Every Thursday and Friday evenings, I have certain obligations I need to attend. On a few of these particular days, I'll find myself killing time at a Starbucks writing posts like this.
There's people, like the student to my right, pouring over textbooks with highlight-stained pages. Quiet, calm, collected. Damn near invisible.
My mother and I share conversation over lattes, taking in the surroundings- mostly just people watching.
As with serving, there's always that couple that you're stuck waiting on-- the one that you could almost put money on finding them locked inside a steamy car in the parking structure, mid make-out session, while you are taking off from your shift.
That specific kind of "first date" couple happens to stroll into Starbucks, and literally makes us think WTF or as some friends of mine have recently put it, "da fuq"?
The tall sneakerhead in a hooded sweatshirt and flat-brimmed hat is joined by a much too giggly Arabic girl. Like a defective Tickle Me Elmo, she just won't shut the hell up.
I know it's no library, and it's certainly not church, but c'mon man, keep it down.
"Heheheh, oh mah God. I totally do that," she squealed.
Do what. My eavesdropping or "unintentional overhearing" kicked in.
"I totally take my purse with me when I go to the bathroom!"
Why wouldn't you?
Maybe you'll need a crotch stopper? Maybe getting robbed today isn't a great idea?
And please. In between giggling like an idiot at something that isn't funny in the first place so loud the entire coffees hop is listening in, please, flip your hair a little more. A hunter on the prowl, she shoots an arm across the table and latches firmly onto the boy's bicep, steadily getting closer because her first choice of giving a handy would be too obvious under the petite table. Please, keep touching your chest with your opposite hand when you speak because it draws the poor boy's attention to your only two redeeming qualities about yourself since intelligence is most arguably not an asset.
I think to myself, why am I single when there are dimwitted, superficial broads or even better, tarts who are even duller than watching paint dry in committed relationships? Not my time apparently. And to be quite frank, I've got a lot on my plate and it's going to take someone who is understanding, patient and strong enough to accept life as it is.
Yes. This is basically what his view was, plus some clothes.
My mother looks up at me over her phone and asks if I'd like to switch spots for a better view. I decline. My mom goes back to scrolling through Facebook and it's many wonders, and she says without breaking her gaze, "Don't ever dumb yourself down."
Soon enough, it is looking like the guy seals the deal as she clings onto him, damn near dry-humping his leg as they get up to leave.
Finally.
I used to be a wild one.
I used to be all about the attention.
I used to have an unbreakable tolerance for drama and nonsense, much like the tolerance I have for waiting on guests.
Where has it gone? Who knows.
And I don't want it back. No one should ever want that back.
They say ignorance is bliss. Is it? I'd rather have my eyes opened to see things for what they really are. It's been a long time, but I'm finally getting the bigger picture.
The door closes behind the traipsing couple. I let out an audible sigh of relief, thankful for the tranquility restored.
All pain is only temporary.
<3 Malia Etienette
Photo Credit:Gary Coleman- dev.ryot.org
Latest Tickle Me Elmo- www.usatoday30.usatoday.com
Purse Snatcher- www.ohanablog.com
Boobs- http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Woman_in_a_bikini_grabbing_her_own_breasts.jpg
Waitress- www.clatl.com
Haven't you ever heard that? It's said for a reason, you know. Not just one of those cliches that people reuse so much that it loses its meaning, but the phrase actually DOES mean something.
In the service industry, this happens all too much...this whole "shooting of the messenger".
I'm sure it is just as likely to occur in other workplaces as well. People create scapegoats, throw others under the bus. It's a common practice and hey, someone has to take the blame, right?
If the food is bad at the restaurant, people bitch at the server. If the food is too salty, people bitch at the server. If it's too cold, people bitch at the server. If the room temperature isn't right, people bitch at the server. If the music is too loud, if the drink isn't strong enough, if their child is out of hand, if the menu has been changed, if the prices have been raised, if we no longer offer that kind of beer....people constantly take their issues out on the front runner of the service-- the waiter-- and more than likely the tip is docked because of this misunderstanding which only adds insult to injury.
So this is a case of an instance I experienced with less than stellar customer service based in a retail setting. Since I have not used any actual names of people, places, cities or venues, I'll stay on that track just for the sake of anonymity. For fun though, let's just call this store Smart Fan seeing as how everyone is intelligent enough to figure it out for themselves if they so wish.
