Sear this…

There are times when I can’t even believe the things that I say to customers that I get away with. I’m sure if I worked in a ‘normal’ restaurant, I would’ve been fired years ago, but fortunately, I work where I work, and you guys get to hear my silly stories.

Last night, I walked up to a table of four people and did my usual ‘hello and how are you’. There were two couples sitting at the table. One couple was in their late fifties and the other in their late seventies, maybe early eighties. All very nice, right from the very first hello.

When I came back their drinks and started to take the dinner order, the older, very sweet lady, started with me right out the gate. I never got her name, but let’s call her Sally.

Sally: Okay, I’ll go first, since I’m going to be the problem child.

Other Lady: She’s not lying.

Me: Thank you for warning me in advance. It makes things a little easier if I know what kind of situation I’m walking into.

Sally: I want a piece of seared salmon, but I don’t want this appetizer that you have listed down here. I don’t want all that stuff. I just want a seared salmon, but I don’t want the dinner size salmon. I want it seared, though.

I’m not going to lie, we have almost complete autonomy when it comes to the menu and making special orders. On a menu of approximately 150-180 items, there are less than 10 things that we can’t change or not allowed to substitute. Other than that, it’s up to us. Or more important, up to you, because if you’re an ass right out of the gate, you aren’t getting squat.

Me: So you want a smaller portion of salmon seared? I can do that for you. (She was really sweet, and a little spitfire to boot, I just couldn’t say no) I can do a half order of the entree salmon. That way, it comes with the veggies and a choice of sides.

Sally: Oh, that would be fantastic! And I want it seared. With beans and rice.

Me: Okay, I keep hearing you saying seared. Just so we’re on the same page, to us, seared is less than rare. It’s goes seared, rare, medium rare, medium…

Sally: Oh no! I want it cooked all the way through.

Me: Are you sure? Our standard is medium rare, but we can adjust that a little bit for you.

Sally: Really? Gosh I don’t know. I liked it cooked all the way through.

Me: Listen, you can do what you want, I just wanted to make sure you understood what it meant when you ordered it seared.

Sally: I’m so confused. What have I ordered again?

Me: Well, you’ve ordered a half order of over cooked grilled salmon with beans and rice.

Fortunately, (again) everyone started laughing, and she gave me a little pinch on the arm for being sassy.

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Train wreck

Last night, my bosses wife did the world’s biggest faux pas, and even thought two of us told her she was wrong, she wouldn’t listen to us, and I happened to be there when the train wreck happened.

There’s this super nice woman who used to work with us years ago. I actually trained her back as a hostess about 22 years ago.

She got married and moved to Michigan and about six months ago, she and her family moved back to town.

She was in for dinner last night with her husband and four kids and her sister and brother-in-law. My bosses wife, asked me early in the night, if she was pregnant, but I told her no. “Really, because her stomach looked…”

“No, she’s not pregnant, and look, she’s having a glass of wine,” I said.

“Well, that really doesn’t mean anything,” she replied.

A little while later, I’m sitting at the back table rolling silverware, and my old coworker comes out of the bathroom and the boss lady is putting some dishes in the bus pan.

As ‘Megan’ is walking past, ‘Sally’ stops her and goes, “Oh, what do we have here,” pointing to her stomach. I literally just hung my head and couldn’t believe what was happening.

Megan: I don’t know what you mean?

Sally: Oh, I thought…

Megan: (I missed part of it due to noise, but it ended in the word fat)

Sally: I truly am so sorry. How are you doing?

I’m just aghast at this whole situation, because I TOLD HER SHE WASN’T PREGNANT!!!

As Megan walks away, Sally goes, “Did you hear that?”

Me: I did. I don’t know what to say, because I told you she wasn’t pregnant and she’s been drinking wine every time they’ve been in.

I couldn’t even look at Megan because I felt so bad for her. As someone who struggles with my own weight issues, I think that that is the worst possible thing someone could say to you.

Needless to say, I don’t think that we will be seeing them again very soon.

Finger licking good…

As I was sitting at the end of the bar doing paperwork last night, I saw one of my busboys saying something to one of my coworkers and she burst out laughing.

She starts looking around, spots me, and tells the busboy to come tell me what he just said.

“You have to hear this,” she said down the bar.

My busboy comes over to me and said, “Well, the guy just left the bathroom, and I just said ‘There’s no good reason for that man to be licking his fingers’!”

