Grass not always greener
Waiters are similar to migratory animals, they head to the lands with the most seasonal promise. Or breeding grounds in some cases.
Sometimes this can be a new restaurant, or perhaps a established restaurant with a good reputation for food, money or management.
That being said any experienced server has friends all over town, sometimes it leads to a foot in the door for a new job, other times for just good gossip.
A friend of mine works for (insert bistro here) and recently I had a bit of a conversation on how he liked his new joint.
The answer was he walked out, now I was a bit surprised as the new restaurant had been open for several months and word on the street was positive.
“So how us it going at the new joint?” I asked.
“Biggest load of shit I’ve ever seen, I walked out on my shift.” said Charles.
“How so?” asked I, eager for the story.
“Well last Friday night we were rocking and I was ringing back my orders, the thing is I forgot to hit the dressing on the side button and I hit the kitchen to tell them before they made the salads. No big so far right?” He said.
“Happens all the time.” I said, concurring.
“Thing is I didn’t make it in time and the salads where just coming up as I told the chef.” He said.
“So I take it the situation turned into a big deal somehow.” I responded.
“Fuck yea it did, the chef started screaming at me about fucking up his orders and he pretty much went nuclear. Also its an open kitchen, so my table was sitting about ten feet away hearing every word, fucking embarrassing.” Charles said.
“Next thing you know he screaming at me about costing him money, so instead of the restaurant eating the cost of the salads, he was making me pay for them.” He continued.
“So how much are side salads running over there?” I asked.
“About eight bucks each.” Charles said.
“Fucking ridiculous, for what, some field greens and homemade dressing?” I asked.
“Pretty much.” Was his response.
“So I take it this is where you decide to walk out?” I asked.
“Yup, I told him where he could stick those salads, then I told the manager I quit and left with a full section.” he said.
“That’s what I would do, several years back a manager tired to get me to pay for glassware after I slipped and fell, breaking some crystal.” I said.
“Did you walk?” Charles asked.
“Didn’t have to, I told him he’d have my resignation before he had my twenty buck, he backed down.” I said.
“Eh fuck it, there’s always another restaurant,” said Charles, continuing on he said, “This is the best part though, then the chef wouldn’t let me get my paycheck, he said he’d get it to me as soon as I paid him his sixteen dollars.”
“Fuck that, I would have punched him,” said I.
“He is pretty big so that would have been a bad idea,” said Charles.
“What are you going to do about it? You can’t let this asshole get away with this sort of thing.” I said.
“Well another one of my friends there walked out Saturday night, chef blamed him for a mistake and wanted him to cover the price of their full meal.” he said.
“That’s super fucked. Naturally all the foodies just love your place, kind of like people who love their Nikes, even though little kids make them for pennies.” I said.
“Maybe that’s a bit far,” said Charles.
“Maybe, but what are you two going to do about it?” I asked again.
“For one we contacted the Labor Department, they spoke to him and he sent me my pay check, problem is he refused to sign it.” he said.
“What an ass.” I said.
“Guess we’ll have to take it to the hearing.” Said Charles.
“I guess so.” I said.