It really hits a nerve with me when a position of authority is given to someone who is undeserving of such credit... someone who is not experienced nor is willing to learn... someone who is not, nor will ever be, qualified.
I am not griping about this out of jealousy, as I would never want to be stuck in this particular person's shoes. However I at least know that given the current example, I could set the bar for the standard much more than several notches higher.
Turns out, this gutless wonder was introduced to our owner while on a date with one of Birmingham's most renowned womanizers. Let's just say she was clearly on the date for the man's money because there isn't much else appealing about him. Care to know more about the man? Look for the post "The Great Gatsby".
Serena was offered a hostessing position. Easy, right? Answer the phone. Pencil in call ahead requests in a chronological manner. Wipe fingerprints on the glass doors. Seat people. In a rotational method, let the corresponding server know. Organize menus. The trickiest part is getting the spelling correctly on all of our daily specials. Wow. Rocket science.
Somewhere along the line, her value as an asset to the team was lost in translation and reassessed by our owner. Why? Like anyone else's guess, because she is pretty and princesses should not have to work hard. Now, what we refer to as a glorified hostess, Serena is an active floor manager. To my dismay, she also has the power of creating the schedule so guess whose bar shifts went down... Ding, ding, ding, you got it.
I try. I try really, really hard to like someone. My efforts do not always avail. Sometimes, like with Kat, we bash heads but eventually come around to an understanding. We even might just become unbelievably good friends. This girl, I just do not get. At all. After being told she was to train as a server to gain a basic knowledge of our menu, to learn our customer service, to actually become physical in our sidework, our in's and out's of the trade....well, she shut her eyes, and raised her brows before opening up again to say, "I wasn't hired to serve." Just like that, she made "serving" a dirty word... An insult. A job that is looked down upon as degrading.
My point is this-- until Serena knows what we know, has worked as hard as we do, and can honestly say that "she's been there," none of us will ever take her seriously. She is not part of the team. This is not a symbiotic relationship. I am not afraind to call bullshit when I see it.
Picture this. A patient needs a liver transplant. The patient preps for the upcoming procedure, takes regimens of pills. The transplant is completed and the patient must continue taking antibiotics and anti-rejection pills so that the body does not attack the organ, fighting it off as the body would any foreign entity. If the patient does not put in the work to maintain the acceptance of the organ, the body will reject the liver and the patient will die. The Valley as a whole, is the body and Serena is the liver. If she does not put in her fair share, the team won't accept her and the whole kit and caboodle will go out the window. Simple as that.
It's sad. To have set roots down in a place. To spend more time out of every day at work than at my own home. To gain friendships between staff over the years, and in such a short period of time see everything from morale and ethics to effort go to shit and disintegrate. People who have invested years into the restaurant have become numb which is the absolute worst... because we're not even angry anymore. We won't even fight for what can't be fought over because what is the point? We are just mentally cashed out. We're done.
The worst part is, I am exhausted. Tomorrow is looking like a 14 hour work day...with the hostess with the mostest. I haven't stopped grinding my teeth from earlier. Still frustrated about the evening, I sit and pout and type away my misery... It's easy to say, "Why go back to a job you aren't fulfilled with?" Because. Beggars can't be choosers. If I had all the answers in this world, I would tell you. Today, I am sorely out of good reasons and explanations. I had promised myself this would be the last serving job I would have, and I have tried to adhere to that vow. What it all comes down to at the end of the day?
A job is a job. A grain of salt is all it is, even if it is salt in the wounds.
-Malia Etienette
Photo Credit:
Attila the Hun- www.motifake.com
The Help- www.magicdvdripper.com
Hate our Boss- www.rottenecards.com
So it's been a minute...or more like two months. Since the last post, work has been...well, still changing. We've learned that the new hostess and head server are the two new faces for management. As if we couldn't conclude that for ourselves.
Bossy Betty, or Kat as I think I have nicknamed her, has actually moved into my apartment structure and we are now neighbors...
Come to find out, I like her one hell of a lot more now than before. Plus, it's nice having an ally at work-- especially one that Wulf listens to-- one that I can vent back and forth with, and one that I can happily now call a friend.
With the time that has lapsed, I have come to a realization that fighting everything going on-- the good, the bad and the ugly-- won't get you anywhere. Sometimes you have to find yourself laying belly up, like a fish waiting to be gutted, and just succumbing to life as we know it. Taking, and accepting, life on life's terms. Forcing the issue will not get you nor anyone else ahead, and it certainly won't gain you any friends.
Now, don't get me wrong, not everything is rainbows and sunshine. I still have a few qualms with the way the restaurant is now being run, but those will be wrinkled out in time.
For example.... shall we?
Pre-shift meetings.
These are exactly what they sound like. A meeting held before the shift for the staff to hear what specials are being featured for the day, any out of stock booze or food, and poignant matters. Like trained monkeys in button-downs, we scribble down what we are told in order to repeat verbatim a hundred times later on.
Princess Serena, the hostess-turned-manager, wanted to make a point. The new policy is that servers cover the full expense (out-of-pocket) for any beverage or meal that is incorrectly ordered if it is not caught before preparation. Multiple times, over multiple meetings, Serena has mentioned this policy when bringing to the attention of the entire group who exactly effed up the night before and paid for it. Naming names obviously. No one needs to know. We got the memo the first time. Sure we are all adults and can own up to our mistakes, clearly we have already taken the blow monetarily speaking if we were the ones to err, however we should not have to come into a job knowing we will be singled out and made an example of, day after day. Who the hell wants to do that?
Not surprisingly, I was even thrown under the bus (by the cook/2nd in line to Wulf) yesterday for a matter that I still stand behind my position firmly. A guest of mine on Saturday night wanted a chicken kebab however he wished to add jalapenos onto the skewer. Simple right? Think again.
I was called into the kitchen and berated that we do nothing special for customers. This is the meal, take it or leave it (unless of course, you have an allergy, only then are you cleared). She threw her worn and disfigured hands up in the air at me.
"I do nothing special." I furrowed my brow and looked at her stupidly.
"Nothing special? How hard it is to cut some jalepenos as if they were lemon wheels and stick them on the skewer? Not rocket science."
"We don't do special orders. You tell them!" Frustrated, Mama waved my ticket order in my face.
"I'm not asking for a miracle, Mother Theresa!" I wailed, getting pissed off. "I'll even charge them to add on. What's the problem?"
"Get out. You were told no special orders. It's too hard for me. We don't do. You tell them. Not my problem."
That put me over the edge. Not my problem? What part of "service industry" and "how may I help you" begs to give the response "not my problem" to a guest?! Exactly my point.
"Not my problem" won't get you satisfied customers, nor will it get people to return and continue supporting the business. It's a half-assed cop-out. It's laziness. It's everything against what basic standards service is about. Such a lack of passion can be fatal. Shame.
And so I was made an example for arguing indignantly. Poo poo on you.
Another issue? We are told-- by Wulf-- to ring in refills on pop. My problem with that is that the restaurant does not list this policy anywhere in its menu. Smoothies and juice? I understand that. Pop? Something that costs the restaurant all of a few cents for each glass? No.
For the regulars that have been eating at the restaurant since day one, no. Change the policy on them and infuriate them? No. Nickel and dime every sucker that walks in there, already paying for the "Birmingham" price on our dishes? No. Until I see it spelled out in the menu so that my guests are aware of this change, I will not abide by the new rule.
A server approached my table last night. Asked the gentleman if "he would like another diet coke".
The server went under my account on the computer, rang in "another" soft drink, and brought it out to him. I was beyond livid. First of all, I do not appreciate charges to my tables made without my prior knowledge of what is happening. Second of all, I don't like applying additional charges for drinks when the glass is loaded with ice in the first place. At the end of the day, it's just plain tacky.
As I argued with her about the charge added to my table, she says she stated she would bring him "another," not "a refill". Would anyone else be offended by this vague, beating around the bush way of saying we are charging you for that next drink if you are still thirsty?
Oh wait.... Not my problem.
So many problems, SO little time.
-Malia Etienette
Photo Credit:
Fileting seabass- www.academiabarilla.com
Pre shift- www.photos.nola.com
NMP- www.boulderchristina.wordpress.com
Under the bus- www.englishfromfriends.com
No free refills- www.freerefillsamerica.com
99 problems couple- www.bustedcoverage.com
