How's Your Backhand? Good? Good.

Oh, summer time, how I love your promises of lushery, concerts, hanging out on balconies and fire escapes, cute dresses and new haircuts. I have grown accustomed to the fact that I am a mosquito magnet and weirdly proud of being an SPF 55+ wearing body double for any of the pale folks of Twilight.

New Yorkers are weirdly forward, I think because there the odds of seeing some random schmo you had words with in line or on the subway are so damn slim. Still, I've been surprised by the apparent city-wide reaction to my alabastery.

Drugged out man on subway last night, after I had sneezed twice: You must have allergies. Are you allergic to the sun?

Italian man in the East Village: Wow. You're so white. What's your name?


I could go on. But my all time favorite this summer came from a middle aged, leather-skinned customer. She was the gaudy type, who has probably been tanning regularly since the tanning bed was invented in 1978. I was serving her something appalling like virgin cosmos in the mid afternoon while she was with two men having some sort of casual meeting. I was wearing a cute, short, black skirt so I guess she saw this as an invitation to talk about the skin I had exposed.

"I just want to let you know I think it's great that you haven't caved into the pressure to tan. You look fine."

I smiled, holding my tray. "Thanks" I replied, but before my backhand could help itself from continuing the volley I added cheerily, "Getting skin cancer would really suck, you know, and for what, vanity?"

Serving Breakfast Makes Me Whiny.

Several people I work with at the restaurant have noticed that I have "good attention to detail," but its really hard to be detailed oriented while doing side work at 6:45 AM. Seriously.

See, the thing is, I'll forget to do something, and then my manager will be like- "You didn't fully set up the ice machine," and I'll just shrug and tell the truth, "Sorry I forgot." I don't like having to say that multiple times a shift because it's just not like me, but the thing is I have trouble using the entire 10% of my brain that I'm physically capable of at 7 AM. I've got the remembering to smile and remembering people's orders down cold at any hour, but remembering that the red bucket goes to the sink, the silver one under the ice machine and the glass container gets 7 bags of granola all before I've even been awake long enough to want a coffee???

The bitter irony is, when I get corrected I only remember about half of the instructions- only during breakfast shifts do I ask the same questions and/or make the same mistakes twice. You want me to get something done right, tell me how to do it after 9 AM. Or hey, I heard of these things called spreadsheets that can make for good checklisting! I never thought I'd ever see the day when I would kill for a checklist, readers, but that day came. Yesterday.

Other annoying things about breakfast:
-You can't wear headphones while you're in the prep kitchen pouring fresh squeezed juices into pitchers for service because "it's too dangerous." I get it, but the side station is far away from knives and ovens, and its so freaking early that if I need a little Paul Simon to help me ease into the day, I should be allowed.
-You get really hungry around 11 AM and there's absolutely nothing you can do about since you're the only server on the floor so your "breaks" are basically stepping into the kitchen for a glass of water, handful of potato chips or bite of toast some friendly cook made for you.
-Customers are prickly since they're decaffeinated and everybody has a specific way they like their toast or their muffin or their whatever they want.

On the plus side, the breakfast menu is really expensive, so if there is enough activity you can make great money. A family of four can easily hit $75 for their meal and lattes and orange juices and chocolate milks. And its a chilled out service. You're never hustling like you are at happy hour, and sometimes the money rivals it. My schedule is going to get finalized in the next few weeks, should I take any breakfasts?

The Time I Left Work Grinning.

The time is 1:15 AM. I am almost done with an unremarkable Sunday night cocktailing shift.


Tall Irishman: Is it too late for a pot of tea?
Underemployed: Nope.
Tall Irishman: Great! Can I get two pots of English breakfast tea with some milk?
Underemployed: Sure. Hey you look really familiar to me.
Tall Irishman: Oh?
Underemployed: Yeah. You know, you look just like the guy from The Frames.
Tall Irishman (smiling) : I am.

