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

What we're really saying

When I have to stand around and polish cutlery until you finally decide to leave after paying the bill.

"Oh no that's fine, we have plenty to do anyway" is more like ...

..."I can't clock off until you leave and you're cutting into my drinking time"


When it takes me a while to greet a customer because a host screwed up.

"Sorry guys I was momentarily caught up in a minor crisis out the back. But you have my undivided attention from now on." is really...

..."Please don't hold me responsible for the fact that some sixteen year old idiot thought I was capable of getting a cake loaded with candles to a party of twenty whilst simultaneously greeting the four tables they just sat me with- at once"

To the regular customers (who don't tip) who demand the coffee arrive no more than five minutes before their desert.

"Not a problem, I will make sure they arrive together" is more like...


"Seeing as I make neither the coffee nor the dessert... and you have given me no incentive to care whether you get to sip your cappucino while stuffing lime pie in your face, I'm not even going to attempt to get them synchronised. And seeing as you never tip- I'm not going to apoligise "

This is a fun game

J

Those horror tables

Though last night wasn't a particularly busy night by anyone's standards I clocked off half an hour later than I was meant to with a quarter of the tips I normally earn. Why is this? Because I had a horror table.

Not a table from hell, mind, a "horror table". These guys were actually pretty nice (pretty strange as well) but everything that could go wrong... did go wrong and I don't think they'll be returning any time soon.

They all ordered steak and I think between the eight of them, they covered six different kinds of steaks and temperatures with complicated choices for the side dishes and add-on sauces. So I figured that unless god was concentrating particularly on making my life run smoothly- then something was going to go wrong even if I sent the orders to the kitchen correctly.

Issue #1

Hair in the marinara sauce on the garlic bread. It was almost funny to the table. I didn't deliver the garlic bread nor was I there when they complained, nor was I there when the complaint was dealt with, so it obviously didn't have much to do with me. But a hair in your food is an age-old embarrasment for a restaurant to suffer, so it wasn't the best start.

Issue #2

As I was collecting empty glasses from the table, I put an empty glass into a glass of coke that was perhaps more full than I thought. Hence, coke spilled over the glass and into the absent teenage son's soup that was at the table. They all kind of laughed again and I replaced the soup instantly with a fresh bowl and wiped down the boy's seat before he returned. Kind of embarrasing, but nonetheless a minor error that could have been overlooked.

Issue #3

After consulting with another server that my table was missing something I quickly charged off around the corner to head back to the kitchen. Little did I know that a three year old kid had ducked around my legs and was about to cross my path from the right of me. He did cross my path... as I took a huge step. The boy collided with my leg and went flying into the wall, hitting his head on the wood and sinking to the ground. It was like an animated character that bangs into a wall and rebounds. I was a monster!

The kid wasn't from my table, and his father didn't seem annoyed with me, he was just a tad concerned about his kids wellbeing and whisked him away before the tears could start drowning out the chatter of the customers. But this happened right next to my horror table. I could almost see them making links in their mind, the hair-the soup-and now the kid. I was incompetent.

Issue #4

I went back to check that everyone's steak had been cooked the way they like it (expecting at least one "Mine's got too much blood!" seeing as the teenage girls both ordered Medium Rare) Everyone seemed happy except for the man whose meal I pretty much chose for him, he was indecisive. His steak was lukewarm. I touched it... it was. I don't understand how this could have happened, was it frozen before they cooked it? I told him we could heat it up for him, possibly even cook up another bit of steak, but he wouldn't have a bar of it. I got the manager involved, but that wasn't doing any good.

He ate his steak, the table were still smiling and friendly, though considerably more weary by now, and they weren't joking around as much. I offered them a free desert for their troubles. They agreed and took a Trio Sampler and I sent the order through the kitchen. They probably weren't going to order anything if it wasn't free, so they were basically waiting around for this desert that was going to be shared between seven people. Hence Issue #5 was the dessert taking about half an hour.

A free dessert that they didn't even really want, that was to compensate for a lukewarm steak, that was keeping this table, obviously bored by now, obviously wanting to leave, still at the restaurant, took half an hour! I knew we had not won these guys over. I knew the fight was up.

When they cleared the bill up the man re-iterated that he was not happy. He hadn't actually seemed that pissed off up until this point so I was a tad taken aback. There may have been problems but we offered to do everything we could to prevent them. Mistakes happen on busy nights, and its unfortunate that most of them fell upon these guys.

