Hurriedly, a woman rushed through the entry doors. As I offered her service, she pulled aside a seat at the bar, and out poured a hundred words at once- She was a regular customer at The Valley. She and her family love our food. She's introduced our restaurant to many of her friends. She parked a good walk away and needed to use our restroom. Would it be a problem if?...
Of course not. Why would I deny anyone that necessity? We're all only human.
She rambled on that she would leave me a tip, mumbled thank you and hustled off down the long stretch of the hallway towards her salvation.
I get it. I know, at times, my owner cringes when non-paying customers use our facilities. He doesn't want the place turning into the stationed port-a-john of the city. But here's the thing, people aren't going to turn the place into a dump and dash, so relax. No one wants that awkward walk of shame when they have to ask to use the facility as it is, so it won't turn into a free for all.
She returned with a twenty clutched in her hand, asking for change. This time around, I denied her. Why take money for services non-rendered? I simply responded that for the day I need assistance, I would hope the person is just as understanding.
Paying it forward, is what she told me-- that's what I just did. I know I've mentioned it before but, the way she said it just stuck a chord with me and something resonated.
Last night at work, a regular dining in checked up on me. Asked how was I was doing. The whole, not just 'how are you', but 'how are you really doing'? Asked what I would want most in life to be happy and to get ahead. I told him that it's not like I'm rubbing on any magic genie lamps, but I would more than anything want to get back into school and finish.
So what was holding me back? A lovely little thing called a financial hold. That's what. Thanks Education Nazis. If that's what it took, then he would help. No questions asked. No repayment necessary. Nothing owed. Nothing creepy. Only genuine intentions. He explained how someone helped him out a long time ago, and it was time he repaid that debt.
Is this Karma? Is this the cyclical way in which life works? No, this is him, paying it forward. Surely I don't want to get too excited, get ahead of myself like I usually do. But if this is legit, I'll drop everything and break out into my foolish little happy dance... and then get back to the books as soon as possible. With knowledge comes growth and the ability to make great strides--Then again... when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.
Steadily, one foot in front of the other, until I can run.
-Malia Etienette
Photo Credits:
90 Sketches in 90 Days: www.larissameek.com
Free the Pee- A Plea for More Common Sense Customer Service: www.douglaserice.com
Aladdin (Disney Character): en.wikipedia.org
Fitting that I work in a Mediterranean restaurant, no?
This was just it though. I survived another awkward Valentine's Day (just barely).
Went into work well aware of the fact that Janine would be getting showered-- and I mean, literally showered-- with gifts, roses and those damn edible arrangements. Flowers then arrived for Stacey. Come on now, at work? What cheese ball boyfriend does this? The girls do have their own address, right? As your coworker, I don't care to see the bills you receive, nor do I need a display of affection from your personal life to compare it to the lack in mine.
That kind of shit stings, especially when what you (and by "you" I mean "I") had going on didn't pan out. I'm just a Bitter Betty sometimes, what can I say?
With that alone, I caught an unexpected adult case of the five-year-old-who-never-learned-to-share...also known as the Jealous Bitch Syndrome. It's the middle child coming out in me-- although my mother will be the first to tell you and everyone else that as the only daughter, that excuse doesn't count.
So I wasn't in the best mood. Shoot me.
My boss had been riding my ass all week long, complaining of me being "moody" as it was.
To be honest, I had more than just one reason to be moody. My boss has been considering his generosity toward me to be something I need to repay, if you catch my drift. What an ugly truth.
He has reminded me, nearly daily, for his "invitation" to arrive, and that he has been patient.
Puke in my mouth. Really? Now do you blame me for being moody? It's harassment... His solution for my piss-pot attitude? Pull me out from behind the bar while I still have guests sitting there, down to his office in the basement (doesn't sound shady at all, right?), and rip me a new asshole. Forget asking me what the issue is. No, instead tear me down for having a problem with him allowing servers to dip their hands into my till while I am out running a lunch delivery. While everything that is behind the bar is his, as he put it, it is MY responsibility to pay out-of-pocket if my drawer is off the mark at the end of shift. Forgive me, for being concerned about my financial well-being. Forgive me for not wanting to have to witness such a showy, dramatic hallmark holiday, and forgive me for not wanting to blow you.
You ask me, why not move on? Because serving somewhere where you are basically living check to check doesn't allow for you to just up and quit, take time off to look for another opportunity, much less to train and not make what you were making before. That is at least an entire month's hit-- rent, bills, other unexpected expenses. This is the world of a server. Beggars can't be choosers, but I can also only play the game so long. If I could go back to school right now, I would. If I could leave where I'm at, you wouldn't have to tell me twice. But this, for the moment, is about survival.
It's hard to count down the days to a date of departure, when you don't have a set date.
It's hard to carry out a plan you've envisioned but haven't had the necessary resources for.
I guess it's just time to dream bigger, but not just dream, to act.
For if I don't, this black hole that waiting has been for me might just swallow me whole.
