On the clock…

Scenes from last night:

The building/mini strip mall the restaurant is in, was built in the early 1980’s (I actually thought it was older, but a few months ago, I found out the real history from George, who built the building when he was in for dinner, but that is an amazing story for another day).

Anyhoo, over the years, we have expanded from our original space and taken over other spots in the building/mini strip mall, as they have moved or gone out of business.

Because of this, our lunch location is located three doors up from the main restaurant, but we are connected in the back.

There’s a “Fire Door” between the two sides that locks on the main side and not the lunch side.

Problem is, at the end of the night, some of my male coworkers like to take a visit to the bathrooms on the lunch side to take care of business before going home.

When I first started managing and closing down the restaurant, I was unaware of this little fact, so I would make sure the lunch door was locked, check the gas stoves, set the lights, and lock the Fire Door and then close down the main restaurant.

After accidentally locking a few coworkers in on the lunch side, I learned to make sure to yell, “Anyone over here? I’m locking the door. Knock or yell if you’re pooping!”

It’s saved all of us some trouble.

But it happened again last night.

Unfortunately, for some of our guys, the English is, not so much.

So last night, it’s me and two coworkers. 

All of the busboys, chefs/cooks, and one of the dishwashers have left.

I’ve done me my final walkthrough of 3 Doors Up, yelled out my question, and locked the door.

Twenty minutes later I hear a knocking on the Fire Door.

WTF?

At this point it’s just me and the final dishwasher.

I freak out, because, I did my check.

It’s one of my busboys.

He’d been pooping.

But he doesn’t speak English, so he didn’t respond.

And then he went to clock out.

And then I went from freaked out to mad, because you don’t get to poop for 30 minutes on the clock!

Oh Canada…

Scenes from last night(ish): 

This past weekend, I went down to South Beach for a little stay-cation.

After a relaxing day of pool, cocktails, and sun, I decided to head home, but I was a little peckish, and wanted a little snack, so I pulled up my favorite app for when I’m on the road, Flavortown.

Yes, Flavortown.

It has never let me down; well, except for the night before, but that’s a whole different story.

Anyhoo, I see there’s a Triple D (Diners, Drive-Ins & Dive) restaurant 1/4 of a mile away, so off I go.

La Sandwicherie.

I’ve watched the episode where Guy visited this place a few times.

So, I walk up to the window, and I’m pretty sure it’s the owner who takes my order.

I order the Italian and the Frenchie, because, leftovers.

As I’m standing around, waiting for my order, I see the guy who was behind me paying with a Bank of Montreal credit card and speaking French with the owner.

(I should preface this by saying I’m wearing a red baseball hat with a white maple leaf on it)

So, I ask: Are you from Canada?

Man: I’m from Quebec.

Me: Well last time I checked…

Man: Well yes, I guess, if you put it that way. Let see guess, you’re from Ontario, but he says it in that French Canadian way “En-tarrrr-eeoo”.

Me: As a matter of fact, yes, I grew up in London.

Man: And when you’re in Montreal, do you say, “Je ne parle pas français, or I don’t speak French?” 

Me: I depends on who I speaking with. I’m nice to you until you’re not nice, then I’m not nice. 

Man: Are you going to go to the Olympics next year?

Me: No, I doubt it.

Man: Do you say “Paris” (he pronounced it like he was from Fargo, ND) or “Pah-reeeee” 

Me: I guess it depends on who I’m speaking with.

Man: You’re speaking with Stephane.

And I kid you not, the man behind the counter yells, “Stephanie” and we both turn our heads.

Man: Oh, is your name Stephanie

Me: Sometimes, but not today.

Man: (Getting upset with the little spanish guy behind the counter) My name is Stephane, not Stephanie

Me: Merci beaucoup, au revoir. 

So, I walk back to the hotel, and I go to grab my bag from the bellhop, and there are four or five guys standing there, and one of the younger guys comes up to me, and says, “Hi, how can I help you?”

Me: I just need to get my bag, as I hand him my ticket

Guy: Are you from Canada?

Me: Yes, I am? Where are you from?

Guy: Haiti

Me: Sak Pase (loosely means ‘What’s up/Hey’)

Guy: Just starts laughing and gave me a big High 5.

Moral of the story, just be nice.

Rules…

Scenes from last night:

Like servers all over the world, I have my own share of quirks.