The salesperson I had was warm, friendly and helpful. He didn't breathe down our necks like typical salespeople do for the sake of staking out commission, but let us wander instead. Milling through the rows of couches, my mother and I tested each out for comfort so thoroughly even Goldilocks would approve. After bouncing on and reclining into nearly every couch on the showroom floor, I finally settled on a larger, very traditional tufted sofa and a patterned side chair. Twelve hundred bucks later, I was informed that the delivery date would be two weeks.
Of course, the three hour window that we are given from Smart Fan,
the delivery guys show up with ten minutes to spare. Not like I didn't
have anything else to do that day as it was my day off...
The couch shows, not the chair.
Where the fuck is my chair.
The reason the delivery took two weeks was because I was waiting for
both pieces to be treated with a stain-resiting chemical and delivered together... I could have had the couch the
same day of purchasing it, but didn't want to inconvenience myself with
two delivery dates. So the funny part is, the couch which was readily
available was postponed and the chair I had waited on didn't show after
all.
A much necessary call was immediately placed to the company. The discussion quickly turned into a full-blast faucet of excuses, the Niagra Falls if you will, on behalf of the furniture store. A torrent of explanations tailed by even more justifications. Something about how the warehouse is in Grand Rapids. Something about the distributor not having that chair. Something about how my chair was part of a set on sale so it may have gotten sold to someone else. Sifting through all of the bullshit, all I heard was someone not doing their job right.
Usually, this is the point where the customers I wait on decide go all Jekyll and Hyde on me and dump a case of whoop-ass on my once semi-acceptable day. Which is exactly what I wanted to do. Tear someone's face off and hand it back to them after doing a shimmy-shaking, heel-grinding Mexican hat dance on the inside of it.
But I didn't. I thought about all the times I have gotten the wrath of someone else's mistake. I dealt with getting put on hold for more than several times, and calmly explained the situation for the eighth time to whom I was speaking. A few more minutes later and another hundred was knocked off my bill for the trouble.
Of course, if your food gets messed up, I'm not going to grant you a hundred dollar comp. And if someone spills wine on you, we'll pay for dry cleaning. If you want a replacement, that money does actually come out of the server's personal piggybank. The point is, if there is an error, I will do my best to apologize, listen to what needs to be fixed, and try to rectify the situation and make amends.
God willing, you're the kind of person that has a little grace within themselves to hold whatever it is, in, and not go apeshit with a bad case of verbal diarrhea on how you really feel. That's just obnoxious, and such extreme Negative Nancy's are quite frankly the kind of people who we don't fix things for. :)
So now, here I sit, no longer on the floor of my apartment, but in a fully furnished room as I look over at my newly received accent chair and smile to myself. Life ain't that bad.
-
Malia Etienette
Photo Credit:
Shooting the Messenger- www.elementalseattle.com
Not Rare- www.devdogtyson.blogspot.com
Furniture Fail- www.cheezburger.com
Apology as Cure- www.reportingonhealth.org
Life is Good logo- www.glidemagazine.com
"They were careless people, Tom and Daisy-- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made..." F. Scott Fitzgerald
This is the exact quote that sparked into my head as I heard the screech of metal upon metal collide. This quote also unfortunately describes a good portion of the population of the city I reside and am employed in.
Whether they actually reside here or elsewhere, work in the area, or have somehow managed to make an expensive place like Buckingham their regular hangout, it's those reeking of an heir of entitlement that act as such...the "who do you think you are's" and "how dare you's" with a touch of the "do you know who I am's" and my personal favorite, "the owner and I are friends".
And yes, I do say this because of the fact that we encounter people like this daily-- Now this isn't the whole of this city, absolutely not, but it does represent a good part. Good enough that certain behaviors, attitudes and personas are no longer surprising, but expected to come with the package.
Women, who drop their own wine glass and then offer up their heeled foot for you to wipe it as if we offered a shoe shining service on top of just the food and beverage.
Confronted with a soiled shoe, dangling mid-air in your face, the lady looks down upon you as though she is Christ and you are her Mary Magdalene...minus the gratitude and adoration.
All you can think is "excuse me?" while the look on your face properly says, "eat shit."
Bitchy girls who wear skirts so high you can see their crotch from the front, who shit all over guys who do approach them, and then just look desperate while the ones they're after fail to strike while the iron's hot because their wallet-sniffing can be sensed a mile away. ("Haven't you heard?," said Daisy to Gatsby, "Rich girls don't marry poor boys." FSF...a mantra to learn in this city)
Misbehaved and ill-disciplined children who will have a mind-shattering and humorously rude awakening of how society really works when reality hits in the future.
