I often stand in the wait station.

I can see the whole dining room

I can see if a server is struggling. I can see if someone isn’t eating their steak.

I can see a lot.

So on Saturday night around 7:15 that’s where I was.

I hearing weird chatter.

And I look over at table 31.

It’s right next to the wait station.

The couple at the table is FaceTiming with their dog.

The phone is turned toward me and the dog is looking at the camera and they are baby talking with Fido.

The couple next to them is not amused.

This went on till their entrees arrived.

They said their goodbyes.

And ended the call.

We’ve had Wagyu tomahawk ribeyes on the menu all weekend. The steak costs $165 dollars.

Trust me when I say it’s worth it. The meat is so delicious and practically melts in your mouth.

Tonight we had a party of 6 get sat around 7:30.

And they ordered a Wagyu.

Medium well.

Chef recommends medium rare.

And definitely nothing over medium.

Mostly because the meat near the bone can only be cooked medium rare by charring the rest of the steak.

The sever tried to persuade them to order it rarer. To order a different cut.

They insisted.

The server checked with the chef to make sure he’d do it.

He said if that’s what she wants.

So he did it.

She loved it.

Said it was worth every penny.

Since I became a manager I’ve walked around with a piece of paper and my favorite pen.

I take notes throughout the shift.

Don’t do that.

Good work on that.

My staff sighs when I pull out my note pad.

Yes.

Sometimes I’m making a note about the staff.

But these days 75% of my notes are reminders of things that happen to write about.

I have about 15 sheets on my desk with notes.

Reminders of stories to tell you.

I write a couple of posts.

But some nights the list has 10 things I want to share with you. Each list has three or fours things left to write about.

When I come home stuck. I look through my list.

And there you have it.

A new post.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

We have lots of wealthy folks come in.

They all sit on one side of the spectrum or the other.

They are either average tippers.

Or.

Amazing tippers.

Tonight a family came in.

Ate dinner.

Left 17%. The server was not pleased. But then chef reminded her that they don’t tip on the wine.

Yes. It’s a real thing. Many people don’t tip on the wine.

Tonight the husband paid.

If the wife pays they flip very far onto the other side of the spectrum.

Then last night.

A family who comes in every so often was in.

They eat. Are super gracious.

And their check was $600.

And they left 80%.

Yes. You read that right.

Two wealthy families.

Two different responses.

Both very nice.

Each on a different side of the spectrum.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Table 25 arrived yesterday.

We’re seated.

We’re greeted.

Drinks were served.

Then the server went over to take the order.

She gets two people in when the 14 year old orders the Wagyu tomahawk ribeye.

32 ounces.

$165.

The server looks at the mom and says, I did tell you how much that cost right?

The kid looks at the server and says, I don’t think that’s any of your business.

The mother is horrified.

She shuts it down.

But the kid gets the steak.

At the end of the meal the mother was very apologetic.

The server telling me the story said, clearly the kid thought he was a Beckham.

The thing that occurred to me was that the first time my parents spent anything close to that on me was my first car.

$200 bucks for a 71 Chevy Impala that I started with a toggle switch. I opened the trunk with a screwdriver.

It lasted four months.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Please.

Please.

Please.

Do not leave your FLOSS PICKS on the table after dinner.

It’s gross.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

I’m an old man.

I’m stuck in my ways!

So imagine how annoyed I was when I realized someone had taken my favorite pen Thursday night.

I looked everywhere.

Asked everyone.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

And

You can imagine how excited I was when Jen walked up on Friday night and said, “is this your pen?”

And it was. It was.

So I gave her my replacement pen.

And all was well in the world.

I may just be too old for this. It’s 3:30 a.m. and I just walked in from day two of my new job. Damn. I’m. Tired. And that’s the understatement of the century.

My work day started out just as frustrating as the others. Samantha was no where to be found when I got there, all though she did arrive about 30 minutes later. They had no idea who was training me. I still don’t have a complete uniform, although I’ll be tested on what exactly that is on Monday. I’m still not in the computer system so who knows whether I’m actually going to get paid for this or not. And of course no one did anything about any of this until the last minute and then they all ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. And just for the record. Samantha has the personality of a rock. And that’s being kind.

I finally got a schedule out of her. I’ve been trying for the past three days to find out what days I’m working, what time I’m working and how long I have to train. So I finally cornered her tonight and made her decide. She explained that I had to do six training sessions and that even though I was an old employee I still had to do it all. She said she was as stickler for every employee going through the full training schedule. This is kind of funny, because it’s the third time I’ve trained with this company, and as of yet I’ve never done the full training sessions. So I ask if I could do it over the next six days. Straight through no breaks so I could get trained and put on the floor making money. She hesitated but finally said okay.

And my shift started. The woman Connie training me is quite good.

There are no hard and steadfast rules when you are dealing with the public. You get about 6 seconds when you walk up to the table to figure out what they are going to be like. Are they bitchy. Fun. Angry. Easy Going. It’s impossible to tell until you get there and start to talk to them. Unfortunately she believes that every table should be treated the same. And so I tried to do that, knowing that in a week when I’m on my own it won’t be that way at all. That being said, she knows her stuff. And I learned a lot tonight. I actually handled her entire station for most of the night. I only needed help a couple of times for the most part.

At the beginning of the shift she had me set goals as to what I was going to accomplish for the night. How many desserts could I sell? How many side items? How many this? How many that? I thought it was kind of silly, so I chose high. I added about 15 to what I really thought I could get. She was a little annoyed with me, and told me to be more reasonable. I then replied with a “why not shoot high. What’s the worst that could happen.” When it was all said and done I met every goal by several items except for one. And in that case I was short one dessert. She was more than impressed with my abilities.

At the end of the night, I had to meet with Samantha. She sat down with me, and proceeded to tell me what a wonderful job I was doing. So much so that she’s changed her mind and I WON’T have to do the fulling training schedule. I guess that makes me three for three. Yippee!

So I’ll be done on Monday, and if I pass the test I can start working on Tuesday. Which will be great since I’ve had no income since July. I’m starting to get a little poor.

We have 23 seats at the bar.

It’s horseshoe shaped.

When I started, seating the bar was kind of a free for all. Reservations all over the place. People just showing up.

I implemented change when I started.

We reserve all the stools. We seat them in pairs. Odd numbers first. 1, 2. 3, 4. 5, 6.

We don’t take reservations for more than 4 people. And I try to push them to tables.

We’ve gone from about 30 or so reservations a night to most weekends night this time of year around 50.

Most of these reservations are made day of.

The system we’ve implemented is that we only release 7 pairs of stools each shift. The others can only be reserved by me.

So when someone calls, even day of I can usually get people in.

So along the way the bartenders have realized they are busier. They also know why.

And.

They started telling people the secret to bar reservations. Just call Jeff. Leave a message. He’ll call you back. And just like that you have seats for the night.

But.

What scares me.

Is they’ve told people this. Lots and lots of people this. Since last summer.

We are approaching busy season. And I’m starting to get worried that I’m going to get a 100 phone calls a day.

I’ll keep you posted.

But I really hope that I don’t spend the summer disappointing people.

Day one. Waiting tables.

What not to do as like three managers!

I’m tired and greasy. There’s enough grease on my forehead and in my hair to cook up a batch of McDonald’s french fries. I don’t remember the last time I was this greasy. And I don’t mean in the used car sort of way. I mean literally, greasy.

Tonight was my first real day on the job and it was exactly how I remembered it. But first I’ll catch you up.

I think I’ve mentioned this before but I’ve worked at this restaurant before. From 1998 to 2000. And from 2002 to 2003. So I’ve had experience with what to expect and how things will go.

I was told about two weeks ago that my first day would be September 19. I was to show up at 9:30 for orientation. This is standard procedure. As this is a chain restaurant, there is a formalized training program. The first day consists of filling out paper work, watching videos about sexual harassment and job safety. It also involves discussing all the corporate policies like vacation, insurance, food discounts, etc. Then you are given a tour, fed lunch and after about 5 hours you are sent home. All of this is done as a class with anywhere from 5 or 6 people to 15. This is what I was expecting.

What happened was:

I got to the restaurant around 9:15. I waited in the lobby trying to look inconspicuous. I was asked by at least three people why I was there. It was clear no one knew about orientation. I waited and waited. Around 9:40 a guy walks by and introduces himself and asks if he can help me. Turns out he’s the GM. (General Manager) (He’s cute too, but I’ll get to that.) He gives me directions to the office and tells me the manager I’m looking for is there. We’ll call her Samantha from here on out…that’s not her real name. I find Samantha sitting at her desk working on her computer. She looks up and says, “Oh.” It was as if she forgot I was coming. She then starts searching through papers on her desk. This is of course after she’s called me Scott. I tell her I’m Jeff and she finally finds the paper she’s looking for. She then pulls out a huge folder and tells me to follow her.

As we walk, she explains that it turns out I’m the only one. She doesn’t explain why, or how come. This sort of annoys me, because that means I could have trained two weeks ago and been making money already. But I digress. She sits me at the bar and tells me to start filling out paper work. She explains that she’ll get the day shift going and come back to me. So I start writing. Getting into the CIA would probably consume less paper. There were of course the standard tax forms, I-9 forms, and insurance forms. But there were training forms, harassment forms, uniform forms (that’s hard to say fast), direct deposit forms, security forms, stealing forms, credit card forms, safety forms…you get the picture. Most of these forms required me seeing some sort of video or reading something from the training manual. But since neither seemed to be happening, I signed them anyway.

I finally finished and she comes back over to me. She then explains that that’s pretty much it for the day. So she takes me back to get a shirt for me, and asks me if I can wear a large. Okay so I’ve lost 40 pounds and I’m proud of that fact. But I still weigh 260 pounds. I’m fucking fat. Six months from now I’ll be lucky to wear a large. There’s no way my left arm would fit into a large right now. And it’s pretty obvious. I explain that I’ll need at least an XXL. At which points she sighs and says she doesn’t have any. And it will take about a week to get one. She starts to say, that we can schedule training then, and I interrupt and explain that I haven’t worked in two months and I need money. So I need to train as fast I can, with or without the shirt. She then agrees to let me wear a black t-shirt until they get me the real uniform. I thank her and I’m on my way. Oh, and she tells me to show up tomorrow (today) at 4:30, come find her and I can start my training.

At this point, I should point out that the location of the restaurant I worked in before has changed. So everything is different. The menu is the same, the uniform is the same, but that’s about all. At no time did she offer me a tour. Which is only a problem because when I got there today, she was no where to be found. And I don’t know where anything is. You know, like the locker room, the dish room…the kitchen. Seems it was her day off. Whoops, she failed to mention that. I find the office again, and there are 5 male managers there. Each one cuter than the next. This could be all right. I ask for Samantha and they tell me she’s off. They have no idea that I’m supposed to be there or what’s supposed to happen. It takes my explaining about 15 minutes till someone steps up to the plate and deals with me. I’m told to go sit down and wait an hour then come back and they’ll figure out what to do with me. (So I could have shown up at 5 instead of 4. Ugh!) So I find a corner and I hide. And wait. And wait. Finally 5 arrives and I go find the manager again. Once again he doesn’t know what to do with me. I explain what I’m supposed to be doing today, and he tells me once again to stand in the corner and wait. And so I wait. And wait. Finally someone comes over to me and tells me that to do the job I need to do tonight, I need a hat. I should go find another manager and get a hat. I go to his office. But he’s not there and no one’s seen him. I wait. And wait. Finally, some stranger asks if he can help me. I tell him I need a hat. He tells me to wait. And I wait. And wait. Finally he comes back with a hat. Whew. One step down.

So I go back downstairs, and I find the first manager and ask him what I should be doing. He tells me to hang on a second. And so I wait. And wait. FINALLY, the kitchen manager comes by and tells me what the deal is. He introduces me to the two guys who’ll be training me and so I start. One of them looks like a Charles Manson sort of fellow with weird tattoos and long hair, the other one looks like a thug from the Bronx, with his pants around his knees. Turns out both of them are nice. This might not be so bad afterall. They start out treating me like I’ve never worked in a restaurant before. I let it go on for about 15 minutes and then explain that not only have I worked in restaurants for over 10 years, but I was a certified trainer in this restaurant. They left me a lone the rest of the night.

We were working expo, which is the position that takes the food from the cooks, finishes garnishing it, and then gives it to the servers. It’s a fast paced, high stress job. It started out sort of slow but around 7:30 became a zoo. I was helping as much as I could, which meant staying out of the way for the most part. I was amazed at how much I remembered about the plate setups and how things were dressed before they go to the table. I also remembered most of the food items which is one of the harder things about working at a restaurant. How to tell the food apart.

Finally at 9:30 I was told I was done. I could go home as soon as someone quizzed me on the evening and filled out my paperwork. There was a lengthy discussion amongst the managers about who had to do this. The kitchen manager lost. So instead of just doing it. He tells me to order food. Go sit at table 600. And then come back in 30 minutes. Just what I needed. More waiting. I order food. The menu is certifiably unhealthy. There’s only one thing that I can eat. Grilled Chicken. And Broccoli. I get my food, a diet Pepsi. (Don’t start). And then ask someone where table 600 is. Of course no one has thought to give me a seating chart. I go sit down and eat and then wait. And wait. Finally after 30 minutes I go find the kitchen manager. He tells me to stand where I am…and you guessed it. Wait. And so I wait. Finally he comes and fetches me. He takes me to the office and fills out my paperwork. And so I’m on my way.

As I was just getting ready to leave, I ask when should I return. The manager on duty tonight, says why not come back tomorrow and Samantha will be there and she can sort it all out. Which is fine. But it would be nice to know how long training’s going to be. And what my schedule is going to be. And when I’m going to work. And what I’m going to be doing. And well you get the picture,

One night down. A million more to go.

And on one last note. The very comfortable tennis shoes I bought to work in while I was in Maine are awful. All night it was as if I was walking on ice. I almost fell at least 10 times. So after work tonight, I stopped at the Skecher’s store and bought slip resistant shoes. Now if I can only stop spending money and finally start making some.