I Must Be Getting Old...

My focus is broken as I catch Gina in my peripheral vision, bobbing and weaving at her table.  She looked like shit.  And that was putting it nicely.
I stood her up the previous night even after I heard about how "dank" the show was going to be. Heard the afterparty would be off the hook as well.  What the hell does "dank" even mean?  Am I getting to the point where I need to look words and phrases up on Urban Dictionary?  
 
Well.  I stayed in. Again.  Watched a few movies (thank you, Netflix). 
Here's the catch:  I didn't come into work today with a massive hangover wishing I was chopped liver.

I remember those days, not too long ago, when I was in her shoes.  Hoping my tables would be having a "no fuss" kind of day.  Hoping the rest of the servers would pick up the slack on the side-work and not rat me out because we've all had these days.  Hoping someone would want to stay through and finish the shift for me so I could go back home and lie down. Hoping I could disappear because all I wanted was a five-minute break to get my shit together.  

 Why do we do it?  When we know we have places to go the next day, things to do..."responsibilities".  Good lord, does being an adult suck sometime.  It's one thing when you're jammed like a sardine in some cubicle with your head pounding and splitting as you're forced to look at a computer monitor and return phone calls all day.  It's quite another when you're job description is to be timely with orders, look well-kempt, and for god sakes-- smile.  It's a little hard to do all of this when your face is hovering in a porcelain bowl every ten minutes.


I always wonder what guests think when they get stuck with someone who's had a rough night.  Can't be pretty.
  Should the worker have shown up to work?  No.  Probably not, especially had they been sick.  Which is another issue at hand.
Cold and flu season.  If you're sick, stay home.  That's just plain gross, especially in the food industry. I, nor do you, want someone who has been sneezing and coughing handling their dishes of food.  Cleanliness is godliness, however I cannot guarantee you are washing your hands as you should.
Could you as a guest ask for another server? Definitely.  I would advise to as well.  And don't you dare feel guilty about it.  Better safe than sorry.

If I come into work looking like I was hit by a train, it's because I'm working a sixty hour work week-- not because I was tanked the night before.  If I'm irritable, it's because I am now the person who shows up on time to complete the side-work that won't be touched for another thirty minutes by those just rolling out of bed.
If I'm calling in sick, it's because I'm legitimately ill and do not wish to spread my goobers to others.

I walk in on Gina later on in the bathroom and can't decide if she's really sick, or just sitting there in an act of "poor me".  I laugh to myself and shake my head as I skirt out of there and hustle off to pick up on the tables she's passing.  One man's loss is another man's gain.  And boy, I'm happy to coming out on top with that.


- Malia Etienette

Photo Credit:
"What is a Hangover?"- www.sciencebasedlife.wordpress.com
"Employees Must Wash Hands"- www.webstaurantstore.com
"Hangover Cures That Aren't Healthy"- www.abcnews.go.com

Hellidays are Here

December 1st.

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone.  Just like that, guests from out of town are back where they came from. The restaurant settles in for another lull just before the other holidays really hit.
 

I understand Thanksgiving, but at the same time...I really don't.
Families throw extravagant feasts.  Lavish, decorative orchestrated productions. After stuffing our pie-holes and saying grace, claiming our deep gratitude for everything we have, we what?  We just as quickly jump in our vehicles and race off to the stores because of course Black Friday starts early-- and we buy all the shit we don't yet have in our lives already.  And if we miss those sales?! Cyber Monday.
 

That's thanks alright.

As my mother and I'm sure her mother has always said if our plates weren't clean, "Finish.  There are starving children in China."  What we didn't eat became breakfast.
Well I'll be damned, there are starving families here, maybe so close as next door.  Somewhere along the way, we have lost the meaning of holidays and have let materialistic belongings and the Hallmark-tackiness of it all serve as the backbone, the main reason for running the show.
 
I'M not entirely innocent either.  I remember there being a time where I would think I was clever-- armed with a fat, black, felt-tipped, permanent marker, furiously scribbling deranged circles around items I wanted in catalogs, leaving it out on display where my mother would surely see it.  The miracle would be if I didn't encircle or highlight half the items in the magazine.  What are we teaching kids?  I associated holidays with receiving.  Screw giving.  I wanted things.  And now?  Things don't matter.  It's the time that I get to spend with my family and those important to me.  The world was crazy to think that only one day should be designated (and should suffice) for giving thanks-- it should be everyday you open your eyes and realize how very lucky you are to have what you do.
 

