I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Writing is so weird.

Sometimes I sit down to write and the words and ideas just flow from nowhere.

Other nights, like tonight, I sit staring at the keyboard wondering what the fuck is up with this.

Three years ago, when I first started writing I would jot down ideas on my notes from work. This has continued since I switched jobs. I also sometimes lie awake and make lists in my phone of potential writing ideas. In all, I probably have close to a thousand writing ideas. Which is also bad, because then I have to choose and having too many ideas is as bad as no ideas.

My lists are comprised of grad school all 2.5.5 times I attempted it. Teaching high school. Teaching college. LOTS of theater stories. Getting fired stories. Waiting tables stories. Management stories. And I think each idea is just as good as the next.

I also know that every day at work as a manager, for the past 11 years, I’ve been punished by my staff doing things that I did 30 years ago. Every time it happens, I think, there I go again.

Here are two server stories.

One is the best tip I ever got.

The other is one of the worst tips I ever got.

On July 4, 1988 I was working at Bennigan’s at Lenox Mall. For those familiar with Atlanta, I always tell people this was back when the mall was only one story. Before they built up.

We were being slammed as the parking lot was great for viewing the fireworks. The wait was well over an hour, and there were people standing everywhere. I was working in a section I hardly ever worked in. It was in the 20’s and a non-smoking section.

Side Bar: I hate, hate, hate cigarette smoke. Hate it. My mom chained smoked when I was a kid, and I suffocated in the backseat of the car with the windows rolled up. Hate it.

However, I always asked to work the smoking section when I waited tables, because fun fact, smokers tip better than non-smokers. Across the board. Almost every time.

Here I am in the afternoon, in the 20’s and we are on a huge weight. And my table is sitting empty. And it’s empty for FOREVER. Looking back, I think the hosts were probably lost. It’s easy to do, when the people keep coming and there is no time to breath. However, I make my money with butts in seats and my table is still empty after a half an hour.

I say fuck it, and go into the lobby and grab four people and seat them at my table. (For my Hard Rock Café friends, it was clearly a sign of things to come). I wait on the four top and when they are done, they pay the bill. What I didn’t know, was that they worked at the Bally’s gym right behind our restaurant. When they paid the bill they tipped on the credit card, but they also gave me a free three-year membership to the club. The manager said, come in this weekend, we’ll get you signed up, and you’ll be set for the next three years.

And sure enough, the next day I went in, signed up and that was my gym until I moved back to Lexington the next summer.

A great fucking tip.

One of my worst tips, and there are a lot, was a ten top I waited on for brunch at Daryl’s Restaurant in Lexington. Both Bennigan’s and Daryl’s were what my friends called brass and fern restaurants. Lots of brass. Lots of potted plants. Lots of memorabilia. Daryl’s was known for having the “jail” and having Ferris wheel carriages, both on the second floor.

I wait on the ten top and give exemplary service, I am sure. (Seriously! There are few things that I’ll say I’m excellent at, but waiting tables I excelled at). The table finishes up and asks for the checks. Checks because they want 10 separate checks. I oblige. What are you going to do.

The guests get up to leave, and I go up to start bussing the table. I am shocked to discover, there is not a single piece of paper money. In the middle of the table is a pile of change. A pile. Probably ten dollars in small coins.

Fuck you, motherfuckers!!!

I gather up the change in my apron, think Auntie Em, collecting eggs from the hen house. And I walk to the stairs and start down them, just as 6 or 7 of my guests are coming from the restroom. I then, “trip” down the stairs and drop the coins all over the floor in front of them and say, “Oh, no. I dropped my tip.” There were coins all over the bottom of the stairs. The guests were quite aware of my point, but I’d never said anything to really get me in trouble.

My co-workers helped me collect “my tip” and I went on about my day.

Two stories.

Same server.

I waited tables for a long time. I was good at it. And it afforded me a very comfortable life throughout my time doing it. I loved it for a long time, and then one day I realized I needed to get out.

And here I am.
I watch my staff do it every day. They kill it. Over and over again. I look at them, knowing the days they are having. The stress. The anxiety. The angst of getting good and bad tips.