-Malia Etienette
Photo Credit:
"Camel Facts, Pictures and Habitat Information"- www.liveanimalist.com
"Reine Diamonds and Fine Jewelry"- www.facebook.com
"Love: The Ugly Truth"- www.lifescilife.wordpress.com
"Black Hole"- Vanishin.deviantart.com
Even when a guest couldn't be any further from being correct on a matter, the fact is-- they are right, whatever the issue may be. Apologize. Clarify the problem. Ask how they would like for it to be solved, or offer a resolution you are willing to follow through with. It's not that hard.
In my line of work, especially in the service industry, it's called "kissing ass".
Yes m'am. No m'am. More garlic with that? Absolutely. Not well done enough? Let me have that thrown back on the grill. Too much dressing on the fattoush? I'll have that remade.
Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Anything else, sir? Right away, sir.
That's how I pay my bills. An unhappy guest means that my tip gets docked. That doesn't mean that my tip outs at the end of the night are any smaller...which means I'm only losing more money, and that is something a server will do their very best to avoid.
It was yesterday that I played bartender for the lunch shift. What bartenders do: Prance around. Smile. Make drinks. Appear friendly. Flirt. Giggle. Twirl their hair. Hell, even wear a pair of these:
YES, yoga pants. Make mo' money. Holler.
But no, not really. That was the completely glamorized version of bartending. My day is more like running around crazy because carry out orders keep coming in. So it's back and forth from the bar to the kitchen to package orders. Back out again to greet a new guest. Back in again because it's cold outside and they'd like to start with a soup. Back out again because that damn phone is ringing yet again and the new hostess hasn't figured out it's her job to pick it up. The moment you start to walk away you notice that guest finished slamming their third Arnold Palmer and by pushing it forward, they mean to say they'd like some more please. Before you can turn back for the kitchen you hear the printer spit out a ticket for a server's drinks. And then you're about to break because someone who ordered $80 worth of modified sandwiches for a carryout order didn't tip. Bastards.
As I am taking a much needed deep breath in, two girls amble in the restaurant and pull up seats at the bar. One is the owner of the new salon over by the theater, Sweetie Snips*. I've seen her in here before. The two are warm and easygoing. Ordered for lunch is a chicken dish and a beef kebob.
Shortly after their starters, the girls dig into the entrees.
Three seconds mid-chew, the girl on the left scrunched up her nose and began dissecting her meat.
I knew I had a problem.
The issue? Simple. The meat was "too fatty and gristly" to chew through. I, myself, am a meat and potatoes girl. I could see what her problem was, and I wouldn't have eaten it either. I apologize and remove the plate from in front of her, and ask if she would care for anything else. I took the new order and punched it into the computer. Hustling back to the kitchen, I let "Mama" know what the issue was. 
Wulf, on the other hand, asked what was wrong. He asked where I had the plate of food-- I informed him that I was busy at the bar, and the dish had been placed in my bus tub but wasn't scraped off.
What did he do?
Turned tyrant. Puffed up his chest and swung out of the kitchen doors. Went behind my bar, pulled out the platter with the barely touched kebob and brought it back around the bar to confront the girl about it.
"What's wrongs with this?" Yes. I know I put an S on wrong. He tends to speak like that.
The girl, flabbergasted to have her meal resurrected from the pile of dirty dishes, repeated herself like an unsure child about to be scolded.
Wulf listened but didn't hear what she had to say.
"No. There's nothings wrongs with this meat. There's no such things as fats on this steaks," he said as he pinched a piece of meat in front of her face, "because it's a tenderloins cuts." My jaw dropped.
Wide-eyed, I could see the girl start to fume as he turned and walked away from the snubbed guests.
I do not own my own business, but I do know a thing or two about manners and respect and that was anything but. He started the day off with a crap attitude, taking heat out on the servers and now MY guests? I don't think so.
The girl blinked repeatedly as if to say did that just happen? Instead, she snapped out of it and chimed, "Hey, I'm sorry, you can go ahead and cancel my order. I'm not hungry anymore."
I apologized profusely. At this point there was nothing I could do to amend the situation except to make sure the girls weren't charged for both the tough kebob and the unserved replacement meal.
They were good sports. I have seen plenty of other people react explosively in regard to less obscene matters and for that, I am grateful.
As for my boss-- Who's do yous thinks you are? Yes, Wulf, you.
Rude.
(Thank you, Wulf, I'll take this in cash.)
Steaming mad that his inability to properly handle a situation was not only embarrassing, but cost me money, I wanted to shake Wulf to the point of whiplash. We all know if I said anything against my boss's actions, it would be the equivalent of mocking the judgement of a judge in his own courtroom. Believe it or not, there just may be a right and a wrong way of doing things. Instead, I picture my mother pointing a finger at me and mumbling that I'm better than that...and maybe something else about being ladylike. So I alternatively count back. Reflect.
Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
We all have our moments. I'm just hoping that this one in particular falls into the category of those Wulf would like to take back, or would have done differently had he been blessed with a second chance. Then again, that almost seems like a silly wish for dreamers, even children.
-Malia Etienette
Photo Credit:
Service Industry Golden Rule- www.slideshare.net
Yoga Pants- www.wheretoget.it
Gristle- www.atheistuniverse.net
Eat It- www.posters.ws
$15 Charge- www.dondalrymple.com
Make A Wish- www.sleekcover.com