We introduced ourselves shaking hands, and I told him about how I'm a fan of his band and about how much I loved Once. When I brought him and his friend their teas, I told them it was on the house. He looked so surprised. "It's just hot water and two bags of tea, right? My pleasure."

What's An Upcharge? Look Down At Your Itemized Receipt Next Time You Drink.

Well, all my cocktail studying really paid off today. I had a party of 10 middle aged men and women in the fashion industry celebrating a birthday party. The terms of their reservation included a $250 minimum before tax and tip, with a 20% gratuity included. Awesome.

The party went well. And I asked follow ups for every drink order. Shot of tequila? I upsold the most expensive tequila we had when asked for my recommend. When I listed the vodkas that could go in their bloody marys, they picked Grey Goose, plus a $3 up charge per drink to make it a bloody mary. Upselling = finding ways to upcharge.

The following is their itemized receipt, but with certain items vagued for my protection.

5 Ketel One $55
Tonic
1 Ketel One $11
As Cosmo $2
2 Best Tequilas $32
Lime
Salt
1 Patron $13
As Margaritia $2
Rocks
Salt
1 Bottle Chardonnay $52
5 Glass Chardonnay $65
3 Hendricks $36
Tonic
6 Tanqueray $66
3 As Doubles w Tonic
2 Grey Goose $26
2 As Bloody $6
2 Glass Rose $22
4 Snacks $16
1 Appetizer $15

Subtotal $419.00
Tax $37.19
20 % Included Gratuity $83.80

Total Due $539.99


The birthday boy left an additional $20, making his final total $559.99. Percentage tipped? 25.

And all before 7 PM.

When Customers Flirt I Feel Sorry For Them.

I mean, not always. But I can't say that potential relationships are why I waitress. According to teen shopping catalogue and website mecca Alloy, that's exactly why they rank waitressing as one of the best summer jobs.

Why It Rocks: Tips, tips, tips! Not only is the money good, this is a great job to meet people! Who knows? Maybe you'll nab something more than just extra cash, like a yummy new BF!
Why It Sucks: If a customer wants a burger with everything on separate plates, you've gotta do it. And you gotta do it with a smile on your face. Annoying? Yes. But it's your job to make your customers happy.

HELLO. Separating things onto individual plates is so not the suckiest part of waitressing. How about standing for 8 hours at a time without a real meal? Or, getting cat calls from the dishwashers (fyi, enough women complained so now our dishwashers are on serious probation). Or how about customers who are trolling for something to be angry about? And the money is only good if you are working prime shifts at busy restaurants. And I've yet to meet a male customer I'd want to see outside of work.

But yeah, if all the romanticized notions of waitressing are true, I guess its just like totally the best summer job ever!

A Rare Apology. Or, The Nicest Moment of My Yesterday.

Yesterday I worked a brisque cocktailing shift. The entire day was mildly stressful and I just wasn't feeling like myself. But there was one stand out nice moment.

ChubbyCustomer: Hey, I just wanted to apologize. You served me and a couple of my friends last week. My friend was really rude to you.
Underemployed (with the light of recognition) : Oh yeah, he didn't like his martini.
ChubbyCustomer: I know. I was mortified, he was so rude and condescending to you. And other people have told me he's a prick and I saw it come out then.
Underemployed: I mean, it really wasn't a big deal- but that's why I made sure to tell him that I put the order in correctly. I just wanted him to understand that I don't shake the martinis myself.
ChubbyCustomer: Totally. Yeah, I just wanted to apologize.
Underemployed: Well, thank you.

It was a touching moment. For those of you who are curious, below is my memory of what his priggish friend said about his martini:

First of all this tastes like gin, not vodka. Second of all, it tastes like an entire bottle of vermouth was poured into this glass. I wanted it dry. It's just not what I ordered. (Repeat these 4 sentences in different order three times)

To my mind, the friend wasn't rude initially. What was rude was that he kept at it over and over again instead of letting me take his drink back to the bar and get him a new one and be done with it.

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.