Someday, they’ll write these stories. In the meantime, they have to put up with dad sharing his stories with them.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Adam and I spent our “weekend” in Western Mass this weekend.   The Berkshires for those who don’t know.  It’s about four hours from Portland, and this is the 6^th or 7^th  time we’ve made the drive.  

We go to Barrington Stage Company to see their professional shows.  It started with Ragtime in 2017, and it’s continued with other shows that pique our interest.  This last time was to see Bernadette Peters and Next to Normal.  

We’ve always enjoy the shows, we enjoy the get away, and it’s more or less a 48 hour vacation which we always need in August or September after the intense summers that we have.

The other great thing about Western Mass is Mass MOCA is there and is an excellent contemporary art museum in an old mill, with incredible installations.  We often try to do both when we drive out.

This is all back story about whey we drive 4 hours to see theater in the middle of nowhere Mass.  

This past trip was especially fun, because I saw two friends from grad school at UCSD, and another friend from Kentucky.  The two friends from UCSD I knew would be there, the friend from Kentucky was a surprise. 

It was great catching up with all of them finding out what creative things they’d been up to, and sharing stories with Adam about the adventures of my past.  

Every time this happens, I walk away with a longing for times gone by.  Reminiscing about shows I’ve designed, creatives that I’ve worked with, and my days in the theater. This awakens something in me that has been mostly asleep for the past 11 years.  

However, before you get ahead of yourself…I DO NOT miss lighting.  I don’t miss the schedule.  I don’t miss the travel.  I don’t miss the deadlines.  I don’t miss it at all.  And if you’d told me 20 years ago I’d say that I’d have told you that you were crazy. 

I DO NOT miss it at all. 

What is awakened then???

The artistic outlet!

The collaborative art forms.  The discussion of art in general.  The discussion of concepts and ideas.  The breakdown of these ideas into smaller ideas that can be used to create art.  

I miss the intense discussions of what we saw and whether we appreciated the story telling.  Whether we understood the director’s choices, or whether the lighting designer, set designer, and costume designer got it right.  

I want to argue about art at 4:00 in the morning after 2 too many bourbons.  

I want to spend 90 minutes singing the praises of my friends who just finished producing ground breaking work.  

I want people to understand that Neil Simon and Andrew Lloyd Weber are just as important in the theater world as Stephen Sondheim and Tom Stoppard.  

I miss these conversations.  Adam and I have these conversations, but truth be told our tastes are similar, so there is rarely an argument.  We are both preaching to the choir. 

On Tuesday night, over drinks with my grad school friends, we chatted about our thoughts on the recent Broadway shows that we have seen.  Suffs.  The Notebook.  We all had our opinions.  There were things we liked.  Things we hated.  Things we disagreed on.  

And as I walked back to our hotel I was thinking about how much fun it would be to light a show for my friend Jen.  Which is true.  But more true was how much I enjoyed the conversation.  

I’ve spoken of the “bar” I ran in grad school.  The happy hours I hosted.  

These were the conversations we had at 2:00 in the morning.  What is the meaning of theater? What is theater?  Is football theater?  What makes a good director?  Does a play in a classroom with overhead fluorescent lighting need to credit a lighting designer?  Is performing in street clothes a costume choice?  

I could go on.  

I do NOT miss lighting. 

I DO miss talking about it. 

I DO miss collaborating. 

I DO miss the intense conversations at 2:00 in the morning.  

And goddam it, Neil Simon is hard to quote my friend Hilary on Tuesday night.  

The Notebook was a great experience.  

Suffs is a good play, made better by the fact that every college, high school and community theater will beproducing it in the coming years.  

And for me, yes football is theater.  It has two directors.  A costume designer.  Performers.  Underscoring.  An Intermission.  Scenery. Lighting.  Rules of engagement.  And people pay to see it.  And sometimes they even have standing ovations.  

Too many people stand up for shows that aren’t deserving these days.  And I feel compelled to stand up so that I can see the rest of curtain call.  

This is what I miss. I need more of it.

PS. I get equally excited about restaurant speak. That collaboration. That creative work. But truth be told I need both in my life.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Adam asked me tonight why I’m not writing more these days.

It made me realize I do miss it.

Here’s the thing.

I don’t write at work because it feels weird and I want to be home when I’m finished with work.

I don’t write at home because I want to spend time with my boyfriend.

A year ago, I’d write when I got home when I needed to unwind before going to bed.

So.

I’ve traded my work schedule and writing schedule with spending time with Adam.

That being said.

I have about forty pages of things to write about.

I told him I’d start bringing my computer home and write while he makes dinner.

Meanwhile.

Tomorrow we’re going to Western Mass. And I hope to see two of my favorite people from grad school.

I’ll keep you posted.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve been in the restaurant business for a million years.  

Not to exaggerate, but it’s seriously been, off and on for 43 years.  

There is very little that I can say at this point is a first experience for me.  

I’ve washed dishes, cooked, waited tables, hosted, bartended, managed, all of the things.  And at the time I did these things, I was pretty fucking good at them.  

I’ve also experienced all the things with customers.  Being yelled at.  Given a gym membership as a tip.  Been aske out.  Been told I’m the best.  Been told I’m the worst.  I’ve seen customers physically assault managers and servers.  I saw a host slap a guest and get arrested, although full disclosure the customer deserved it.  

Tonight, as a restaurant employee, I did something I’ve never done before.  

I spoke at a city council meeting.  

I didn’t intend to speak.  But seriously, anyone who knows me, knows I like to talk.  

Also, I’m a pretty good public speaker if I do say so myself.  

For context though, lets back up.  

In most of the United States, there is a federal minimum wage.  $7.25 if you don’t know this.  It hasn’t changed since, 2009.  

That’s $290 a week.  $15,080 a year.  

In case you don’t know this, there isn’t a single town in America that would allow someone to survive on that amount.  

In many parts of the country, states and municipalities have taken it upon themselves to raise the minimum wage to a more sustainable wage.  

Maine, and Portland are both places where this has occurred.  

As a part of the minimum wage, many states, in fact most states, offer a tip credit for employees that receive tips as part of their wage. 

In the restaurant business, that means servers and bartenders.  And sometimes support staff.  

From the business perspective, that means that we can pay a server/bartender less than the real minimum wage, as long as their tips make up the difference.  

Thus, a server making 2.13 in Kentucky, has to make at least 5.12 an hour in tips or the restaurant makes up the difference.  

In Portland, our minimum wage is $15 an hour, and the tip credit wage is $7.50. 

During a 6-hour shift, the server/bartender MUST make at least $45 in tips or the restaurant makes up the difference.  As you can imagine, this is hardly ever a problem.   

Most servers in Portland, are making upwards of 30, 40, 50 dollars an hour in addition to their $7.25 an hour.  This is the reason, so many people end up waiting tables when they are young.  This is why so many people end up waiting tables when they are middle aged.  And this is why so many people end up waiting tables in their fifties.  

The schedules are flexible.  You can work when you want.  Usually, as little or as much as you want.  Want to go to Europe for a week, just put in a request off.  Want a new pair of shoes or a purse, just pick up a shift from a co-worker.    

The money is AMAZING for a lot of people.  

Yes, there are exceptions.  But almost without fail, it’s better than other minimum wage jobs.  

In NYC there are servers making $200,000 year waiting tables.

For a run of the mill restaurant in NYC, your salary was still in the mid 70’s.  And much of that money is in cash. 

It’s the reason actors gravitate to this field.   When I moved back to NYC, I worked waiting tables.  If I needed off to do a show, I just put in the request, them when I’d be back and all was good.  

I bring all of this up, because the city of Portland, announced a week or so ago, that they were going to vote on putting the tip credit wage up to a vote on a referendum.  If it passed servers would move from $7.25 to $15.00.    

Owners would make up that additional payment.  $7.25 an hour.  

In case you didn’t know it, very few people get rich owning and running a restaurant.  The profit margin when all is said and done at the end of the day is usually less than 5%.  In case you don’t want to do the math, that’s about 50k profit, after all the bills are paid on every million you sell. 

Some do better.  Most do worse.  60% of all restaurants fail in the first year.  80% fail in the first five years.   

A sane person would ask you if it is worth it.  

You’ve read my stories.  You know it’s not for the feint of heart.  

To lose the tip credit would cost my restaurant an approximate $3,000 more a week.  Times 52, equals $156,000.  

To cover that, we’d raise prices, A LOT, or institute a service charge policy that goes to the house, not the staff, OR go to counter service which seems to be the way of the future. 

Translated, the customer would suffer, the staff would suffer, and many might lose jobs.  

It’s a no-win situation. 

The Portland City Council met tonight.  

They did this in the middle of the busy season, making it hard for a lot of people to attend.  

They did this without a lot of public awareness.   

I did something I’ve never done before at 4:00 tonight.  I walked from work to the Portland City Hall.  

I met Adam at the steps of city hall, and we walked in hand in hand.  

We were told the chamber was full, and were sent to an overflow room.  

Surely this was a good sign. 

What we didn’t know, was we were going to be at the end of the evening.  

We had to sit through liquor license approvals.  Zoning approvals.  Short Term Rental regulation changes.  

All with a chance for public input.  One green-shirted man spoke at least three times before our cause came up, and he was still there when we left.  

The agenda kept going on and on.  

After two hours, a recess was called.  

We all took a break, where I may or may not have stolen a can of Polar soda water, from the city hall kitchen.  I only knew it was there, after I saw the Mayor go in and get one.  

After about 15 minutes, the council meeting started again.

It was still a good 45 minutes still till they got to our reason for being there.  

Finally.  

The mayor read the proposal. 

The floor was opened to discussion.  

In the chamber, there is the main floor and the gallery.  

The mayor alternated between up and down for the next hour, with each speaker getting three minutes. 

The people just kept coming. 

Servers who’d taken the night off from work.  

Owners speaking of their concern of cost and profit margins.  

Servers who were worried about their jobs.  

Bartenders who know that they’ll make far more with the current system, than any updated system. 

Some of these servers/bartenders were young.  Some were older than me.  

Some came with written remarks.  

Some spoke off the cuff, with passion.  

All of their messages were the same.  

We make 30, 40, 50 an hour.  You are fixing a problem that doesn’t exist.  You are addressing a problem, that was brought to the voters just two years ago, and was very seriously defeated at 61%.  You’ve brought forth this idea, without engaging with service workers.  

And the people kept coming. 

Finally, my boss got up to speak.  

And was followed by more and more people.  

Around this time, it occurred to me that something I felt was important, had not been said.  

I got out my calculator and did some quick math.  

The time for speaking was ending.  

I stood up and approached the podium.

Hi, my name is Jeff Fightmaster, and I’m the Director of Operations for David’s Restaurant.  

I can’t tell you exactly what I said, but it amounted to…

As a city council you have heard people over and over tonight, say that they make 30, 40, 50 dollars an hour.  If you take out your little calculator and so some basic math, you’ll see that at 30, 40, 50 bucks an hour, at 40 hours a week, at 52 weeks a year, that means that our hospitality workers are making 50, 60, 70+ thousand dollars a year.  

These salaries are more than our state police officers make as a starting salary.  It’s more than ed techs make.  It’s more than teachers make.  

There is indeed a problem that needs to be solved.  But this is not one of them.  

You’ve heard people tell you all night that they don’t want this.  You’ve heard how it will affect owners, and yet here we are still fixing a problem that doesn’t need to be fixed.  

As a city council, you are here to help the people, but you are not helping the people that want it. 

There is so much in this city that needs your attention.  Let’s look at housing costs.  Let’s look at the homeless situation.  Let’s look at the parking situation in the Old Port and downtown.  These things need your help. 

But please stop trying to fix a problem, that doesn’t exist.  

And then I thanked them and sat down.  

My heart was pounding.  And I couldn’t believe I’d done it. 

Then the meeting continued.

And then we got to see democracy in action.  

We got to see a city council member act according to her own agenda, and accused the speakers of being a well-oiled lobby machine who’d coordinated efforts to make sure our voice was heard. 

I guess along with maître-d I’m now a lobbyist.  

