Sincerely,
Unnaturalred

Dear Bruch People,
I feel like I should hang a banner over the front of the restaurant that says, “Welcome to Amateur Hour.”  You are the people who never go out to eat except after church and since you feel like you have a clean slate after having all your sins forgiven for the previous week, you REALLY let the horns come out.  You are needy, demanding, rude and I would love to stab all of you in the eye with a fork.  You suck.

Sincerely,
Unnaturalred

Dear Brunch,
I miss you.  Oh how long it has been since I have had enjoyed a lovely afternoon filled with mimosas and coffee.  To be tortured with the decision of french toast and fruit or a club sandwich or even a juicy burger is pure delight.  I miss the joy of sitting on a patio in the Phoenix sun with a friend or two, a mimosa AND coffee and relishing the fact that I’m not working.  I hope we can get reacquainted soon.  I promise not to take you for granted.

Sincerely,
Unnaturalred

One evening, I had an awkward party of two sit in my section.  Frankly, I couldn’t tell if the woman was a woman, but I thought “Hey, the guy with her seems nice enough.  I guess that just proves there is someone out there for everyone and maybe I WON’T become a cat lady.”  But I digress…
Throughout the meal, I had other people run their drinks, box their food, etc. just so they could get a look at the anomaly of this couple.  It comes time for dessert and they order one of our most popular dessert that has raspberries, white chocolate and cheesecake.  I go to the computer to place the order and I notice the obvious male half of the couple approaching me.
Guy:  “Hi, sorry to bother you, but would I be able to get the same dessert to go to take home to my sister?”
Me:  “Sure.”
Guy:  “And, um, without being too obvious, would you be able to tell me if the person I’m with is a man or a woman?” *I get a shortage of air caught between my nose and the back of my throat… he continues* “I’m going to KILL the guy who set me up with ‘her.’”
Me:  “Honestly sir…  I’ve been sending people over the whole meal trying to figure it out for myself!  But, we have a professional here, so I’ll have him drop off the dessert.”
The man proceeds to visit the men’s room while I hunt down John, one of our servers who moonlights as a cage dancer in a gay club.  I explain the situation and he says, “Oh girl.  I got this.”
John drops off the dessert and walks over to me.  “He has an Adam’s Apple.  It’s small, but it’s definitely there.”  So, the mystery is solved.
I return to the table to ask how everything is tasting to discover they haven’t even had a bite.  I’m watching “shim” have an eye-gasm over the dessert.  “Oh, look at that!  uuuuuh!  Gorgeous!  Wow!  Oh!  *holds it up* It looks like a shoe!!”
I try to hold back my amusement.  “Oooookaaaay.”  I then notice the desperate curiosity in the eyes of her male counterpart.  But then the he-she offers me the perfect opportunity.
Shim:  “This is sooo good.  Is this just your favorite?  It’s such a great combination!”
JACKPOT!
Me: “Nah, I’m more of a purist.  I like the rich chocolate cheesecake or the straight vanilla cheesecake.  I don’t like to mix flavors.  It’s either chocolate or vanilla, black or white, sweet or salty”
Guy:  “Yeah, ambiguity SUCKS!”
I let them finish their dessert in peace and retrieved the dessert to go for the man’s sister.  I dropped off the bill and wished them a pleasant evening and the wish was returned, along with a $20 tip on a $50 check.  Sweet!

A new addition!!!  Witnessed 11/15/2009

Now mind you, the girl who made this comment is smart.  Very smart.  Fun, sweet, and an all around good time.  But, apparently she has her bubblehead moments…
Once upon a Sunday, there was a table that was waiting for their side of ham.  Our kitchen for whatever reason can’t get it together enough to get the ham out as the same time as the eggs when a guest orders HAM and EGGS.  Weird, right?  That’s another blog in itself.  But I digress…  Server A was waiting for her side of ham.  She goes out to her tables for a moment to refill coffee, prebus, fluff her hair, whatever it was.  She was close by and stalking her ham like an eagle.  The long awaited pork treasure is placed in the window.  Server B (for bubblehead) comes by the window, grabs the ham and says, “This is mine!  I got it!”  It all happened so fast.   Server A comes back and says “How long for that ham?”  The line cooks insist that they put it in the window.
Anyway, after going a couple of rounds, we realize the mistake.  The cooks make ANOTHER side of ham and we have Server B drop it off to explain that it was she who was the theif.  When asking her what she was thinking she says… are you ready?  She says, “I SWEAR, I thought ham was bacon!  I thought the ham was bacon!”  Um, really?

