Saturday, September 7, 2019

Hi guys!

I AM still alive (albeit it's touch and go sometimes).
I haven't served in a while, but people still recognize me as a waitress. Isn't that weird? Little habits you pick up, like stacking plates when you're out to eat or wiping up messes without thinking about it. I still consider myself a server, even when I'm not working in a restaurant. It's my roots, it's in my blood. I have some leads on part-time work, but I have to be a little selfish and help myself before I get back to helping customers. I miss the work, and I miss sharing the stories!

Thanks for the ride, dear readers, and hopefully it starts up again in the near future!

Monday, July 9, 2018

It's not just us!

Well, we already knew we weren't the only ones getting the brunt of bad customers. But have y'all been to a casino? Those people are terrible! Blaming the dealer for bad cards, yelling at an attendant for a broken machine.

One guy really aggravated me the other day - I was at the casino with my mother. The dealer was obviously new at this game, but asking the right questions and trying her best. She almost didn't catch this dude's ten dollars, and when she apologized, he told her,
"Don't say you're sorry, learn how to deal!"
It was a mistake and she corrected it. No need to be an ass.

Then, at a different casino, a man wanted to get a players' card at the table. They didn't do that.
"All the other places do it, REAL casinos do it!"
Why in the world are you shooting the messenger?

Thursday, February 8, 2018

"the restaurant wasn't even busy, there were seats open!"

I don't even know where to start with this. I was just diddling around on Yelp, unable to sleep, and I can't believe how many complaints there are about a ten minute wait when there are "plenty of tables open."

First, there are closed sections.. You can sit at one of those tables, bud, but there's no server assigned there to take care of you.

Second, there are limited people. Maybe someone called out. Maybe it's a new server who can't handle that many tables.

Can you not wait ten minutes for a table with a server that will be able to pay attention to and take care of you? Oh, no, you'll be too busy complaining they took too long with your salad without realizing that they had to run halfway across the restaurant, out of their section, to get your extra side of mayo. See you on Yelp, bitches!

Friday, August 4, 2017

An update on my mental health.

It comes and goes. I have made appointments with so many doctors and therapists and psychiatrists and programs and all they've done is put me on waiting lists. Which isn't their fault, I'm certainly not the only one with issues. It's just very frustrating, especially when I have a panic attack that I know was caused by taking a medication not at the EXACT time, without the EXACT amount of water or food.
But, I'm waiting to hear from one of the best rehab programs on the East Coast, but the sick thing is I've gained too much weight to move hire on the list for a bed. Right now I've been shuffling between family members because I can get too volatile for them to handle for more than a little while. The guilt makes the stress worse, which makes the mood swings worse, and... there ya go. I feel optimistic most days.

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees.

I know I have a few faithful readers, and I'll let you all in on some Blondie secrets. It's about to get personal, y'all, and I'll throw out a trigger warning for anyone suffering in their own brain.

The past two years have not been kind to me. I had a car accident that left me bedridden for six months, in and out of the hospital. Lost my diner job, started a new one.
I got engaged. I got un-engaged - on my favorite holiday, my own birthday. My brother got married, and I'm coming up on my best friend's wedding. (happy occasions, but stressful all the same.)

I recently read an article about a woman taking a mental health day and her CEO telling her that she could have as long as she needed, and we should all feel free to talk about what's going on in our heads. I had to quit the corporate place, for my health. I was diagnosed with stress, anxiety, and depression. It felt good to have a name for what was afflicting me, but it wrecked me even more knowing that I was so sick for so long without knowing, and letting my mind and body go to waste because of ignorance or pride.
I mean, I obviously knew there was something wrong in some part of my consciousness, but it wasn't until I was admitted into the mental health unit of my local hospital at 84 pounds, kicking and screaming, that I realized my physical health was severely at risk, and I was killing myself with no idea why. They told me another week or so of isolating myself, literally and metaphorically, would have surely led to my heart stopping. As in, you don't wake up. I think I had gone 8 days without eating, but I had no conception of time, much less appetite. I slept in fits and dozes and pretended I couldn't hear my phone.

