I just posted something about how small my town is.

This was prompted by an application I got today.

A man emailed me his resume. He got my information at the bar. On Saturday night. During service. At 8:00. After asking if he could speak to me about a job.

Read the room folks.

If you can’t read the room then you can’t work for me. Reading the room is part of the job.

Seriously the bartender walked up to me at 8:00 on Saturday night to see if I had time to chat with someone about a job.

We were slowing down. But I was fucking exhausted. It was a long service.

I handed the bartender my card and said tell him to email me.

And he did.

Turns out he worked at a restaurant I’m very familiar with. Jason is friends with several employees there. I texted Jason to do a background check.

He didn’t need to ask anyone. He’d applied with him as well. Rumor is that he’s crazy. I don’t have room for any more crazy people. I’m at my quota.

Add to that his inability to read the room.

I hear Applebee’s out by the mall is hiring.

I live in a small city. We’ll my little town is tiny. But the metropolitan area is also small.

However, we are known for our food scene. Our restaurants receive national recognition yearly.

Long story short. We got good food. Name a type of food and we rival any city in the us.

However. It is a small city.

So.

Every week I get resumes from people who have worked at restaurants that I know people at.

Suzy was a server here.

Jason was a server there.

Mark was a line cook here.

Pam was a bartender there.

So.

When I got a resume today from a guy who had worked at a restaurant I know someone at…I texted the manager.

No no no. He’s fucking crazy.

When Jasom got a resume from someone who used to cook at the pub I managed he texted to see if he should be interviewed. I said only if you want a side of sexual harassment with the hire.

Last week I hired a guy who worked at a restaurant where someone I know worked who said he was great.

A month ago I got four calls from people I know asking about a girl who had worked for me twice. Two different restaurants.

Um. No.

This girl comes with drama. Lots and lots and lots of drama.

So.

Remember.

Don’t burn bridges.

Don’t assume when you walk away the bridge won’t follow you.

It truly is a small town. Small area.

Server edition!

A new post!

I wrote yesterday about the French Canadians who visited over the weekend.

A friend commented that a table of British women were her worst nightmare.

This brought back a slew of memories.

When I worked in Times Square there were nights I didn’t speak to anyone from the states.

There were nights I didn’t speak to anyone who spoke English as a first language.

That being said, I was pretty good at getting foreign tables to tip me. Not always 20% but anything is better than nothing.

I was so good at getting foreign tables to tip I taught a couple of classes to my coworkers before I left.

That being said.

Some nights sucked.

One evening I was tipped ZILCH on over $500 in sales. I kept the receipts. Around 10 or 12 tables and nothing. Nada. Zip.

Thank god it was a place known for volume.

Some favorites I remember:

Four girls from away who ordered 4 waters. One order of French fries. And wrote postcards for 4 hours. They left 20% which was $1.

Two men who were from away that kept me running all night. Then tipped .05%. Then asked where they should go for drinks after.

I sent them to The Cock. A gay bar in the East Village.

They came back to confront me the next night. I suggested they tip next time.

My favorites though were:

British Girls With Shiny Shirts.

Go ahead say it again.

British Girls With Shiny Shirts.

And again.

BRITISH GIRLS WITH SHINY SHIRTS.

I coined the phrase.

These were girls from Great Britain who came to our restaurant wearing sequined shirts.

I saw a lot them.

Always nice.

Akways 10% or less.

Anytime British Girls With Shiny Shirts would sit in my section I’d expect the worst.

And usually it came to fruition.

I don’t see British Girks With Shiny Shirts any more.

And.

I’m very grateful.

Server edition.

My feet are fucking killing me.

Enough said.

Attention please. I am finished with my training.

YIPPEE!

I finished up tonight and got approval from the manager to be able to start picking up shifts. Unfortunately, my lovely friend Samantha forgot to put me on this week’s schedule, so I have to go in everyday and hope that someone wants off and lets me work. It’s a fucked up sort of system, but at this point I need the money too much to wait.

As for the evening.

The spawn of Satan were present for two hours in the restaurant tonight.

I’m not kidding.

The worst behaved children (around 7 – 10 in age) I have ever seen (7 of them in total) along with five grown men were seated in an area of the restaurant adjacent to mine.

It started when the group arrived in the restaurant.

The children were all over the place. They were running, and yelling and doing just about everything they could. At one point the manager found them in a closed off part of the restaurant. In the bar, closed off by ropes. They were putting the cola gun in their mouths and drinking from it.

They were caught twice trying to look up the skirts of women in the restaurant.

At one point they purposefully tried to trip a waiter carrying a tray of drinks.

All of this before they were given a table.

After they got the table it was worse.

At no time were all seven children ever seated. They ran around. They continued to yell. The manager had to escort the kids out of the kitchen.

Finally when she’d had enough, she went to the table and told the men they’d have to control their children, because it was a restaurant not a playground.

An argument ensued. They accused her of trying to embarrass them about their children and told her she had no right to tell them how to discipline the kids. She finally told them that if they got hurt or caused someone to get hurt they would be liable, not the restaurant.

This didn’t do much good, but at least she covered her bases.

The icing on the cake.

When the 150.00 dollar check came at the end of the meal. The men decided they weren’t going to pay for it, since the manager had talked to them about their children.