And men who... don't even get me started.
I watched the young boy climb out of his newer-model, shiny luxury vehicle and examine the truck of the blue-collar worker all banged up...and then dreadfully turn to see the crunched up passenger door of his own as his hands instinctively clapped to his mouth. All because he didn't want to wait for the car in front of him to hook a left at the light.
Careless.
But nothing a credit card can't fix...gloss over...erase such a nagging mark from existence. Money always has its way. With money comes power, priveledge and apparently today, the right of way.
I observe the face of the worker from afar. Aged and distraught. I know, as another worker, where this is coming from. The worry and stress of taking on yet another bill, unexpectedly when you're already tapped out and bled dry.
I can empathise-- and I do, as I sit down on the bench from which I'm writing this account-- watching the worker offer up his information to the unphased policeman as if he was offering up the last ten dollars to his name.
I consider my day so far, and what I've been dealing with lately...and I take a deep breath.
Today isn't so bad. There is always someone else out there who is having a harder time than you. So you might not hold all the poker chips, just learn to play the best hand that you were dealt. Folding isn't an option at this particular table. There are always the positives in life. Find them.
<3
Malia Etienette
Photo Credit:
Daisy & Tom: www.theauburngirl.style.it
Suited Child: www.memegenerator.net
Love Lifted Me: www.jeromepolitzer.com
Fender Bender: www.autos.ca.msn.com
Black Amex: www.uniquconsulting.com
Grumpy Old Ken 3/2011: www.grumpyoldken.blogspot.com
I finally did it.
I moved out.
Yeah, you're thinking, big deal.
Well it is one. I'm 25, still not done as far as education, working to live...walking a fine line between struggling and comfortable. It has been a huge step in the right direction towards being independent and self-sufficient.
Obviously I'm closer to work... my boss seems to love this.
"Oh, must be nice," he'd say in a thick Lebanese accent, "that must mean you can work all doubles next week, yes?" Well, way for shooting myself in the foot on that one.
I could practically-- if weather permits (thank you Michigan)-- walk myself to work if I wanted.
Yes, this was partially the reason for moving to the city.
Throughout the move-- the packing up of the cars, the back-and-forth trips, here again, back again,
hauling heavy boxes up a staircase, strapping mattresses and boxsprings to the roof of a car, unpacking and organizing, putting those damn non-English instructional 3000 piece IKEA dressers together, sweating on one of the last "nice weather" days of the year-- my family was there for me.
No bitching. No asking "but do I have to"? They called all plans off for the day in order to be there.
After all of the grief I have given my parents over the years-- and I mean absolute shit-- there they were, pouring out their heart and their soul along with their pockets so I could comfortably move in. I was not an easy child to raise... for reasons unknown, too complicated to even explain, I was super insubordinate, unbelievably headstrong and defiant as I grew up.
After all the slammed doors, "I-hate-you's", and picked arguments, the empty threats to run away as a youngster...the lost sleep as I'd rudely come home late and disturb their sleep, the horribly failed chores, having to fall on my ass to learn the hard way, that fucking swear cup I'd have to fill from when I was younger, and even the ruts of trouble I find myself in to this day.
After all the teeth I've kicked in and the gray hairs I've been responsible for...
Here they were, freely giving themselves when they didn't have to.
Maybe it only took a quarter of a century, but I see it. I couldn't have been blessed with better parents. I love them.
Some would say they were just happy to get me the hell out of the house.
Others would explain it as unconditional love.
I sit back, and I look around at a new, not-yet-familiar surrounding that I am now calling home.
Home, a modest place in a city of snooties. An envied address in the "009", the land of yoga pants and luxury SUVs, of Starbucks sipping, brand name rocking, physically maintained women rushing to their hair and nail appointments down the block.
No, of course I will never let this area mold and define me. It's funny and even somewhat ironic, moving into the city whose residents I scrutinize and calculate. We'll have to see how this goes.
One foot in front of the other.
One day at a time.
This is me, learning to walk on my own.
-Malia EtienettePhoto Credit:
Moving Day- www.fanart.tv
Autodest Labs Moving Day- www.labs.blogs.com
Snow Storm...- www.earthobservatory.nasa.gov
When Good Kids Run Away- www.parents-are-people-too.com
Reflection on the Poem "Footprints"- www.ronedmondson.com
Rugrats.
Tots.
