The Insane Waiter

Running wild on customers, chefs, owners and managers since 1997. I bring to you, The Insane Waiter. What do bring to your table? A crisp bottle of San Pellegrino ? Perhaps a lovely seared Sashimi Tuna? Start off with a wonderful bottle from Tuscany perhaps? Why I'll be more than happy to bring you your White Zinfandel and Chicken Caesar. No you can't order the mac and cheese off the kids menu and sorry no, we don't serve cheese sticks....

Sunday, July 30, 2006

16 Tons

Well maybe fifteen, that's number of days straight I just pulled, it seems like the latter part of this summer is turning into a carbon copy of last year...

Slow and fucking hot.

Most of the shifts were doubles as well.

As we hire more staff for our already overstaffed restaurant the bulletin board in the back is full of notes begging for shifts as our once profitable $120-200 shifts have fallen to fifty bucks or so in the heat.

So we will be working less shifts for less money as the junta tightens their grip and turns us in the corporate direction much like Ahab setting sail after the white whale that is of the corporate nature.

So we pick up any shift we can and do our best to get by.

As well the tendency is work hard, play harder. Every night by the end of the shift there is much talk of the "bangers" that we'll drink like so much water in the two hours of open bar time by the time we get out.

Then there's the after parties, which are highly dubious.

Every night has been a party of some consequence, and every day like morlocks rising from the depths of the earth, we rise, pasty, sweaty and often in no mood for another grinding shift.

So off on my second vacation of my summer break I will go. Class starts again in a month, this time I'm back full time. This part time business was just taking too long, I'd rather take out loans and work part time.

Maybe my posts won't be so jaded if I'm down to four shifts a week.

At least some of the other servers say they feel much better when they don't have to be there day and night. I hope that's so.

As well I'd like to add that the post below is indeed a repost of one that I accidentally deleted this past spring. I have all these under word processor files as well so I put it up in lieu of a drunken rant on my hatred of soup spoons and dessert forks.

In closing I'd like to thank my sponsors...

Red Bull, it indeed gives you wings and its pretty much been my crutch through the hard days this summer has wrought upon me, and also that I have wrought upon myself.

So pretty much its my crack.

I'd also like to thank my gracious sponsor, Jaegermeister, for many unforgettable nights, and for nights that can't be remembered for that matter anyways. It also makes a great combo with Red Bull for a wild time, somehow lately there has been less Red Bull in each "banger" its almost a light splash for a little flavoring.

What a mystery.

And last but not least, thank you Gold Bond Powder, its a lifer saver. I won't say much about it but it relieves a deadly malaise of us waiters.

The dreaded "Swamp Ass"

So off to the lake I go, its time for a reboot and maybe this will clear my head as I prepare for the next stage.

See you all in a week !

Have a great one.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

Selling Out

So in an earlier post I stated that our restaurant was taking the comment card opinions, particularly the negative ones, very seriously.

Well I made it pretty clear that I didn't.

They are grossly unscientific and even though positive cards are outnumbering the negatives no attention is being paid to that fact.

Management has cracked down on all aspects of the restaurant due to the owner's new totalitarian regime.

Write ups were threatened and management warned us that they were keeping a secret police type log on any rule infractions and that they may write us up without us signing the documents or being aware we are being disciplined.

Well about a week ago one of my coworkers that I am friendly with was called back into the office to discuss a card that was filled out with him as the waiter.

Apparently a table had come in later in the night when we ran out of the fish entree, being that it is the lent season we have been running friday features as an alternative to our red meat dishes.

"Ron" as we will call him, informed the table and went on to the other features and such.

The table made a comment about us running out of the dish, but if we don't have it there's not much we can do, there are other seafood entrees on the menu as it were.

Around that time Ron was seated another party, this time of eight.

Once again they were not able to order the features, no big deal this time around.

So Ron received a comment card from the first and smaller party.

Apparently their side of the story was Ron told them we were out and then went on to sell the other party the fish feature.

They said Ron lied to them and gave poor service and yada yada.

Rick relayed his side of the story and that no, the party of eight did not receive any fish features as we were out.

Why would he lie?

A party of eight is automatic gratuity so he wouldn't have held out for a larger tip from them.

Maybe if he didn't like the table he would lie, but that would be rather petty and since the feature spiel is at the beginning of a dinner he would have no motivation to lie for that reason as he wouldn'y know anything about them.

Well the manager heard him out, and pushed the write up towards him.