From the girl who used to work at the front desk and became a server a couple months ago:

• *mumbling to herself* “Did I put it under table 36 or 37?…. Do we have a table 37?”  YOU USED TO WORK AT THE DESK! Um, really?

• *holding a gallon of vitamin D aka whole milk* “I can’t find any 2% milk! What do I do?”
  me: “well, you can mix whole milk and nonfat milk and it’ll be the same thing” *opens bakery fridge and sees a full gallon of reduced fat milk sitting there* “Or you can pour this 2% milk into the glass…. you DO realize that reduced fat milk and 2% milk are the same thing, right?”  Um, really?

• *had been talking about becoming a trainer and transferring to a new restaurant opening up at the beginning of 2010*  “What’s in the Aloha salad?  And what dressing is it tossed in?” If you can’t describe our dishes, you should go back to the front desk.  Um, really?

• “What’s healthy on our menu?“  ok, seriously.  It’s called modifications.  Take everything you know about calories and basic nutrition and apply it to the thousands of ingredients we have in the restaurant and figure something out.  We can make some tasty dishes that are good for you, but it’s not my job to do it for you.  Um, really?

From the girl who has no server experience and no one is really sure HOW she got on as a server…

• me:  “Ok everyone, I need you to clock in!”
  her: ” I don’t remember my number”
  me: “It’s 123.” (no seriously, that’s her number.  not just trying to make a point)  Um, really?

• *in the middle of talking about serving alcohol*  “What do we do if they don’t like cheesecake?”  For the LOVE!  Can we just focus on what we’re talking about and we’ll cover that when we talk about desserts… again… because we’ve already covered our non-cheesecake desserts…  Um, really?

• *one of the girls from her server class was wearing a patio uniform instead of the regular whites, standard for nice weather*  “Wait, you’re working in the bakery?  I thought you were going to be a server?!”  Well, let’s use a little common sense.  You were together in the SERVER class.  While you were on one of your training shifts, she was certifying as a SERVER.  We saw other SERVERS in their patio uniforms during training…”  Um, really?

From the guy who only works three or four times a week and still manages to get halfway good stations…

• *stopping me as i’m running to grab something from the expo line for my guest…*  “hey, unnaturalred.  On the menu we have a chicken parm sandwich.  do we have a regular chicken parm?”
  me:  *staring at him like he’s just stabbed me in the eye with a toothpick*  “Uh, yeah.  The crispy chicken spaghetti romano?”
  him:  *oh.  yeah.  thanks.”  HOW long have you worked here and you don’t know one of our most POPULAR dishes?  Um, really?

From the girl in my old restaurant who smokes so much pot i’m surprised she can remember her own name…

• *guest orders a budweiser on draft.  we only have bud light on draft.  what does she do?*  “22 oz Bud Lite  memo: no lite”  Um, really

• *in the bakery* “hey, unnaturalred, can i pour my glass of nonfat milk?”
  me: “Sure, go ahead”
  *she looks at the label* “Oh, it’s SKIM milk?  I thought it was SKIN milk.  You know, SKIIINNNN.  ‘Cause it’s good for your SKIIIIINNNN”
  me: *wondering if she can REALLY be that stupid…* “Um, no.  It’s SKIM milk.  Because they SKIM all the fat out of if.”
  her: *ditzy laugh* “oh, hahaha.  I’m so dumb!” Um, REALLY!?!?!

Please stay tuned as i’m sure this list will continue to grow… this is just what i can remember in my half-asleep-but-needing-to-get-it-all-out state.