Ultimately, instead of sending the vote to the people, it was suggested it go back to committee to get a full public discussion before it moved forward.  

This was the way to appease everyone.  

The councilor who brought forth the proposal wasn’t told no.  It doesn’t really move forward.  

And truth be told, based on what the other city council members said, they weren’t going to vote for it anyway.  

Tonight, I got to take part in the democratic process, and I feel better for having done so.  

Supposedly, a video will be available of the meeting, if I can I’ll post my speech.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s August 18, 2024. 

We officially have two more weeks till Labor Day.  

Seven more weeks till Indigenous People’s Day.  (I applaud the name change, but it doesn’t roll off the tongue like the previous name did).  

This is the 13^th summer we’ve spent in Maine.  

And it IS by FAR the best summer I’ve had in Maine yet.   

I’ve been able to enjoy the sunlight.  I’ve been able to see my friends.  I’ve been able to have dinner with Adam almost every night of the week.  We go to bed together, as I don’t get home four hours after he goes to sleep.  

I still work a normal week, but when you cut 12 hours of driving out of your life, it’s pretty awesome. 

A couple of weeks ago, I had gathered with friends, to watch the video of the show I designed, and one of them said to me, it’s nice to have me back in their life.  Not that we’d had a falling out, it’s just for 18 weeks a year, I’d be missing in action, working, working, working.  

I’ve also gone about 16 weeks without getting yelled at at work.  And for the most part its simply that our guests are more appreciative.  Less demanding.  Happier.  Local folks and tourists alike, who don’t demand we bow at their feet.  

It’s been a long time since I got in my car and dreaded going to work.    

I like my co-workers.  I like my staff.  I like my boss.  

It’s truly been awesome to leave work when the sun is still shining.  

And I have to say, I don’t feel exhausted.  

Yes, the summer is busy, but it’s a different busy.  

A better busy.  

A good busy. 

PS.  I just realized that today marks 10 months since my knee surgery.  That also changed my life.  It’s nice to not be in constant pain.  I’m still recovering and every 10 or so days, I say, Hey, it’s gotten even better. Stairs don’t hurt.  The swelling is mostly gone.  I am reminded that everyone said, just do the surgery.  If you need your knee replaced, just do the surgery.  It will feel better as soon as you wake up.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s Monday night.  

Well, Tuesday morning at this point.  

72 hours since I was in the ER.  

I feel so much better. 

That being said, I’ve been exhausted all weekend. 

During grad school, I pulled so many all-nighters.  Light plots due.  Design projects due.  Presentations due.  I’d drink my Diet Coke.  I’d turn on the show tunes.  I’d plug in. 

Sometime the next morning I’d present my project.  Walk to the electrics department to drop off my plot.  Try to stay awake in class.  

Around 1:00 or 2:00, I’d make the 20 minute drive home.  Fall asleep for a bit, and be great the next day.  

20 years later, not so much. 

Oh.  My.  Fucking.  God.  

I got to bed late Saturday morning.  

Woke up around 4 hours later.  

Exhausted.  

Sunday wasn’t much better. 

We had brunch planned with friends.  

I was back home by 12:00. 

I slept hard from 12:00 to 3:00 on the couch.  In the full sun.  

I was still exhausted. 

I slept 9 hours last night.  And I was still exhausted this morning. 

I had wanted to be at work by 10:00.  

I climbed out of bed at 11:00.  

However, once I was there, had my first cup of coffee, I was starting to feel normal.  

What every normal is these days.  

To update everyone. 

When I left the hospital I had an appointment with my neurologist in January.  

Greatest healthcare system in the world, right?  

I called today, and have an appointment with my PCP on Wednesday at 8:00 a.m.

This is a big deal, because very rarely do I do anything at 8:00 a.m.

I woke up from my nap yesterday and discovered that my friend Michelle had bought me a blood pressure cuff.  

I’ve checked it several times over the last two days.  

My blood pressure is still high.  

No signs of migraines since Friday.  

And I kind of feel normal. 

I’ll keep everyone posted about my appointment on Friday.  

Meanwhile, my life insurance was cancelled because I’m depressed.  

But that’s a story of it’s own.  

PS.  I now have hiccups.