Quirks may not be the appropriate word, but, more like mental rules of how I like to run my section. This comes in handy for me when I’m so busy that I can hardly think straight.

They may not always make sense to the customer, but it’s how my brain processes things in order to get the job done.

Last week, it was around 8:30 and this man asked for a cup of coffee to go with his dessert.

Not an unusual request, but one that always seems a little dicey, in my opinion.

Will there be coffee?

Will it be reasonably fresh?

Will I have to brew a fresh pot?

How many tickets are in the dessert window and will I have time to brew a fresh pot?

Do I need to hold my dessert order until the fresh pot is brewed?

I mean, seriously people, it’s not always just, “And I’ll have a cup of coffee with that.”

So, my mental tic, if you will, is that if I’m going to brew a nice, fresh pot of coffee for a customer, is that I’ll bring the creamer pot to the table in advance of the coffee, so I don’t forget and tell them that I’m brewing a fresh pot of coffee, “Just for you!” 

But I forgot to do that the other night. I just put the silverware down for the desserts and the half and half for the coffee and started to walk away, when I saw an odd look on the man’s face. I was maybe three steps away from the table when I realized that I forgot mention the fact that the coffee would be a few minutes behind. 

I did a bit of a half pivot and leaned back and said, “Oh, I’m brewing you a fresh pot of coffee. It should be ready in just a few minutes.”

Man: Oh, I just thought you were being a smart ass.

Me: Oh, I’m definitely a smart ass, but not trying to be one right now!

I can’t win! Even when I’m not trying to be a smart ass, I get called out for being one.

Twins…

Scenes from last night: (When two Scenes combine)

We have this one regular who comes in for dinner about three to four nights a week.

His ‘claim to fame’ is that he hasn’t cooked dinner in his house for over seven years.

Regardless of this, he is in exceptional shape, not only for his age, but for a majority of the population.

So, the other night, he was in for dinner with a few people.

His friends left, but he stayed behind to finish his wine.

In the meantime, this couple that I had waited on last week, came in and sat down at the dining counter, just a few seats down from him.

Even though I wasn’t waiting on them this time, I went over to say hello to them, because, I feel it’s important for customers to feel remembered.

Me: Hi. Good to see you again.

Husband: Yes, we were here last week.

Me: Yes. I waited on you last week…

Husband: Oh, I thought you meant you remembered us from last season.

Me: No, just last week. Guess you don’t remember me.

Husband:———

Me: Okay, well, enjoy your dinner.

Tequila is imbibed.

Twenty minutes or so later, I walk around through the back side of the kitchen, and I look down the dining counter and I see our regular and then three seats down, the husband of the couple.

And they are the same person.

I grab one of my coworkers and say, ‘OMG! Look at Charlie (not real name) and the next guy down! It looks like his dad. No, not dad, older brother!’

Coworker: He looks like an out of shape version of Charlie.

I mean, they were both wearing the same color light blue shirt. 

Same glasses.

Same shaved head.

Same shaped head.

Same hunch of the shoulders.

It was crazy.

And were all laughing.

And then Charlie gets up and starts walking towards us, to go to the loo.

I walk away, because I’m laughing too much.

When I came back, the group of coworkers were still laughing, but now it was because they told Charlie about his twin.

Me: You told him?

Coworker: Yes!

Then, when he was on his way back to the counter, he stopped to ask why we were all laughing.

Me: I mean look at him! It’s you in 10 years.

Then my pastry chef, a little annoyed we were all laughing, looks over at us, and looks to see what we are looking at, looks at Charlie, and goes, ‘Oh, yeah, now I get it. You totally look like him!’

Me: See! It’s not just me.

Charlie: I’m leaving.

What are you talking about, Willis?

Scenes from last night:

One of my coworkers is always complaining that the busboys never help her. 

So last week, she’s telling me this story that she thinks is funny. I’m pretending to listen, when a couple of things caught my ear.

She’s telling this story about ‘Jose’ and ‘Francoise’ having a dance-off in the back.

I turn to her and say, “Who’s Jose?”

Confused, she turns and points to one of our busboys.

“Well, that’s not his name, and Francoise quit about two weeks ago, so who else are you talking about?”

Then she got mad at me, because ‘I’m always so mean to her.’

I just said, ‘Well, maybe if you learned your co-workers names, they’d be a little bit more willing to help you.’

But yes, I’m the bitch.