When you sign a write up it pretty much means you admit to the actions described, which means he would have to admit to lying to his table while serving the dish to the other party.

Apparently Ron tried reasoning a bit further, but they made him sign it anyways.

Once again way to back up your staff.

You take a very honest and hard working guy like Ron and call him a liar.

Management is so afraid that the almighty customer might call the owner, hell they probably sent the assclown that wrote that letter a free gift certificate as a reward for being a lying piece of crap.

Way to sell out your staff once again restaurant industry, and yes this type of behavior is the rule for these middle managers, not the exception, unfortunately.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Quick Shot

So I had this smarmy jackass messing with me the whole meal.

You know, the type that asks if the beef is Argentinean and that makes smart ass remarks about most everything from ticket times to service.

So upon delivering his coffee he stated...

"This coffee tastes like an ashtray."

I retorted...

"That's because I put my cigarette out in it."

He was not amused.

His friends were.

And tipped heavy.

Plus I received an apology from his wife.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Heat and Thunder

"Hey can you help me set up a fourteen top outside?" Ken, one of the waiters, asked me.

"Its fucking a hundred degrees out!" I exclaimed.

"I know, but they want to sit outside." He said.

"Do they have a reservation?" I asked.

Ken shook his head.

Go figure. Walk in groups like this mean nothing but trouble. Anyone with half an ounce of common sense would call any group over four in which means they are usually classless people from the sticks who want just drinks, appetizers and orders from the kids menu.

Now ordering as much as possible for as little as possible is just fine for a sports bar or something, but this is a nice restaurant we're talking about here. So naturally the group followed this par course that I laid out. But that's an entirely different issue.

The issue was the heat, and the dark thunder heads on the horizon.

"Ken, tell them no, its too damn hot and its going to storm in about fifteen minutes." I stated.

"Its cool dude, they want to sit out here." Ken retorted.

Well I might want to stand on the corner of Crensaw in South Central wearing nothing but a Klan hood and a jockstrap holding a sign that states "Down With The Darkies" but it doesn't mean its a good idea, now does it.

"I'll have nothing to do with it." I said walking off.

I took a look at the group as I went inside. Yup, at least one person wearing mu mu and another with a wife beater on were present.

I can just hear the first thing out of wife beater's mouth, "Ya'll got Boooooosh light?"

So they were seated outside in the sweltering heat and humidity, damn sadists. Of course it'll be Ken sweating the most, not them.

Ken wandered in after taking their drink order and I asked him, "What did they order?"

I kept my fingers crossed for the answer I was looking for...

Busch Light

Ken shot me a dirty look, "They wanted Keeeers Light."

Damn, pretty close though.

So about fifteen minutes passed and the gale hit like a God-Damn magic show.

The whole group came running inside as their Coors Lights and onion rings were pelted with rain and debris.

By this point in time the restaurant has started to fill up and there was almost nowhere to put such a group.

So the host and managers run around and throw a table together for them, right in the middle of two other servers' sections.

Well, naturally they weren't very happy as four of their collective tables were bastardized.


So the servers pretty much stood around for two hours doing nothing as the fourteen top camped out, they missed out on a couple of reservations and probably a couple more dollars.

So that's what happens when we as an industry refuse to say no, somewhere some restaurant manager gave an inch and we've been on a retreat matched only by Napoleon in Russia ever since.

Maybe I just have a morsel of sense, but who in the hell would want to sit outside on a day like that?

When the party was waiting for their inside table I did overhear a woman say this to one of the managers, "Well if we had known it was going to rain we would have sat inside."

What a prodigy, I realize you don't have Doppler radar attached to the hump on your back...

But had she ever considered this...

Looking at the sky!?

Wednesday, July 12, 2006


From the bitterwaitress...

"Never never never do the least bit more than what is expected of your job in this business. You will never get anything in reward and the only gratitude you may sense for superiors is not for you but that they found someone who would willingly overwork themselves."

Possibly the most relevant quote I've heard this month other than the old "hell hath no fury" one.

To my readers I know I've been slow on the updates but much change has been on my plate, you know the story, the girl that got away and broke my heart, crazy days at work and the unfriendly meeting that Jaeger-bombs and White Russians had in my stomach have kept me kind of withdrawn and quiet lately.

On the plus side injuries are starting to fade, although I think that Haitian woman may cause me to go to the chiropractor, at least I was wearing my seatbelt, and really there is one person that I can thank for that. So thank you.