It’s embarrassing, really.  Especially in the morning.  First table of the day.  The guests are greeted by their reflection as they walk through the shiny glass doors, dazzled by every detail of clarity in the glorious desserts on display and as they walk to their table, the anticipation builds for a memorable experience.
As they open their twenty page menu, they’re unaware of the disappointment they are about to endure.  Drinks are ordered and delivered.  Once they’ve finally made their decision from our really way too big menu, they begin to relax and settle into their conversation when they see it.  Spots.  Where they’re supposed to eat from.  Like we didn’t fill the dishwasher with Jet Dry.  Gross.  How does this happen?  Ah, grasshopper.  Let me enlighten you.

If you’ve ever been in the dish room at a busy restaurant, you know what ultimate filth looks like.  Plates piled up, chunks of food everywhere, water running down the plastic aprons of the hardest working people in the restaurant.  They scrape, sort, stack, rinse and deal with all the crap no one else wants to.  You know how grossed out you get when your eleven year old nephew (or college-aged buddy) is bored and decides to play with all the leftover food on the table and see what kind of hideous creation they can come up with?  And it’s so foul that you find your nose turning the same direction as your stomach?  Picture that for eight hours a day, five or six days a week.  There’s one guy who stand there and scrapes the plates and tosses the silverware in the appropriate bins.  They handle everything from soda glasses to the sizzling hot saute pans that get thrown through the trap to the back of the restaurant, putting everything in a nice organized fashion so the guy on the other side of the rail can rinse, rack, push in the machine and repeat.

We have these huge industrial dishwashers that have several compartments for the wash and rinse cycle.  It washes at 180 degrees and rinses at 160 so the dishes are sanitized.  No big deal.  Every so often, the dishwashers are supposed to change the rinse water.  It’s so that when the rinse water takes away all of the soap, the dishes will sparkle like a new diamond.  In a perfect cheese world, the silverware would get their final rinse right before going to dry.  Then the glasses would go, then the small china like the monkey dishes and bread plates, then the service platters, then the cambros and the saute pans.  After the saute pans, the first round of silverware can go through (it always gets washed twice).  Then THE WATER GETS CHANGED and the silverware gets it’s second round.  That way the water goes from least dirty to most dirty so the rinse water stays as clean as possible.

It’s not complicated.  It’s like when you wash your dishes in the sink at home.  You wouldn’t wash the pot you used to make macaroni and cheese before you wash your coffee cup, would you?  Of course not!  You don’t want chunk of macaroni mixing with your creamer.  And our guests don’t want pieces of spinach between their fork prongs or spots of dirty water to “accentuate the flavor” of their tamale cakes.  So, does it sound like a complicated system?  I didn’t think so either.  So seriously, CHANGE THE RINSE WATER!

I remember when the cheese was a place without compromise.  When we had an hour wait minimum even though we only had tropical flavored iced tea and no kids menu.  When the “pretty bags” were actually pretty, department store quality bags with a cardboard bottom. When the olive oil was pure olive oil instead of an olive/canola blend.

Now, instead of “I’m so sorry, we don’t, but this is what we do have” it’s “would you like me to bend over for you to make it easier?” Let me explain.

With the way the economy is at the moment, people are going out to eat less (I read that instead of eating out 5 times a week, people are only eating out three.)  They’re very discretionary about where they’re going to spend their entertainment dollars and we want to get them as much as humanly possible.  So, we’ve compromised.  A lot.

In the past, when a guest ordered an iced tea, it was “It’s a brewed, unsweetened tropical flavored tea, is that going to be ok?”  Now it’s, “Would you like passion tea, green tea or just regular ‘ol iced tea?”  Before when a guest asked if we had a kid’s menu, it was “I’m so sorry, we don’t.  But we DO have items on the menu that kids usually get.”  Now we not only have a kid’s menu, but the drink is included!  We have a small plates menu now, which is similar to a “tapas” menu (small appetizers for one or two) because we got so many people complaining that our portions are waaay to big (which they are, I mean, really.)  We brought in feta cheese.  We have allowed the public to dictate our menu.  We’re becoming Crapplebee’s.  I mean, where else can you get mini corndogs in a high class environment?