Little terrors.
Minor...major headaches.
They're your kids.
Now let me rewind this just a bit and preface this post by saying, if you have children you may be offended by this post. Know that I don't give a damn. I'm sure you've taken your children out once or twice and threatened to take them home if they don't shape up. And if this moment hasn't happened yet, as you say to yourself, "Oh, never would I have to with my little angels," oh...that moment-- it's coming.
And if you can truly, honestly say that your children are well behaved in public at all times because you have put the fear of God in their little heads, then this is a snapshot of those other cabbage patch kids that have given us servers grief during our shifts... how a disaster can be averted, and how to create a wonderful dining experience for all.
Manners are a godsend. Seriously. I can't tell you how appreciative I am of parents who remind their children the please's and the thank you's and the may I's. It's a breath of fresh air.
As servers, we are paid pretty much by our guests to take orders and serve food. This does NOT mean that we take orders from your snotty, ill-mannered child. No server likes it when your child snaps, "Go get me a" and "Where is my"....and you as a parent thinks its cute.
The sound of that is like nails on a chalkboard.
Not only do we dislike being bossed around by your five-year-old, we are also not your babysitter. We should not have to collect and wait with your three-year-old that you left behind as your entire group has exited the restaurant and is already down by the crosswalk. Headcount anyone?
These are the parents who aren't active in the supervision of their children. These are the parents too concerned with finding the bottom of their sangria than wondering where their spawn got off to. These are the kids who serve as minor speedbumps in the aisleway for a server. In hauling a heavy tray overhead, we don't look down at our feet while we hustle to deliver the hot-food-hot and cold-food-cold. If your child is down, running amuck near our knees, they are getting taken out. Their bottoms belong in a seat, not in the way of the workers.
We love when you bring a goodie-bag of coloring supplies. We don't love when you allow your child to color in all of our menu's. Ask kindly, and we will provide plain white coloring paper for your child to express his creativity with instead.
Everyone loves a good song...which is why we provide music overhead to establish the dining ambiance. If your child would like to contribute to the music with his or her golden pipes, we appreciate if you remove your child until the tantrum settles down. Yes, we all know what self-soothing is. This method is however ineffective in a restaurant setting. Unlike a church, we do not offer a "cry room", yet we do have a lobby way towards the entry. Go sit down. Go for a walk outside. Please be mindful of everyone else surrounding you that is trying to hold a conversation, or is struggling to top your child's screams in order for the server to hear their order.
If your child needs to use the restroom, please accompany him or her. You have no idea the state we have discovered the bathoom to be in after your little one has wrecked it. Water on mirrors higher than even I can reach, half a roll of the economy-size toiletpaper stuffed into and clogging a toilet, and puddles literally everywhere. No, Dane Cook, it wasn't a wet dog, it was someone's unsupervised child. And yes, there has been shit on the floor. I don't even want to go into how this could have taken place.
Some kids are picky, we understand. Growing up, my younger brother refused all food except bread, cheese and hot dogs. This is why we have a children's menu. We have items like a children's cheeseburger, pizza, buttered noodles, hot dog, chicken fingers and fries....
Due to this, I don't expect to come to your table with your child eating a slice of pizza from the pizzeria down the street because your child doesn't like "our food". Unacceptable, and you as a parent are not setting a good example. I shouldn't be the one to point it out. Seeing as how we offer kid's pizza, your child can either order off of our menu or go hungry-- not be catered to-- since it is also a health code violation to bring in outside food and beverage.
We also don't like finding cheerios, chex mix, and goldfish stomped on underneath the table for us to pick up as if we just played a game of 52 Pick Up. If you plan on bringing snacks, please keep them on the table.
So now you know why some servers grind and grit their teeth when they see a ten-top consisting of only two adults being sat in their section.
We are not your crossing guards, bathroom attendants, babysitters, whipping boys, or maids.
We are the waitstaff.
Learn it. Live it. Love it.
With that said, may I take your order?-Malia EtienettePhoto Credit:
"Holidays for the Littlest Angels"- www.womanaroundtown.com
"Help Getting Organized"- www.getbuttonedup.com
"Lost Child"- www.kidsvancouver.com
"Arts Heavy Preschool Helps Children"- www.bumblebeesrus.com
Crying Children- www.gweem.net
"Picky Eater: Age 5 and Beyond"- www.sheknows.com
"11 Thoughts and Strategies for Dealing with Picky Eaters"- www.parentables.howstuffworks.com