They were on their way out when another manager, Mike caught them. Another argument ensued. This time with all five men and seven children present. It got louder and louder and eventually most people in the restaurant had stopped eating and were watching the festivities.

Mike finally told them that they could either pay the check or he would call the cops. It was really their choice. They continued to argue with him until he pulled out his phone and began to dial 911. It somehow changed their minds.

They paid the bill and left.

Whew.

Of course it took the bussers almost 20 minutes to clean up after them. The kids had dumped drinks on the floor. Most of their food was on the floor, the tables and the chairs. They had poured water into the sugar caddy as well as the salt and pepper shakers.

When it was all said and done every employee present in that part of the restaurant had to fill out an incident report because the men had declared they were going to call corporate and let them know how they’d been treated.

All this and it’s only day three.

How much more fun can it get?

Several weeks ago I turned off the ability to make reservations through Google. They didn’t allow messaging. There were 6 steps to making the reservation and every day someone showed up without a reservation they thought they had.

This was not a problem in the winter. In summer it caused me to get yelled at more times than I can count.

Tonight someone came in with what they thought was a reservation they made weeks ago.

They got indignant and pulled out their phone. They show us a text.

A text that says this is your reservation code. This is NOT a confirmation of your reservation.

Luckily we had a seat for them.

But still.

The text this is not a reservation.

Tonight a regular was in. It was the first time she’d been in for a while

I knew she’d need a broad attending a wedding.

I only talk led to her briefly tonight because we were busy.

But the wedding was in India.

And was 5 days long.

And cost more than 8 million dollars.

Yes.

You.

Read.

That.

Correctly.

8 million dollars.

She has photos she said she’d show me when it was slower.

She said she snapped them as subtly as she could.

8 Million.

Dollars.

Tonight at 8:30 one of my bartenders approach me to ask if I have time to speak to someone wanting to know if we are hiring.

Seriously.

8:30.

Saturday night.

Still cranking.

Read the room, fellow.

Read the room.

I had her give him my card.

We’ll see if he emails me.

We have two regulars at the bar.

Super nice. They take good care of the bartenders.

But.

They are full of suggestions as to what we should serve.

Two weeks ago, one of them pulls me aside to tell me we need to serve mac and cheese with Gouda.

Hmmm. Okay???

Tonight he pulls me aside to tell me he doesn’t like one of our new additions to the menu. Actually, it’s a reworking of an old item, which makes it easier to prepare.

Which brings me to my lesson of the night.

Chef’s don’t just write recipes. Throw the item on the menu and make a million dollars.

There are tons of reasons something is on the menu or removed from the menu.

Chefs like a one pan pick up. It means the dish can be made in one pan. If the recipe calls for items from three different stations it will be offered in off season, not in busy season.

We just put potato salad back on the menu. Why? Because it means the guy working our grill no longer has to roast potatoes to order. Potato salad is scoop and go.

We also make sure that the dishes are spread evenly among the different stations. Sauté. Grill. Salad. Ovens. Fry. If too many popular items come from one station it buries the cook and things back up.

So we often pull things from the off season menu to help spread the wealth.

We also lose items based on cost. If the cost of avocados go up, we might remove a salad. If lobster goes up we might increase the price or change the item.

It’s all about streamlining the amount of work it takes to execute the dish to the standards you expect.

The chef changed a dish. But our regular sent it back. And called me over to complain.

And I listened. Said I’d pass along their thoughts.

Knowing.

The recipe was changed to make everyone’s life easier.

It won’t go back till October.

PS. Any time a restaurant can scoop and go they will. Rice, mashed potatoes, Cole slaw, potato salad, corn, etc.

The more you know.

It’s Victoria Day on Monday!

It’s National Patriots Day on Monday.

Both Canadian holidays.

My staff learned this tonight around 10:00.

Why you ask?

Because my staff rarely makes less than 20% on a check.

Rarely.

Last night a server made $500 on a $500 check.

That’s unusual but 24, 25, 26 percent tips are the norm. After tip out my staff easily still walks with 20%.

That was not the case tonight. From the start the servers were asking what was going on.

One server made 15% on a big party. Another was tipped $40 on $375. A server who prides herself on her average was making 17, 18 percent all night.

Then around 10:00 a server came and said. I know what’s going on. It’s a 3 day weekend in Canada.

Ahhhhhhh

That explains everything.

And before anyone says anything.

They know better.

They all know better.

All of them.

Yes, it’s not done that way in Canada.

But fun fact: Before I left for Europe I knew what the customs were. Fuck. Before I left for Oklahoma, I knew the customs.

They are just cheap.

That is all.

Summer is here. Tonight was the second most revenue we’ve done since last October. And those were a Saturday nights.

With summer comes the fun folks that started this blog.

Tonight a server comes to me with the following story.

Table 36 ordered a bottle of wine. She confirmed the order.

She brought the wine to the table and presented it to him. He said yes that’s the wine.

She opened the wine. He tasted it. Said it was great.

She poured the four glasses.

Ten minutes later or so he calls her over to let her know this was in fact not the wine he ordered. This wine is more expensive. He shouldn’t have to pay more than he expected to pay.

She handled it well.

She said she’d take all the glasses away. And exchange the bottle. He wanted to keep it because it was good. She explained if he kept the wine he’d have to pay for it.

And keep it they did.

And pay for it they did.