Knowledge Is Power. Or, Why I Studied Before Work.

Tonight is my first late night cocktail shift. I will clock in at 6 PM, and clockout when we shut the bar down between 2 AM and 4 AM. I want to step up my game, not only to ensure that I keep getting these lucrative shifts, but also so I can make the most I can. So I'm studying up.

I've spent the afternoon looking over classic cocktail recipes. Why? So I can upsell. For example: Lady orders a Negroni. Before I did my studying, I would have said, "Ok," walked to the computer and hit the "Negroni" button. However, what I will do tonight, is ask, "Do you have a gin preference." Hopefully she will pick a gin that is more expensive than the well gin. Say Tanqueray. I would then walk over to the computer and push the "Tanqueray" button, and then hit the "as Negroni" button, which adds a $2 upcharge (for the Campari). Thus, instead of a $12 Negroni from the well, I've opened up the possibility for a $12-15 dollar Negroni depending on which gin the Lady picks.

And this, folks, is why it pays to know. I'm a long way away from knowing the right questions to follow up on every order, but I'm a little closer every day. And when I'm not sure what liquor actually is in the cocktail they order, I ask "Do you have a liquor preference?" That usually does the trick.

A New Low For Me Is Pandering To Children. Or, If I Bring It You Buy It.

My shifts that are from 2 pm - 8 pm are challenging. My day starts horrifically slow, but come 5:30/6, I haul ass delivering cocktails to their rightful drinkers. I make good money on these weekday shifts, it's just really back loaded.

Around 4:30, a couple sat down with a toddler. The two adults ordered cocktails. Since I was totally not busy yet, I played with their little girl and chitchatted with the guests for a minute. I saw that they were drinking slowly. Also, since they were with their baby girl, I didn't think they planned on having another round. So I threw my shame out the window.

Underemployed (referring to toddler) : Does she need some juice?
EuroDad: Maybe.
Underemployed: We have a fresh squeezed orange juice, so there's no added sugar or anything.
Eurodad: Great.
Underemployed: Should I bring her a straw?
Eurodad: Perfect.

That orange juice cost $5 before tax. I have no shame, and you better believe I know how to raise my check averages.

iRelevant. Or, How Apple Will Make Good On The Myth Of The Waitron.

Sydney, Australia


They came first for the Australians, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't an Australian.

The iPad has replaced paper menus at a tapas joint in Sydney. According to Eater's coverage, the app not only allows for the restaurant to more quickly and accurately change menu items, but it also communicates directly with the kitchen, reducing server error. Of course, if this iPad is communicating with the kitchen, what's the server for?

Restaurateurs, beware. Next Apple will create a manager app so you're no longer needed to void things or transfer checks.

I Went The Extra Mile And All I Got Was 18% Back.

I am a good server. I keep track of when your glass is empty, I remove empty plates the moment you're done with them, and I can suggest things you don't even know you want. You're unhappy? I'll actually do what I can to remedy the situation.

Like today at cocktail hour. 2 30-something women were doing drinks and a cheese plate appetizer. Drinks: 1 glass of white, 1 iced coffee, 1 grapefruit juice. Their total bill was looking something like 35-40 bucks. Not a huge tab, but today was really slow so that made them one of my high priority checks.

Before the food arrives, the lady drinking the wine asked me if she could order olives. "We don't have olives as a menu item," I told her, "but I can bring you some of the olives from the bar like we use for martinis." I put several skewers of olives (probably 12 total olives) into a small bowl and brought them to her.

Then their food arrives. They were totally underwhelmed by the scope of the cheese plate. They thought it would come with more stuff. The teetotaler (whom I'd served last week), told me she'd order it before and it had more on it. I told them them I'd check with the kitchen to see if they forgot to send up an accessory. I did. They didn't. I came back to give the ladies more water and told them that's all. Disappointment.