"Blond Girl up the Street" here is your quote and my answer to your question...

"A bit off topic, but curious if you've ever experienced the following scenario... While presenting the desert tray to a table, you realize one of the items is missing. You assume that the kitchen has run out of the item and someone was actually on the ball enough to remove it from the desert tray. Two minutes later you bring entrees to a different table in your section, when low and behold, guess what's sitting on a B&B plate on their table??? The missing desert! This happened to me this evening. I'm not kidding. What kind of sick, ignorant jackass would do that? After questioning the kitchen staff, we determined that the desert tray was probably made yesterday, but more likely the day before. While pre-busing the table I notice that only crumbs remain on the plate that once held the desert. It was cheesecake! Yum, yum. Sincerely, The Blonde Girl Up The Street"

Well my beautiful and charming friend, The Blond Girl, I have a response...

Only an asshat would steal a moldy dessert off of a dessert display so I hope they receive food poisoning for their stupidity and cheapness.

And yes I have seen this before. Years back I worked for a chain BBQ joint in my rookie days as a waiter. They had a dessert display by the host stand. Typical hot fudge sundaes, bread pudding and shortcakes.

Well instead of using ice cream in the display, which obviously would have melted, they used scoops of butter for the mirage effect.

So one afternoon a family of trashy assholes came in and after they had eaten I see the PARENTS digging into the five day old desserts and shoving spoonful after spoonful of butter down their throats and their kids as well.

I bet they had the green apple splatters for a week, and much deserved as well.

Until next time friends!

Tuesday, July 04, 2006


"Hey man, run by table 18." My friend Travis said to me.

"What is it?" I asked, "a hot chick?"

Which is usually the case, male waiters are particularly lecherous about exposed thongs, cleavage and the such.

Travis shook his head and smiled.

"Just go," he said.

Upon noticing table 18 I saw the people sitting there.

They were in their mid seventies but the man they were surrounding was far senior to them, at least twenty years senior. As he sat there enjoying his lunch they stared at him with the same awe that I had. He had a simple blue ribbon tied around his neck with a star pendant and eagle, with a simple word printed on the crest...


He was an awardee of the Congressional Medal of Honor.

It has been nearly 65 years since the war he was in was over, the men of that era are nearly all gone, and the Medal "winners" from World War II must be down to a mere handful.

It is an award any would gladly give back to have their friends, their bothers with us today.

Travis and I were students of history once, before our own lives took a different turn then we had planned, so instantly we knew what his medal signified. Only 3500 of the tens of millions of United States Soldiers, Marines, Sailors and Airmen have displayed the sacrifice, courage, honor and valor to be awarded this medal, a large majority of which have been posthumously.

As Travis and I were speaking of what we thought about the man one of the waitresses came over and asked what the big deal was.

So we told her about the medal and what is signified, what he had done.

She just didn't understand, didn't see the big picture, what men like that did to give us our freedom, she didn't see what the big deal was.

The freedom to bitch and moan online, the freedom to go to whatever church, whatever school, whatever job.

To raise your children how you want them to be.

To not be a slave.

To go to college.

Or to not.

Even the freedom to hate your own country.

Or hate the president.

Or to love him.

That's the big deal.

All because some twenty year old kid and his brothers spent the Christmas of 1776 charging through a blinding snowstorm at Trenton with something far more dangerous in the air about them than ice...

Because a fifteen year old boy froze to death in the icy hell of the trenches at Petersburg.

Because a Sergeant with a hell of a shot captured an entire company of the Kaiser's soldiers, by himself.

Or because that man eating his soup at table 18 fought off a platoon of Germans by himself as his friends lay dying around him, or he held a bridge when others couldn't, or maybe just a streetcorner, or he pulled his brothers to safety when others ran away.

Or a thousand thing on a thousand battlefields.

He is all of those men, he did all of those things.

That's the big deal.

A bit later on I saw Travis approach the man and say a few short words.

"What did you talk about?" I asked.

"I simply thanked him," Travis said.

So do I, So do I...

I wish I had shaken his hand.

But this the closest thing I can do, thank you, and thank all of the others for what we have.

Here is a site that details the stories of these men, most of them will shake you to the bone.

And most of them end with "mortally wounded"

"Killed in action"

Or the word "Sacrifice"

Something most of us have lost or only heard whispers of.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility" - Henry V

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day." - Henry V, Shakespeare