So now, when you look around the restaurant, you get sweaty men with no business having their hairy shoulders sticking out their cutoff muscle shirt and shorts eating shepherd’s pie sitting next to a couple dressed to the nine’s and sharing a couple of appetizers while getting ready to go to the theatre.  Across the way is a family with small screaming children sharing mini corndogs and cheese pizza behind the couple on their first date where the girl orders the filet and a glass of merlot not because she likes it, but because he’s paying (while he has a water and a $9.95 burger to ensure he doesn’t get overdrawn just in case she wants coffee and cheesecake which, of course, she does… she takes two bites and boxes the rest to take home to her live-in lover who knows she’s out with this poor sucker who doesn’t have a chance but wants her to string him along for the gifts…)

I know it sounds like I’m complaining, but in reality, it’s these people who are paying my bills.  So I smile, offer lemon for their water, get another basket of free bread and count the days until I can finally fulfill my “blaze of glory” fantasy and leave the restaurant industry forever….

This system is a double-edged sword.  On the one hand, it’s nice to know that usually if you show up, someone will want to go home and you’ll be able to make some money.  On the other hand, if you don’t feel like being there and someone asks to stay for you, you can go enjoy your day and usually end up spending money instead of making the money you need.  Depending on who is working that day, the temptation is too much to bear.

We have some odd people at the cheese, guests and staff alike.  There are some days when all you want to do is punch someone in the face but you don’t because you might hurt your hand and not be able to work the next day.  Today was not one of those days, but I can recall a few…

Weird guy: “I have the biggest man crush on you.”
Me:  “So I have a penis?  Thanks.” *walks away*
Me (coming back to the line):  “Um, isn’t a man crush where one guy has a crush on another guy, not in a romantic way, but in a way where they admire them and want to be like them?”
Weird guy: “No.  I have a crush on you the way a man has a crush on a woman.”
*Pause*
Me: “OK” *walks away*

So odd.  And one thing I’ll never understand is the kitchen.  It never fails, no matter what restaurant I work in.  They’re all retardedly horny bastards.  They’ll flirt with anyone with eyelashes and 95% of the time they have someone at home.  They’re persistent, degrading and somewhat annoying.  Some of them can be kind of cute and a tad charming, but the fact that you can NEVER be sure if they’re in a relationship is enough to make a girl wonder if any man will ever be faithful.  I know there are good guys out there, but I’m pretty sure I’ll never find one on the other side of the heatlamp.

And to conclude my ramblings I’ll just say this:  some people need to lay off the cocaine, some people should have been fired their first week, some people need to learn what an iron is, for the love of GOD we need some smarter people working at the front desk (who locks themself in the supply closet twice in the same shift… really?) and if I could tell guests what I REALLY think I’d be fired in about 8 seconds…  and in case you didn’t read my first post, IT’S WHEAT BREAD BITCHES!

The process for taking a beverage is sometimes very simple.  “Hi, welcome… blah blah blah.”  The guests listen patiently while I rattle off the required spiel and as I finish with, ”May I get you some liquid refreshment while you’re perusing our lovely menu?”   They respond with “Coke, coffee, water, strawberry lemonade, etc” and I in turn retrieve their requests and usually have a hassle free experience. 