As I was walking away from their table, I had the genius idea to give them one of our $4 dollar snack sized items. I picked one that would go with their cheese, and brought it over, thinking it would up the likelihood of these ladies staying longer and leaving happy. "I bought these for you," I told them, "just don't tell my manager." I might have winked. They thanked me profusely, told me how sweet I was and, after refusing a second glass of wine or juice, asked me for more (free) olives. I brought them. More compliments on my awesomeness.

And yet, when it was time to look at their bill, they left the standard 18%. Not a penny more. I really felt like I gave them A+ service. Was expecting 20%, particularly because I comped them a snack and kept bringing those damn olives.

What do you think readers? Am I rightfully indignant or should I quit whining? Post your answers in the comment section. I'm really curious.

No Matter What City You're In, A Shift is A Shift.

This picture of a Philadelphia restaurant's server manual is worth looking at.

Point by point:

1. This is pretty normal. People don't want to think about the fact that the service staff is working while they have a fun evening. For this reason, a lot of restaurateurs encourage service staff to also avoid the phrase "Are you still working on that?" since the guest isn't working, we are.

2. It makes me sad that management doesn't believe two employees can talk to each other about a problem in service without a manager intervening. Obviously harassing coworkers is bad.

3. I love this one. "If you must go to the bathroom..." Hello. Shifts are between 6-8 hours long, front of house staff will need to go to the bathroom. It's ridiculous that management has phrased it like it's some nuisance and that you should really know better. This is my least part of being a server. I hate asking permission of multiple people to pee. I'm sorry but it's kind of degrading. Remember Morgan Freeman in Shawshank Redemption at the grocery store? Yeah, it's like that.

4. It's a pretty rare thing to have some rando walk into the kitchen. At restaurants with open kitchens it seems to be more of a problem. The reason having strangers in the kitchen is a real problem is beyond just the annoyance and weirdness. Restaurant kitchens are potentially very dangerous- open flame, hot exposed grills, scalding hot pans, knives and boiling liquids demand an awareness and a knowledge of how to move and communicate these dangers. No way a customer would know that if I say "Behind, pan" that means "I'm behind you with a hot pan so don't move backwards or turn around or you'll get burned by this heat conducting hunk of metal."

5. Also pretty normal. But sometimes when things are really busy you start tables that aren't in your section because somebody needs to f*ing serve these people. Where I work you aren't allowed to enter the computer system with someone else's sign-in number. Most places allow you to do that so you can take a table's order without starting a check in another server's section.

6. Yup.

7. Yup. No wilty salads. However, our kitchen does all our plating, so I don't really ever have to think about this.

8. Yup. We have several people looking the glasses over before they hit a table.

9. I know, I know, but seeing a server take a sip of water is really not the end of the world. C'mon.

10. I mean, yeah. Don't smell bad and don't look like you have a cud.

11. Also normal.


What do you think?

I Rock! But Not At Basic Arithmetic and Algebra.

Serving from 2 pm - 9:30 pm, I sold over $1200 today. ON A MONDAY!!!!!!!

Sure paperwork that should have had me out the door no later than 10 kept me till 10:45, but hey, at least I had real numbers to crunch.

What many people are surprised by is that servers are responsible for reconciling what their computer generated sales report tells them they owe with what they have. Sitting in the itty bitty un-windowed office in the basement of the restaurant, we count every credit card receipt to make sure we have the right number of Visa, Amex and Mastercard charges (we take Diner's Club but I've yet to see one come out). The report also tells us how much cash is owed- this figure represents not the total paid to servers in cash, but the cumulative total of cash bills. The hope is that there is left-over. The difference between cash owed and cash had is cash tips. Put those is a seperate envelope. On this envelope, also write the number written on the report as "total service charges." That number represents the charged tips earned. Separate receipts for any comps or voids and put those in the comps and voids file in the office. Wrap the cash owed and all the credit card receipts with the report and put them in a bank envelope for the controller. Ok, the easy part is done.

What I find difficult is the endless arithmetic and calculation to determine the tips. When you work the 2-10 shift, which I often do, it is your responsibility to figure out total tip earning for the daytime staff, daytime staff being defined as all tipped employees who worked between 7 am-5 pm. Today, that meant : 1 Bartender, 1 barback, 2 bussers, 2 servers, 1 food runner, and 1 barista. We are a pooled house which means everyone get a percentage of the tip pool. The way we figure out who get what is by a point system. A server's hour is worth 4 points, a bussers 2 and so on. Dividing the total tips earned in the day by the total points earned gives you the value of a point. Then you just multiply across-

HyperActiveBusser worked 4 hours at 2 pts/hr = 8 total points. 8 X pt. value = daytime tips earned.

You think this should be easy but its not. The totals don't always add up, after the end of a shift its hard to push all the right buttons on the calculator, and I'm pretty sure that I skipped a step in my description seeing as I seem to often have to re-do my math for having skipped or over-looked something. Thankfully, there's usually a supervisor- theoretically there is always a supervisor, but sometimes they leave you alone and just initial your work.

Watching me struggle with figuring out what numbers go in what column, what times what divided by what equals a point, and why my numbers kept not working I shared with my flabbergasted supervisor that this is the part of serving euphemistically "doesn't come naturally."

"Ivy League?" he said. "Proud Arts and Literature double major," I replied.








For those of you who know me, and for those who don't, understand my majors have been generalized to protect my anonymity...from Them. They're Watching.

I Want A Promotion But Don't Know If I'm Getting One. A Managerial Query.

So, for the past month I've been picking up serving/cocktailing shifts with more regularity. I haven't been given a set schedule of shifts, nor am I put on the weekly schedule emails. However, one of my server buddies told me I'm on the contact list, aka if you need a shift covered you can call me. Two weekends ago I worked on Saturday and Sunday night. This week I did a surprisingly busy Wednesday night shift.

Via text message, I am confirmed for working the dinner shift on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. A manager told me these are good opportunities to get my "high-volume skills up." I'm looking forward to the busier and more lucrative shifts, but as of yet I have no indication that those will be a regularly occurring phenomenon in my life. I've emailed and talked with management enough times to be 100% sure they know I want to be on the regular schedule. Do I have any recourse to make that happen? Other than taking whatever shifts I can get, I don't think so.

Working As A Waitress In A Cocktail Bar Has Yet To Make Me Famous. I Clearly Need Philip Oakey.

So many fantasies at once, some more realistic than others, some more noble than others:

-Getting discovered on the job.
-Discovering some chick on the job.
-Having an acting career
-Facilitating acting careers
-Walking away from a 5-year relationship obviously built on inequality
-Being the Galatea to his Pygmalion
-Being the Higgins to her Doolittle.

For the record, I haven't been discovered on the job. Yet.

"There Goes Your Social Life." -Dionne

I'm really hoping to see a couple friends today for afternoon coffee, another couple for dinner, and another couple for after-dinner drinks. I gave my friends an 8-hour window that I'd be able to see them at one of the hottest places to grab a bite and a beverage in New York.

The catch is that I'll be working. It's my only hope of seeing friends today. Since it's Wednesday, nobody's going to want to hang out when I leave at 10:00pm and I can't relax over drinks before work because: 1) I don't always love drinking at 1:00 unless I'm eating a great brunch, 2) Most of my friends don't have the luxury of drinking at 1:00, since most of their (albeit crappy) jobs take place in the daylight and, and this is the kicker, 3) I don't want to carouse before heading into an 8-hour shift because I need to conserve my energy for the floor.

Restaurant work, while social by nature, can wreak havoc on a healthy social life unless your coterie is also in the industry. I work while others play- in fact, my work facilitates that play. Think about it- the times you want to go out are precisely the times I hope to be working, since I'll make more money off people who think exactly like you. On Sundays, when I work brunch, I try not to see friends afterwards since I'm often exhausted, a little dirty and a lotta cranky. I often end up seeing music on Sunday nights, but when people ask me why I look so tired I just tell them "I've been awake a really long time."

Some weeks are harder than others. This week my time has been totally booked, so today's my best shot at seeing the friends I care about for the rest of the week. It's tough, but my friends understand. And they come visit me at quieter times in my shift so I can actually see and talk to them, and so they can see where I work (and what I write about).

See you at work, friends!

A Little Sifton Bashing Is Good For The (Restaurant Workers') Soul.

Since I now have a blackberry, I can tweet and email and do lots of things when I'm not doing anything, and if I'm discreet, I can do such things on the job.

Below is an email exchange between me, Underemployed, and an Ivy League '06 who is in the part of his culinary school training where he is doing legit dinner services. Keep in mind I was (still) at work when I wrote.

Underemployed:

They sat a 10-top 7 minutes before kitchen closes. If/when I'm in charge somewhere large groups will not be seated within half hour of kitchen closing unless they are reserved or vip. This is bs.

IvyCulinaryKid:

shit! that is brutal. i got out by 1045 even though it was a pretty rough service... sorry 'bout that; that is bs. like a raymond chandler novel narrated by angelina jolie, sultry yet off-putting. (that was my best off the cuff sifton impression)

Underemployed:

One could say its like tripping on cough syrup- it could do you good but more likely it will leave face-down buck-naked on a bathroom floor you can only hope will be yours.

IvyCulinaryKid:

wow. that is good. you should write for the times.


If only, if only.

Check out this amazing Sifton poem from The Village Voice and these disturbingly accurate Sifton Mad Libs on Eater.

Hot On The Trial. I Mean Trail. I Mean...

Last night I trailed at that popular East Village eatery I wrote about last week. Trailing is a restaurant industry mainstay. A trail is shadowing a server, and being as helpful as you can without really talking to guests or getting in the way.

I arrived at the restaurant, introduced myself to the manager and she promptly told me there would be another would-be server trailing. That made me anxious. The thing is, by its very nature, to be trailing is to be in the way on the floor and to be annoying to the server you're shadowing by asking questions and slowing them down. To have two extra bodies who are basically not capable of contributing meaningfully to service sounded horrible. But I figured having someone around who also didn't know what was going on would be a net positive, since I wouldn't be the only one looking like a deer in the headlights.

The East Village restaurant (EVR for short) did a solid dinner service, but nothing compared to the restaurant I work at. That's ok with me- cocktail serving isn't the same thing as dining service, so it's good to get my sea legs at a place where the pace is reasonable but I'll still make money. The server I trained with was damn good at his job- never once did he look stressed out, he was elegant and efficient with his movements on the floor, and he had a nice way with the customers. I helped with bussing tables, filling water glasses, topping off wine glasses, running food and cocktails.

The spirit among the front of house staff wasn't as lively or camaraderie-driven as the restaurant I work at. I missed the sense of being in the trenches with friends instead of fellow waitrons. Still, the customers were kind, the food at EVR is delicious, and I would fit in nicely there. I felt like working there a couple nights a week would be a positive addition to my finances and my work life.

As the server I was trailing approached the end of his shift he told me I was done and to find the manager. She told me I'd hear from them on Thursday, and if we were going forward they would set up the training then. She told me that the EVR was trailing three candidates for one spot. My enthusiasm for the restaurant fell. When I asked her if there was anything I could do in the meanwhile to secure this job she said to study the menu. "Just in case I get it," I said smiling.

Seeking counsel from the restaurant savvy Daphne Dusquesne at Gastronomista, I told her I felt like my time and free labor had been wasted. "Most restaurants trail more than one person," she told me, "they just don't tell you about it."

Don't Touch My Tail When I'm Cocktailing!

Through a series of scheduling mishaps that came my way, I got evening cocktailing shifts Saturday and Sunday night. I worked my lil' patootie off. Speaking of posteriority, I have a general rule that all customers, particularly male customers should adhere to which is, namely, don't touch the merchandise.