After gagging, shuddering, and laughing, and maybe not in that particular order, I said, “You are absolutely right.”

Damn you, Auto play

A few weeks ago, one of my back of house guys was super excited to show me a picture of his granddaughter.

He was fumbling around with his phone, opening and closing the wrong apps trying to find the picture.

As he was doing this, he opened up his texting app, where a video automatically started playing.

And, oh my bleeding eyes, it was a video of, how do I politely say this, a very close up porn shot.

“Oh my God!” I screamed, yelled, laughed, so loudly that several people standing nearby turned and looked, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Oh, I so sorry,” he said as he continued to fumble with his phone.

“Please tell me that that isn’t your granddaughter!”

“Oh no, no, no, that’s not her.”

“Please tell me it’s not you…”

“No, no, no, it’s not me, it’s not me,” he said.

“You promise me that it’s not you?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, it’s not me.”

As we were somewhere between shock and laughter, he managed to find the picture he was originally looking for and I went on my merry way.

But now, even weeks later, at some point during nearly every shift, someone always seems to ask if I’d like to see a picture on their phone. Everyone’s a jokester…

The sad part is, I almost always fall for it. 😂

Words are a fickle thing.

Last night, I was thisclose to getting a coworker fired for calling another coworker a c*nt. There were a few other choice words involved, but you get the point. I was beyond myself mad. I’m still mad, actually.
 
A few minutes ago, I received a message from one of my dearest friends with the opening line of “Hi c*nt,” and I almost peed my pants laughing.
 
What’s the difference? Should there be a difference?

My name is Kiddddd Rock

After working at the same restaurant for over twenty-two years, I can probably count on one hand how many of our ‘regular’ customers DON’T want to sit with me.

I can probably say that the feeling is mutual, but I have enough regulars, and people that I enjoy, that I don’t really pay too much attention to those people. I still give them my best fake smile and go about my business.

There is this one customer, who fancies himself a pretty big muckety muck, but he’s just such an asshole. I could give him the best service in the world and he will tip me no more than 8%. It’s almost like a game to him, since he tips all of the other servers appropriately.

To paint an even better picture, he is part owner of another restaurant that just opened up in the area. When they were doing their soft opening, he invited half of the wait staff to attend, but you guessed it, but not me.

A few months after it opened, some of my dearest friends invited me to dinner. I hate to say that I was a little hesitant to go, because I really didn’t want to support him, but I was also very curious about the menu, and let’s face it, with my allergies, my dinning options have been severely curtailed.

So I pull up to the valet, and of course, guess who pulls up right behind me. Yup. My luck really is that bad sometimes. As I walk behind my car, the man looks at me straight in the face, cuts me off, and walks away.

Oh hell no.

So I do what I do best and call him out. “Oh hey there, Asshat, how are you?”

“Oh, hi Sally. Joining us for dinner?”

“I am, yes.”

“Is this your first time here?”

“It is, yes. I’m meeting some friends.”

“Great. Let me give you a tour.”

“I would really enjoy that, thank you.”

And I kid you not, he opened the front door, I thought for me to enter, but no, wrong again. He opened the door, walked in in front of me and walked away.

I can’t say I was shocked by his behavior, but I can say I was surprised. I was surprised he even pretended to be nice.

But the pièce de résistance of this story is this: Last week Kid Rock was in concert. Now, I wasn’t there, but one of my best friends was and she passed along the following tidbit, which made my day.

So Kid Rock is up on stage and saying his hello’s and thank you’s to the people in the audience. He is giving shout out’s to his favorite bars and restaurants in town, and at the end, and I hope I’m getting this right, he says, “and if you see Asshat at his restaurant, tell him to go fuck himself!”

I love Kid Rock!

You can do it!

Every once in a while, my coworkers pass along an exchange with their customers that make me laugh. I don’t normally post those stories, because I don’t want to mess up the facts, but this one was pretty simple.

At the end of dinner, my coworker walked up to the table to offer them dessert. There were two couples, everyone in their seventies, and they were hemming and hawing about whether they wanted anything.

“Oh, come on, you can do it!” Sally said to the man who was debating over the cobbler.

“The problem is, if I do it now, I won’t be able to do it later!” he said as he waggled his eyebrows to Sally.

So I asked her what her comeback was to the man, or more importantly, to his wife.

She said she just wished him good luck and walked away.

My section is definitely more fun.