It is said that change is progressive. Change is positive, as long as it is in a forward motion.
Not all change is necessarily "good" however.
Take for instance, Kat, one of our newest employees. With Kat came new suggestions and tips for how to run a restaurant since she was raised in the service industry environment.
Well, there is a phrase that goes something like, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
Those are my feelings for her, when it comes to the workplace.
Change #1: Different containers for our yogurt sauce, ketchup, garlic sauces and barbeque...
Not horrible except I squeezed the container the wrong side facing down (since both the tops and bottoms are identical) and shot myself in the face with the garlic sauce-- reeking of it for the entirety of the day. Filthy.
Change #2: The plates the cups of soup are served on will now have a beverage napkin placed on it, which we will refer to as a "soup liner". For all intensive purposes, it will serve to stop the cup from sliding on the smooth surface of the plate. It's called a fucking doily. It's not a new invention; In fact, it's been around since the 17th century, I kid you not. Why the hell did this just go into effect NOW when I had mentioned it right AFTER I dumped a cup of steaming hot clam chowder on a man's crotch almost two years ago?! At the time, I was scolded for being wasteful with the napkins. So the sudden change of heart? Don't get me started.
Change #3: A marking tray. When I was told of this, I sat there with a look of "dead behind the eyes". A what? Yes, when you remove silverware from a guest, you should take another minute out of your busy night to walk this dish over to them, presenting like you would a dessert tray. Under a black folded linen lies (you think this would be good, but no) a bevy of both forks and knives. You are to let the guest reach and pick up their own silverware from the plate.
What? Ugh. Gross. Shouldn't a pump of purell be mandatory before touching? No, you can just hand me a wrapped up linen with utensils, thank you. In a restaurant where you don't know what bugs are being passed around, with other guests who are eating with their hands, licking their fingers, picking their teeth, for those that are hacking into their closed fists, sneezing into their palms, uh YEAH, like I'd want their hands all over the community utensil plate. It is as good as eating the peanuts from the candy dish on the bar. So unsanitary.
Change #4: If your name is Kat and you are a new employee, you can change the rules of tipping out and decide not to tip out your bartender because you didn't like our policy... You know, the one that has been in effect since years before you were hired and a part of the waitstaff. The one that everyone else pays mind to, except you? Cool beans. You still owe me; I'll just add that to your tab.
Change #5: It's a free for all. By all means, if you have not met a table yet (especially my regulars), go up to them and jam your hand in their face to introduce yourself while they are mid-conversation. And then pour the bottle of wine I had corked and chilling for them, ask how their food is tasting, and what else you could possibly get them. Oh wait... that's my table. Apparently "being a team" is making your fellow server, or bartender, look as if they are an inadequate worker. I am four feet away and am capable of serving them myself. This little stunt makes me appear lazy and gets my tips docked. Being a team is all chummy and whatnot-- but it sure as hell doesn't pay my bills.
Honestly, I'm glad we hired someone who not only shows up for shifts, but actually enjoys working. I just cannot wrap my mind around how much of a Bossy Betty the girl is. Yes, I know I'm the queen of bitches and moans with this post, but I need a break. Ask me if I've already confronted her. Ask me how productive that conversation went... Nada. What gives?
If there is a disagreement, I will try my best to level with you and see from your perspective. If anything else, I will try to find a compromise. I will not however be told how to do my job from a fresh face on the staff working the same position as I. Must I accept the things I cannot change? I'm running low on Excedrin-- this is going to be a long weekend.
-Malia Etienette
Photo Credits:
Tea Stained Doily DIY Mel's Monday: www.theoceansidebride.com
Bar Nuts: www.cooksandeats.com
Teamwork: www.memeguy.com
Little Miss Bossy: www.mymumdom.com
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
Plain and simple-- girls can be bitches. Yes, I know this can apply to anyone, but women especially in the workplace.
We recently purged our restaurant of employees. And I mean, an absolute mass exodus went down.
Whether they left on their own accord, or were shown the door...it doesn't matter. What did matter is that the remaining few were over-scheduled and falling apart due to exhaustion.
So, out with the old and in with the new.
Thus far, our measly lineup has added both Natasha and Shoshana as servers.
When there are new employees, a trial run begins. Are they a good fit? Are they easy to work alongside? Are they easily trained? Do the guests like them? Can they keep up, and more importantly, do they have thick skin...
Some people last longer than others. Some people phase out after awhile. Others are immediately sent running for the hills. I find it that women make it particularly difficult for newer women to join the current staff. I would compare my gender to savage animals. Similarly, we've pissed on our territory, and newcomers are not to talk to our regulars. If you're cuter than us, kick rocks. We can only pray that you don't know the difference between a red and white wine so that you'll be on your way out shortly.
What's worse is that women are catty. Unnecessarily so. Shockingly, I catch myself acting this way from time to time. Who am I, and where did this asshole of a person come from?
I've been the victim and the culprit. I've been kicked when I was down, and yet at times when I couldn't beat them I have shamefully joined them. I should know better.
Natasha is doing just fine as an employee at The Valley. Shoshana, on the other hand, not so much.
She served as an employee a few years back, but much has changed. The menu, the wine, the staff, the customers. Like a new piece of fine gossip, she waltzed into the workplace and started waiting tables. Struggling here and there, we saw her weaknesses. The good person might sit down and go over what she should know already-- in all honesty, she didn't receive much of any training this time around. But no, she is the topic behind the bar, and at the table as we fold napkins. Why so cruel?
The odd one out. The stinky kid in class. The overweight girl at the lunch table. The anomaly.
When did we become too cool to extend a hand, or become too busy to be concerned with someone else's questions? Afterall, isn't the point of hiring new waiters to lighten the load?
At the same time, I balance out the scales. Fact: Some people are not meant for waiting tables. It's not that people are too fragile, or easily offended... It's that they are too nice, too kind-hearted even to a fault. Perhaps the restaurant is not a conducive environment for their personality and ability to adapt. Maybe it's the best thing that they get out now before it's too late and they become numb to the tyrannic rage we occasionally endure from the boss, agitated by the tables we greet, and grow more indifferent day in and day out.
Although brief, I have spent some time with Shoshana outside of the restaurant. She definitely is nice and genuine, considerate and hard-working, dealing with much of what I am dealing with in my own personal life, but is being stepped on in the dog-eat-dog world of waiting that we exist in... and I've made up my mind.
You should be happy with the job you have, in the very least be content. People don't deserve to go into work everyday expecting something to go amiss. To be alienated. To feel unappreciated.
So no, Shoshana, you can't sit with us. You don't belong here.
Ironically, that's the nicest thing I've said all day.
Use your skills in a workplace that values you, and stay beautiful.
-Malia Etienette
Photo Credit:
Pink Slip: www.lexleader.net
Jealousy: www.forbes.com
2 Broke Girls: www.butch-in-progress.tumblr.com
Keep Calm: www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk
