Everything was going smoothly until their steaks came out. I could go into the details of what caused this massive earth shattering screw up, but we would be here forever. Basically the kitchen manager, "Sam" gave me pretty much the entirely wrong meal in the wrong order. Not only did the two guys who ordered filets get cheap shitty sirloins, but everything was either undercooked or overcooked. It was horrendous. And I knew I was going to cop it... even though it wasn't my fault. It was horrible. My manager forced me to run the food, check on the food and apologise for the mistake. So I had to go back to this table, the table where the guy had been having a go at me all day long, three times. All the while this was happening, my other tables were being ignored. One of my tables who had the bill even left, and seeing as I couldn't take the payment (because I was trying to make sense of this massive screw up in the kitchen) I had no idea where the $250 they owed me had gone. It was a shitty shitty day.

Sam the kitchen manager thought it was funny that I was so stressed out. So next time two arrongant customers get served up well done sirloins instead of the medium filets they asked for. I am going to make personally leave the kitchen and explain to the table why there was a mistake. And next time the guy comes in I am not going to serve him. And if I drop his food off at the table and he asks for anything, even if its tomato sauce... I'm just going to "forget about" it. I know its not much, but its my way of protesting.

I just really wanted to vent.

J

BEDLAM

I entered my Friday night close shift with a feeling of dread expecting to be polishing cutlery until one am and having a ten minute period of insanity after absorbing other server's sections (we usually get bombarded when people start going home). But it ended up being a relatively successful shift. Unfortunately the same cannot be said about the kitchen staff.

The kitchen manager, for the purposes of this blog we'll call him... Sam, was not in a happy place last night. Delegated to expo to free up the Front of House manager, he had to endure his kitchen staff taking forever and screwing everything up without being able to do a thing about it. I understand... frustrating. But still... not really Front of House's fault.

To highlight the level of tension, here is just one isolated incident that occured throughout the evening;

I needed two pumpkin soups to go out with two loafs of garlic bread. I am never entirely sure how the system works as one of the pumpkin soups was part of a steak deal and the other was simply sent through as an entree. Turns out they came out separately.

So I went over to the Cold Side guy and asked simply
"Can I grab that other cup of soup now please?"

And he said yes and it took him about five minutes to produce it. However, he gave me what looked like a cup of potato soup (it had chives, cheese and bacon on top, typical garnish for a potato soup)

So I was confused for two reasons: a) why did he give me potato soup when I asked for pumplin? and b) where the hell did he get the potato soup from when we were serving pumpkin tonight?

I told him I needed pumpkin. He was confused as he was looking at another ticket so I just told him I lost the ticket but I needed it urgently (which was kind of true... I just couldn't be bothered explaining the situation).

As I pull the pumpkin soup out of the window I say, simply asking a question that was entirely inconsequential, "Oh... are we serving potato soup now?"

MISTAKE. Sam's brother (who was now on expo so that Sam could kick the kitchen into gear) heard this and came over towards me to resolve the situation.

The Cold Side guy had no idea why I even asked this question and said "Onion... do you need onion soup?". Turns out we had now started serving onion soup as well. Sam heard this and came over to the Cold Side guy to figure out what the problem was. I was still confused as to why he had produced a potato soup earlier, but I noticed that three men had now walked over to where I was standing trying to resolve a situation that didn't even need resolving.

I tried to abort, quickly realising that it was simply a massive communication problem; the Cold Side Guy had probably accidently put the wrong garnish on the onion soup that he thought was for me. I thought he had given me a potato soup, asked why he gave me a potato soup (mainly out of curiosity as I had my pumpkin soup by now) and this made Sam and his brother assume that some mistake had happened and in light of the craziness of last night, starting flaring up ready to blame someone for what had gone wrong.

Naturally when I loudly expressed that I was simply confused but there is nothing to worry about they realised that they had all this built up tension and anger for nothing... so who copped it in the end?? I did.

Sam swore, did his usual "Oh my god" phrase that he pulls on anyone who makes a stupid mistake and stormed off gritting his teeth. His brother was still blinking, entirely confused as to what had just happened. The Cold Side Guy was now glaring at me for getting him into trouble. I stayed out of the kitchen for about half an hour.

Everything was fine by the end of the night, I heard Sam utter the words "the War is over..." which I thought was slightly melodramatic seeing as it was so dead I managed to get out of there before midnight.

But I would be lying if I didn't think it was slightly amusing to watch the kitchen guys go crazy. I mean, thats if they aren't messing up your meals of course. But everytime I walked into the kitchen I could hear someone yelling at someone else. Everytime a back of house guy managed to make it to the drinks fountain in a few quieter moments they had this aura of hostility about them. Nobody was smiling.

Well after completing my back of house duties before we had even closed and scraping together about 30 bucks of tips I was pretty stoked. I was smiling for a change.

Party Tables

I wandered into my shift last night in a pretty good mood. I was excited to have a break from the mind-numbing boredom I was experiencing in the library trying to get all five assignments accomplished (at a decent, fourth year university student standard) and was equally excited to be eating some chicken drenched in barbeque sauce before my shift and being able to work with my bestie (with whom I only share the saturday night shift with these days).

On arrival I noticed my section and this quickley disappeared when I noticed that I would be serving a party- of 25 people (including three high chairs. lame). I went and checked out my section. It looked something like this:

Only a slight exaggeration.

This would be my only table tonight. Though it was a relief to not have to juggle something like that with other tables the matter still remained- I was probably going to walk out of here without any tips, parties are generally assholes. And seeing as the government is still screwing me around after seven weeks of promised youth allowance, I was planning on surviving on my tips until my next paycheck which is wednesday. And today is saturday. So I wasn't happy.

The table were actually really nice, but I would be lying if I said that they made it easy for me. Everytime I went over at least five people were after drinks and it wasn't just "Five cokes". It was "Two kids waters please, and a regular iced water- no ice. A big Tooheys New and a Crown Lager, and an Orange Juice and two lifts and a diet coke". Typically the Keg for Tooheys New ran out so their beers took forever, and the bar staff were having a hernia so pretty much everything took forever, except for the kids drinks.

Anyway, after getting all their meals perfect using my fool proof system (which almost failed me because I forgot to inform the kitchen that the four tickets I sent through at once were actually all from the same table. And when I tried to cover this up by grabbing the tickets and attempting to write on them, I accidently grabbed the other six tickets that had just been sent through. I basically just handed the Kitchen Manager about eleven tickets at once and then ran away before I could feel the back of house explode from the influx of meals they had to cook... at once), and pre bussing their table pretty much within five minutes of everyone finishing their meal I decided that I really wanted that tip... but I wasn't sure how to force it.

So I tried attaching a little note saying "Thanks for being great customers, I hope you come in again soon- J" complete with a little smiley face. Its translation was "I am totally kissing ass so you guys will tip me", and I really hoped they didn't read between the lines. But they didn't and they tipped me and about ten of the twenty five individually thanked me for the service.

Obviously my spirits fell when I saw what they had so kindly left behind for me.

And this (with a few rib bones, ripped up coasters and a broken pepper shaker) stretched on for miles.

But all in all it was a success. I now have money to buy enough sushi and caffiene to get me through the next couple days of politics essays and history exams. I was out of there by ten, in bed by twelve and I find myself again at the library, not doing my work and craving a couple hours where all I have to care about is how well your steak is cooked.

J