Anyway, they left without tipping me and I apoligised again for the errors. They gave me beaming smiles and said "Its not your fault!" which is nice (because most customers assume that things, clearly out of our control, are direct outcomes of our errors) but in this case. It was my fault. I shouldn't have spilt the coke in the boys meal, I shouldnt have kicked the kid out of the way. I should have followed up the sampler and I probably should have got some of the steak wiped off the bill. Maybe after the hair in the marinara sauce I could have paid extra attention to the table to ensure everything else went smoothly but I didn't.

That was my horror table. I've had worse and I will have worse, people who aren't so easy to forgive the waitress, but seeing as I haven't had major issues with customers for a while, I thought I'd tell my story.

J

back to it

I came back from my little "getaway" to arrive on mothers day, a.k.a the restaurant's day of the year (and the reason I had to catch an 8am flight back so I would be able to work). I don't think I have ever seen that many people rostered on at once, or that many butterballs rolled (four trays- a record)

It wasn't as crazy as I expected. Admittedly I had three tables in my section, and my 8 person party ended up being five, three of whom I have served on countless occasions before and are really nice. I ended up being tipped really well, having lots of bright-eyed, happy, full-of-red-wine mothers tell me how lovely I made their evening. It's easy to impress the mum's though- a simple "I hope you enjoyed your mother's day" on the receipt was enough to compell most of the tables to throw in an extra ten bucks.

So it went off without a hitch and I found myself leaving with the strange feeling like I had forgotten to do something, because I am so used to doing close that I didn't have to polish any extra cutlery or pull the mop out!

After I left in tears the week before (I was overtired and frustrated that the previous three weeks of my life was a blur of dropping coasters on tables, explaining steak temperatures and cleaning bread boards) my boss took pity on me and has started taking me off close shifts. So this Tuesday just gone I didn't do my usual close shift which was definitely a pleasant feeling. I managed to escape by about nine thirty, eat a salad and head to the unibar for the band comp. I actually was permitted to have a life!

The next day, however, I came in for my usual open shift and found the back of the restaurant in chaos. Not only were the three trays of cutlery not polished, but there was so much crap lying around that the dish guys hadn't bothered to move that I spent at least twenty minutes (of which I could have used to roll butter balls) having to clear up the crap that people had left behind the night before. And then to make it worse we had customers walk in five minutes before open. By the time I had put the drink fountain together and set up the expo line, me and the only other server on had THREE TABLES each! We got smashed that night so the fact that back of house was consistently behind just made the whole situation worse.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't expect the servers to stay back till midnight polishing the last little bits of cutlery because I am aware that this arduous process often encourages people to take to the steak knives and use them for a purpose other than sticking into loaves of bread. However, every single close shift I have worked I have been expected to, unquestionably sacrifice the later hours of my evening to making the knives and forks dry and sparkly. And then the one night I don't do close, she decides this is too much work for everyone and leaves it to the Wednesday night crew. The one night I don't do close!

I am now only going to work the absolute minimum. Karma clearly does not exist in this universe.

J

It's no longer the same to dine out

I am currently on a five day hiatus from work, uni, the stress of reality and chilling out with my family at home. Its great!

Part of being back in the same state as my family enticed my parents to treat me and my brother to an expensive meal in a classy restaurant... we could tell that it was fine dining and that my brother's work shorts and "Grizzly 1974" tee short were out of place on noticing a grand piano in the centre of the room and the menu featuring oysters as an entree.

It was a delicious meal nonetheless, but I think my brother got duped when he ordered the "Beef and Reef" meal- probably the most expensive steak on the menu that comes with the finest seafood served atop. He got his beef, but without the reef- which I thought was a pretty major mistake considering the seafood part featured at least 50% of the meal's title. We scrutinised the meal further, wondering if the "reef" part was cleverly disguised. Mum suggested that it could be inside the steak (she's a vegetarian, so we let that one slip) and we all examined the ramekin of white stuff on the plate thinking it could possibly contain some element of seafood. After discovering this was actually garlic butter (we obviously don't dine out all that often) we confirmed that he had actually recieved a "Beef and Reef" without any trace of the reef.

I told my brother to politely inform the waitress that he hadn't received the reef part of his meal. It was probably just a minor mistake that could be easily fixed. But he flat out refused to complain and wouldn't let any of us speak on his behalf. He then ate the meal without the reef, probably disappointed the whole time that he hadn't got what he ordered and paid for the meal without any complaint because he was too embarrassed to say anything and didn't want to cause a fuss.

It got me thinking for two reasons. The first being my envy that the sheer majority of my customers would never have such restraint if they received the wrong meal and often hold me personally responsible for their steak being undercooked or the chicken being too spicy (two things that I have NO control over), but the second was wondering why my brother felt too embarrassed to say anything. I must admit I used to be hesistant to complain, I never want to seem like that diner who just can never be satisfied, or someone who spents way too much time and energy worrying about whether my food has reached perfection when there are so many bigger issues to blow steam about, but if you order something that doesn't actually arrive, surely you have a right to ask where it is?