When cocktailing, I keep the drink menus in my back-pocket. The menus are tall and narrow so they fit nicely and I hate wearing those little cocktail aprons. While talking with a table of middle-aged women that had been drinking for a couple hours Saturday afternoon and thus deserved my attention when they wanted to chat, I felt a menu disappear from my back-pocket. Out of the corner of my eye I see an athletic late 20-something hulk of a man walk away with a menu. The women looked at me scandalized, and I just stood there slack-jawed. "I wouldn't mind if he touched my back-pocket," one of the drunk ladies said to me. Before I could stop myself I blurted, "I'm uncomfortable."

Maybe I should have said something to him when I went to take his order. I mean, he didn't cop a feel, but he definitely didn't respect my bubble (butt? Lame joke). Something like, Now that you violated my personal space, what else can I do for you. But I didn't say anything. I just took his order and avoided him as much as possible.

What's funny is that much later at night as things were really busy, a male supervisor snuck a menu too, since he had cranky guests he needed to appease. Kind of bugged me, but if I were in a pinch and he had menus in his back-pocket I might consider...

Need to get some ass? Put menus in your pants.

One Step Closer To Another Restaurant Job. Or, Kinko's Is My Necessary Evil.

Today, after seeing an ad on Craigslist yesterday, I went to an open call at a popular East Village restaurant. What that means is that for a 2 hour window, anyone with a resume in hand could walk into the restaurant and get an interview to be a server. I normally don't like going to open calls since I feel like they're usually a waste of time- way too many people interviewing with way too few employers for one spot. But I really like this restaurant family and I figured since I had nothing better to do today it was worth a go.

Step 1: What to wear.

I know what the servers look like at this restaurant group, so I dressed in character. Nice flats, tight dark jeans, black collared shirt, floral scarf. Put together but not trying to hard with a touch of "If you need me to start tonight I'm already dressed" charm.

Step 2: Print resumes.

I made a pit stop to a Kinko's in Chelsea. With only an hour before the open call ended, I was worried. Coming into the store, I saw the line and felt my fists clench and my jaw tighten. Why is it that any trip to Kinko's always has a glitch. Question, readers. Have any of you ever left Kinko's in a better mood than you entered? No. It's a service industry outpost in which the service is consistently infuriating. And pricey. But I don't have a printer, so to Kinko's I will inevitably return.

After a barely comprehensible yet entirely aggravating interaction with a man who, not wearing that ugly polo, I assume was a manager I decided to forgo nice paper for sanity and made a bee-line for the self-service computers. I printed 20 copies of my most up-to-date restaurant resume so I could put off visiting for a good long time.

Step 3: Interview

When I got out of the subway on 2nd Ave, it was raining. I figured this was in my favor. It takes a certain kind of underemployed to go to an open call in the rain. I saw three pretty young women waiting outside the restaurant, not even under the awning, just getting rained on holding plastic file folders. I asked them if we had to wait outside, at which point I realized they were native Russian speakers who were too scared to ask if they could go in.

I walked in and, in Spanish, politely asked a busser to find me a manager for the interview. Standing at the bar, the prickly Manager and I talked only briefly.


ManagerMan: My first impulse is to say no. I mean, cocktailing is totally different than serving.
Underemployed: I understand, but I'm a quick study. You want me to know ingredients? I'll memorize the menu by the next day. I can learn this. I'm food knowledgeable. And I also sell food when I work on the floor, not just alcohol. Look, I don't want to be pushy...
ManagerMan: It's good to be pushy. I'm going to have you come in and trail. I'm going to tell them you're green. Be proactive during service and we'll see from there. If you don't try to help out, it's not going to happen.
Underemployed: Great. Thanks for the opportunity. I know I can do this.

In reality, this will be serving food at a volume I have never worked. My trail is Tuesday, but I'm not too nervous. I don't know how not to try hard at work. And if my best isn't good enough, whatever.

Check out this amazing anti-kinko's image from www.awesomebehavior.com