Monday, July 12, 2010

And Then I Dreamed Neo-Nazis Invaded. Or, My Supervisor Can Suck It.

Last night went reasonably well. Almost every table tipped over 18%, several tables had multiple rounds, and yet I was off by 12:30 AM. It started rocky.

GermanSupervisor: You don't work that often and you'll be alone on the floor tonight so just ask for help when you need it. That's what I'm here for.
Underemployed: Ok.

First of all, I've been cocktailing 3 days a week for a month. Often alone for significant portions of my shift. Second of all, when she said that to me there were only 2 open checks. SLOW. Thirdly, I've been working at this restaurant since before she was even hired- yes, she's been here a long time, but I've been here longer. Yes, she got hired as a supervisor, but I get how things work around this place. I've been working at the same damned restaurant since September of '09, and have picked up serving shifts since December (pre-German). That makes me an old timer. My last comment. Although I don't take it personally since she is a raging bitch to almost everyone, I do read it as a pathetic attempt at asserting authority, à la I'm going to insult you and then tell you its because you need schooling since I'm in charge, got it? If you know your conversation partner isn't really allowed to respond, any insinuation of insult is pitiable. And my response is my coping strategy at work. Get yelled at? "Ok." Hard to keep escalating with someone who responds calmly.

Fast forward to later in the night. Much much later. The drink rush has ended. I did great- not a single misprinted receipt, not a complaint about an order, and earlier a table with 2 bottles of pinot noir tipped 30%. My customers were happy, I was happy. Still, every time my supervisor showed up on the floor she had something to nitpick. Whatever, that's her job, but if I find it faster to get to checks on the computer by pushing which table they are at vs. listing the open checks and searching for their name, what does it matter? It doesn't, but you aren't an authority if you aren't criticizing someone, right?

But she got her time to shine. I had just sold a bottle of rose to two friendly gay guys who I'd been serving by the glass for about an hour. They had their girlfriends from college joining them. They wanted to have the bottle waiting, but close it out. "These girls will drink us under the table if we don't set limits." I really liked these guys. We had such a great rapport by this point.

Enter my supervisor. It turns out, we had 86'd the standard rose (we sold out a couple days ago and are waiting for the new supply. Rose is hot right now) The bottle I gave them was a bottle of a different rose that was from the restaurant (as opposed to the cocktail bar) and it cost $4 more. Now, the check was already closed. And the gents had left me a generous 30% tip on the $44 bottle that they were enjoying so much. My supervisor was angry, stressed, and making little sense.

Underemployed: This was the bottle I was given by the bar. I had been selling them rose by the glass, and nobody behind the bar or otherwise told me we were 86'd rose and serving a different bottle.
GermanSupervisor: Well, its your fault that you didn't look closely at the bottle and aren't familiar enough with the wine list to notice it was different. I'm going to have to go talk to your table and let them know you brought them the wrong bottle. And that we need to readjust their closed check so we don't lose the difference from what we sold.
Underemployed: Ok. They're really nice. I'm sure they don't care.
GermanSupervisor: We'll see.

Seeing that she wasn't going directly to my gents right away, I swung by to "clear" some of their snack plates away. I said quickly, "Guys, I brought you the wrong bottle. The bottle I brought you is $4 more expensive than the bottle we normally serve. I didn't know. My manager is going to come over here and talk to you, I don't really know why, but I'm sorry in advance."

While taking care of my other customers, I saw her approach the table and talk with them. I'm nervous, but not really since these guys are in my pocket, they love me, I know they wouldn't let my supervisor get away without saying I'm great. After a little time goes by, I bring drinks to a nearby table, and swing by my men.

"She had the nerve to interrupt our evening to tell us that there was a disconnect between the waitstaff and the bar," one of the gentlemen said. "Before she could even finish I told her, 'Isn't it your job to make sure that your staff knows what's going on? We asked our lovely server for a bottle of rose, she brought us one, we're happy.' I want her fired. You know he [the other gentlemen] lives at this hotel 3 months a year?" I was stunned, they stood up for me and insulted her to boot! "I don't like he face, what's her name? I want her fired." I whispered her name to him. A customer asked me a question and I answered it. They ordered another bottle after their girlfriends arrived and some more munchies. I comped them a $4 snack, considering that's the price difference between the bottle they ordered and the more expensive bottles they kept ordering.

As I opened the bottle for them and poured, I heard a phone ringing behind me. I picked up the blackberry and put it on their table, since they had rearranged slightly once the ladies arrived. "It's not mine," said my new gaymanfriend. "It must be your bitchy manager's. I'm going to answer it." I ran away. My supervisor was rummaging through the drawers of the service station looking for her phone. I helped her look. I went back to the awesome people, "She's freaking out!" I told them. "What if I drop her blackberry in the toilet?" We laughed, knowing he wouldn't. I walked away. As I arrived again to give them their munchies I saw a blackberry still on the table. Blackberries in the toilet was sort of a motif for the rest of the night. We had a great time. Again, a seriously generous tip on the bottle.

When I was doing my closeout paperwork, my manager didn't speak to me. Whatever. I don't get paid enough to stroke her ego too. Not my job. In my dream last night the cocktail bar was being invaded by neo-nazis. I guess my subconscious too was feeling neither generous nor subtle to this fucking woman.


  1. Woa-you can't make this stuff up...what a bitch. I wonder why the guy lives at the hotel 3 mos a year.

  2. Yes, she's a serious problem. What's funny is that every single server says the same thing...why would management want a supervisor who puts tables in jeopardy?

    I too wonder why he's at the hotel so often. He (and his rose drinking posse) graduated 20-25 years ago from parsons...maybe something related to fashion?