There is a difference between complaining about the garlic bread being brown or the calamari looking too "realistic" (I'm not entirely sure what you were expecting madam), to simply enquiring as to why only half of your meal has arrived. Kudos to my brother for not wanting to put the waitress through the hell that so many people think we are entitled to receiving (I know those of you out there that think waitresses are second rate citizens with no brains of their own) but I personally would not be disgruntled if he had asked me where his reef had ended up. On the contrary, I would probably try to rectify the situation immediately seeing as its a pretty embarrassing mistake.

I guess the whole situation is proof that the hospitality industry has changed me... at least while I still work as a waitress. I enjoy going out but I can't help but scrutinise the decor, the food, the prices and the service I get when I eat out at a restaurant other than my own. I only hope this will fade with time and I stop being the judgemental customer that I hate so much to serve.

J

I am a big fan of "some e-card" so there will be more of these I am sure.

I didnt end up having to do stocktake but I did leave wanting to punch a hole through the paper thin walls of my house when I finally made it home an hour and a half after my shift was supposed to end (and it was an unusually quiet night as well). My frustration was exacerbated when my KM offered to get me a gin and lime juice whilst I polished the thousandth fork (definitely illegal but most certainly welcomed) and thought it was funny to give me a cup of water tinted with raspberry soft drink instead.

Oh how I hate my life sometimes.


J

First confession

My first post! I’m not really used to posting blogs so I am not following any particular formula. I’m just here to vent and rant about the happenings of where I work and share some tales that hopefully other people will be able to relate to!

I am 21 years old and I am studying at university, so waitressing is not my career or anything. I do enjoy it most of the time; I like my co workers, and the rapport you develop with the cooks. I like serving customers and dealing with people and I like the fast paced nature of the job. I love working at night (though sometimes this gets a bit restricting when it comes to my social life) and I love the fact that when I am on break from studying, some of us regularly go out and get drunk together whenever we clock off. But there are, of course, drawbacks.

Some things that frustrate me:

• Basically the rudeness of some customers. I still cannot get my head around how you can treat a complete stranger like they are dirt, particularly when they are approaching you with the biggest smile they have stored up. Though they are rare, I have had a few shockers and the nasty ones always make me cry. This is nothing short of humiliating in a busy, crowded restaurant on a Saturday night.
• People giving me the “verbal tip”. Unlike America or Canada, we don’t really have tipping indoctrinated into our culture so we rarely get tipped. This is because casual workers minimum wage is pretty high, high enough to survive without tips. Unfortunately my particular restaurant has found a loophole to pay us quite low rates for how hard we work. As a result I work my butt off for tips. I won’t hate on you for not tipping me, but the verbal tip is a cruel way to end the night. If only you could show your appreciation with monetary compensation!
• Parties not tipping. If twenty five meals arrive on your table perfectly, in order with no mistakes and you rarely have to wait more than five minutes for a drink or any other requests, then chances are your waiter/waitress has sacrificed the chance of getting a tip out of other tables, giving others good service or threatening the good will of the kitchen managers to get everything done perfectly. If your table has a particularly complicated order, with a lot of changes, or steaks or something and there is no problem then they did a damn good job. And its not hard to tip them well if everyone pitches in an extra dollar.
• Hosts. The hosts I work with are actually really nice and generally pretty good but nothing makes me see red more than getting triple sat with a large party, being assigned to a table outside my section without anyone actually telling me I am meant to take that table, or sitting people without cutlery.
• People who try to split the bill even though we specify that we cannot physically do it. I always cave and it usually takes up at least twenty minutes, leaves my other customers neglected and takes up on of the three computers in the restaurant that we rely on
• Copping abuse from the kitchen. It’s not like our job is easy as pie. And their mistakes fall on us just as much as ours fall on them. Next time I accidently forget to write “without mushrooms” and you feel this deserves the most severe reprimand, I will remind you how I got abused by my table because you took half an hour to cook a pasta and tried to pass off a bleeding sirloin as “well done”.
  

I just clocked off work this evening, but there has been little to report. Only my KM berating me for drinking too much and my manager delightfully telling me that being on close tomorrow night, a shift I picked up for a co worker, means I get to help her with stock take… counting all the products we have in the bar. I guarantee I will only return in a good mood if during this process I manage to swipe a bottle of grey goose vodka without her noticing. I will keep you posted.

J