In a perfect world, this is how every table would play out, but we all know that would be WAY too easy!  Sometimes it’s, “Hi, welcome to…” <guest interjects> “WATER!”  Ooooookaaaaaay jackass.  This is going to be fun *rolls eyes.*  And on the subject of water, my restaurant does not automatically give lemons or put straws in their water.  It’s just a plastic mug with ice and the high quality H2O.  I get all sorts of reactions:  “Um, straw?” (Jerk)  “I need a straw” (*points to mug,*) “You forgot the straw” (no i didn’t you dumb bitch), “Do you have any straws on you?” (this isn’t Crapplebee’s, I don’t carry them in my apron), and  ”Whenever you get the chance, can I get a straw?  Just on your next trip.  No hurry” (If I don’t hurry, you’ll give me the death stare every time I come within a twenty foot radius of the table).  It’s even better when they ask for water with lemon and I don’t give them a straw.  Then it’s like I insulted them and their porcelein veneers because they couldn’t POSSIBLY lower themselves to picking up the mug and drinking it like a normal person.  Do you use straws at home? (Ok, being kind of hypocritical here because my roommate and I actually DO use straws at home all the time, but when I go out, I also ask for water with lemon and a straw to save my poor server any moral dilemmas about whether or not to waste the .0003 cents and put another piece of plastic in an overloaded landfill.)
I also don’t understand the lure of fruit salad in soda, like lemon in Diet Coke or (even more annoying) Coke with Lime.  Coca~Cola tried it out, bottled it, sold it and then (surprise!) took it off the shelves.  Know why?  It’s a stupid idea.  And it sucks ass that every time someone orders it, I have to go back to the expo line, make the Coke, ask the kitchen manager for a lime, have them tell me to go to the bar on the other side of the restaurant, wait for the bartender to finish talking to their guests, blend their pina colada and fill a strawberry lemonade, THEN take the coke with worthless fruit to the table. 
It’s ALMOST as annoying as water “with extra lemon.”  When you order it, I know what’s coming and it’s something we servers like to call “Ghetto Lemonade,” aka “You’re too much of a cheap ass to order a lemonade, so you order water with extra lemons and a sugar caddy and make your own.”  We have lemonade on the menu.  I should charge your ass for it.  Some people will say, “Oh, I use Splenda instead of the sugar,” but we had diet lemonade on the menu.  Guess what.  No one ordered it.  But guess what.  The ratio of people making Ghetto lemonade significantly decreased as well.  Cheap fucking bastards.  Every last one.

Lazy:  We are out of regular coffee, so they serve decaf to their guests because “they won’t know the difference.”

Stupid: We are out of decaf coffee so they serve their guests regular (neglecting to think that some people may have medical conditions that necessitates decaf as opposed to regular.)

Fortunately, I believe example number two belongs to the those who have made a career at places like Crapplebee’s.  At the cheese, many of our glorious, teamwork-oriented staff don’t know how to look for each other if their lives (or careers) depended on it. 
A story:  Once upon a time in the land of cheese, there was a server who needed get two cups of coffee for her guests.  On a Sunday morning.  During brunch.  Where the coffee should be flowing like the Mississippi.  Easy, right?  Not so much.  Get two mugs ready, pour the coffee.  It’s out.  No problem.  Take one for the team and make a new pot.  Oh.  There’s no more coffee in the bin.  Crap.  Ok.  Take another one for the team and go to the back and get a few bags from the back.  Hope I’m not getting sat.  Silently apologize to my guests that their coffee is taking so long. Go back and let them know that a fresh pot is brewing.  They’re fine with it and appreciate that it will be super fresh.  Make a round of my tables.  Go back and pour the coffee into the cups that have been warming while it brewed.  Go to pour the cream into the bell creamers.  Crap.  There’s no cream.  Really?  OK.  Take another one for the team.  Grab the cream from the reach-in and fill up the Nissan.  There’s not even enough cream in the carton to fill up the bell creamer.  Seriously?  Who has time for this?  How many freaking people have gotten coffee in the last five minutes?  How many freaking lazy people don’t know how to fill up a container and throw out the empty one?  I’ve taken so many for the team that the ER nurses are questioning my “I fell down the stairs” excuse.
While this lovely dance was going on, there was another mystery-a-brewin.  It was “The Case of the Bumped Orange Chicken.”  I had a gentleman in my section patiently waiting for his lunch portion of the Orange Chicken.  It usually takes about ten minutes, give or take one or two.  This particular morning, I was counting my blessings that the food was coming out fairly quickly.  This particular location runs the smoothest brunches I’ve ever seen, so timing for the most part isn’t an issue.  But running food is.  So, I go to the line to grab some iced tea for a mom clearly showing the exasperation with her child on the IMAX of her face and I see a lunch orange chicken in the window.  I wonder, “Hey, I think that’s mine.”  But I see that mine hasn’t been sold yet and there is record of one having just been ran, so I return to my section.  Bad idea.  While making the rounds in the bar, I’m wondering what is taking the orange chicken so long.  My guest has finished his cup of soup and is waiting patiently.  I go to the back and there is that same orange chicken sitting in the window.  It’s been four or five minutes at this point.  So, I fight through the crowd of lazy marshmallows just standing there not doing a damn thing and go to the runner screen.  I scroll to the left five or six windows and there it is.  The ticket for the lunch orange chicken for table 203.  Still astonished at the lack of work ethic from my “Battle for Coffee: Episode 12,” I turn to the mass and say something to the effect of, “Seriously?  There’s six of you here and no one can take four seconds out of your lives to actually RUN the food that has been BUMPED from the screen?  This job isn’t hard.  It takes the slightest bit of effort to not be completely useless and actually DO your job, but apparently no one has figured that out yet.”  As the words are spraying from my mouth like bullets, I’m actuall picturing them falling to the ground like the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.  It was the only joy I found in the Cheese that morning.  So, I return to my section with this gentleman’s lunch like nothing is wrong and it’s normal to take 15 minutes to get the dish out and ask if there’s anything else I can get him.  “Just the check.  I’m in a little bit of a hurry.  I have a plane to catch.”  Of course he does.  Because a gentleman enjoying an afternoon out to lunch by himself without a care in the world would be too easy.  *Sigh* 
I wondered how many other well-meaning folks had had this same experience in Cheeses all across the land that day.