Looking at myself now, I'm not sure what to think.  I'm no Scrooge, but do I see myself in shades of green... with a sinister smile, turning my fingers around the tips of a mustache.  A grinch?
Bitter much? No... Maybe only tired of seeing the same thing over again.  Like a broken record repeating itself.  Serving guests that need to be drunk to sit across the table from in-laws. Running martinis for women reminiscent of Sex in the City whom have never worked a day in their lives, yet pass gift bags from spas and boutiques around the table.  Hauling heavy fur coats to the back to be hung because their haughty owner wouldn't make the trip themselves, and instead hurled the garment at you.  Silly me, I keep forgetting servers are the help.  It's hell.  This month, I will be praying for patience.  Something that cannot be bought.

I hold my breath. Count back from ten.  Exhale.

 

I've never been very good at saying thank you.  I've never had much to give when it comes to giving gifts.  Thankfully, it's actions that speak louder than words.

So give back with your actions. Show appreciation. Show love.
Be present. That alone is what the holidays should be about.

Thanks...(really)
Malia Etienette

Photo Credit:
"Thanksgiving in the US"- www.timeanddate.com
"Amazon's Naughty, Walmart's Nice?"- www.forbes.com
"Average Child's Christmas List"- www.72point.com
Grinch- www.bristolrising.com
"Carolina Charm: Operation Sandwich"- www.northcarolinacharm.com

What The HALAL Are You Serving !?

I thought I knew what the term meant.  Silly me, living in a fairly Jewish populated area, I was thinking "kosher".  No, no.  The two most definitely hold a different meaning.  

When a guest asks if the food is halal, it is because their faith does not allow them to eat the meat of an animal that was not slaughtered in such a manner.  Those animals are considered dirty and against the religion to consume.  It's not like Little Miss Lamb Chops had AIDS or anything crazy.  It is simply a belief that is practiced, and shouldn't be taken lightly by others. 



Ready for the breakdown?

Halal, in Arabic, means permissible.  It is a specific way in which the animal for meat is slaughtered, known as the Dhabihah.  Tied up by its feet and hung upside-down, the throat of the animal is slit for all the blood to exit the body.  Of course, I am skipping the part where the butcher (who must also be Muslim) prays over the animal before it is slaughtered. "Bismillah" (In the name of god) and "Allahu akbar" (God is the greatest x3) are proclaimed as the neck is slashed and the animal drained fully.  Anything else would be considered "haraam" or unlawful to eat for one who observes the religious law.





 


Perhaps a month ago I had a table who inquired if our meat was halal.  Unsure how to answer the couple, I asked Wulf whom had been in the middle of a conversation with another guest.  I figured, if anyone, the owner should know where we obtain our meats and if it is or is not something my guests can order. 

With a look of annoyance for the interruption, and a touch of "of course, you idiot", he asserted that the meat was indeed halal.
So tonight, the topic comes up with one of the cooks.
SURPRISE!
Turns out, not ALL of our meat is halal.  The ground meats certainly aren't.  The tenderloin for the tenderloin hummus certainly is not, and so on... So what is?

My stomach twisted in such a way that I had just consumed a mouthful of something gone rancid.  That spoiled feeling was the horrible enlightenment that I naively allowed someone to eat a meat which they would never be able nor willing to eat had I known the actual fact of the matter.

 

Even though what is done, is done, and YES I was most certainly unaware that "halal" does not encompass all of our dishes-- I definitely feel guilty about the incident.

It's like mixing up drinkings and accidentally serving a devout recovering alcoholic booze, informing them that theirs is only soda water with lime.  Or having a vegan eat a dish with eggs or chicken stock.  It's not a matter of, "what you don't know won't hurt you".  It's just wrong-- even yes, for a Muslim to eat non-halal meat, downright sacrilegious.


Look before you leap? Always. Hell, in this case, inquire (maybe several times) before you eat.


-Malia Etienette

Photo Credit:
Symbol: www.northafricapost.com
Boycott Banner: "Unfair Trading. Boycott Halal" www.boycotthalal.com
Slaughterhouse: "In France, Politicians Make Halal Meat a Campaign Issue" www.npr.org 
Sickly: "13 Things You Should Know..." www.health.com 

People Watching

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

Don't Shoot the Messenger

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