To the table of women who think that just because we’re going to have a half-black president that they now own the world and can treat people like shit:  Thank you for celebrating your excitement and victory in my station today.  I know many kind, well meaning folks who feel the same way you do.  Maybe you’re expecting a change in the economy and that’s why you ordered Shrimp Scampi and Pork Chops.  I believe those to be excellent choices as they are both very tasty.  However, you should know that when you order more expensive items, it causes your bill to be higher and that $2.00 tip that may work for you at IHOP isn’t exactly going to fly.  DON’T BE CHEAP JACKASS!

To my table of traveling businesspeople:  I’m happy I could make your meal in my station enjoyable!  I LOVE being a fucking tourguide and asking around to see if my fellow servers have any old receipts from the last week so you can rape your company out of money you didn’t earn.  I only lowered myself to that level in the hopes that you would reward my effort and I’m sorry I could only come up with one receipt.  Maybe you should have some integrity in your bookeeping and not be an imbezzeling bastard.  Oh, and here’s a tip for you, dillhole, since you didn’t see fit to give me one: the fact that you can actually make that little line across the tip line on the credit card and re-write the total proves one of three things: a.) you SUCK at math and are too embarassed to admit it to your coworkers  b.) you believe in the pocketbooks of your fellow coworkers and somehow think that they are so generous that they will tip me enough to cancel out your cheapness or c.) you’re a penny-pinching, heartless, pitiful schmegma who is going to die alone because no one on the face of the planet has enough patience or low-enough self-esteem to want to share their one life with a douche like you.  TRY GENEROSITY JACKASS!

To the table of jovial girls celebrating the day of birth of one of your own:  Coke is NOT water.  By guzzling down 5 glasses of it, you’re actually depriving your body of the hydration it craves while taking in hundreds of calories.  It’s a 22 ounce glass.  Figure an average of 10 ounces of ice creating 12 ounces of sugar-filled cola going into your system.  12 ounces of Coke is 155 calories x 5 is 775 calories and no, I mean NO amount of “dressing on the side” is going to help you recover.  And yes, I heard you lamenting to your friend about how frustrated you were that you couldn’t fit into your wedding dress.  And you wonder why… Oh, and unless you are the one paying the bill, NEVER promise to “take care of” me.  I can’t go to my landlady and say, “Gosh, thanks.  I really like living here. The new grass looks fabulous and thanks for the free margaritas at the anniversary party.  By the way, I’m only paying half my rent this month, but gosh!  You’re the best!”  If you ask your friend who is paying how much they are leaving me and they say “around $15,” that might sound like a lot.  But when “around $15″ is actually $12.49 because your friend can’t subtract and your bill is $87, you’ll realize that that’s not even 15%, which is NOT leaving me “a really great tip!”  PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS JACKASS!