I made some surely life-long friends in my two weeks at the hospital, as much as I struggled to stay afloat. Imagine any teen-drama movie set in a mental health ward, and the sad little girl on suicide watch. I fought them every step of the way. They threw pills at me, appetite stimulants and horrible protein-packed supplements. They paraded me through a string of doctors asking the same questions, but I didn't feel heard. I still don't, not for lack of trying, but I'm still detangling. I met late-stage alcoholics, opiate addicts, and people having conversations with the voices in their head. Girls who lost their kids due to heroin addiction, men whose wives took their kids and left because the home got toxic.
The nurses, I'm not sure if that's the correct term, so someone tell me if I'm using the wrong nomenclature, were the real MVPs. They saw a tiny bird with clipped wings. The tough-as-nails battleaxe working the day shift would turn her ear to my door as she did rounds, so she could knock if I was crying. The two gentlemen who worked the night shift let me watch TV after hours when I couldn't sleep, and kept everyone out of my room when I finally conked out. They talked to me about books and movies, and always made sure I had the heated blankets fresh from the machine because I was always cold.

I'm fighting with my insurance right now, because I know I desperately need to adjust the meds given to me, or I'll end up inpatient again. In light of the recent celebrity suicide (Chester from Linkin Park), I'm driven to share my story. It gets easier every time I tell it, and so extremely to the point of bafflingly accepted and understood, I feel a Jenga piece lifting from my shoulders when I tell a family member, or a friend, "I'm not okay."

Sunday, July 16, 2017

I'm still here.

Blondie breakdown. I might even switch my blog focus. Would y'all still read if I spoke of eating disorders and mental illness, rather than.. well, people with disorders eating in my station?

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Well, I learned something new.

So, we have this weird couple. They're nice enough... just weird. And cheap. And talk too much. But at least they know what they want, so as long as you don't get sucked into conversation, they're fairly low-maintenance.

I have the guy by himself, and he orders a flatbread. When I bring it out, he says,
"Oh, I meant to tell you to have them cook it light. I don't like the burnt edges." (the edges get crispy due to it being such a thin crust)
Which is completely fair, and I was pleasantly surprised when he didn't accept my offer to make him a new one.
"No, no, I'll just have to remember for next time!"
Which was five minutes later. I warned the cooks, and switched out his plate (the burnt pieces torn off and uneaten) with the lightly cooked one, which he agreed looked much better.

Then he told me why he doesn't eat the burnt. Because APPARENTLY, he read somewhere that when food gets black like that, it gives you cancer. I paused.
"Yeah! Eating that will give you cancer!"
"I... really doubt that. Anything else right now?"

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

A little off topic.

I'm teeny. I have dietary restrictions and trouble gaining weight. It's not exactly fun.

I've found, usually at work, and usually older ladies, love to comment on it. But without much context, so I'm not sure how to respond.
I ask them how many in their party - "YOU ARE SO SKINNY!" Okay... is that a compliment? Just an observation? Do I say thank you?
I had one lady actually grab my arm as I walked by the other day, "You are just so thin, you're making me think fat!" Okay, should I apologize?

I know they don't mean to be offensive, but good golly, would I love to give a smart comment.

I worked an extra couple days in a row this week and I am truly beat. I am going to relax SO HARD the next two days. And eat tons of junk food :)

Sunday, March 12, 2017

I got my first note on a receipt today!

I had a lady, with her baby, in my my section. She was on her phone, so I did not greet her right away. Eventually, she flagged me down. I told her, "I'm so sorry, I didn't want to interrupt your phone call!"

She orders for herself and the kid, all the while telling me how she has a coupon because the last time she was there she had problems. Eventually, I just send a manager over because she needs a remake on a soup, this is the same problem she had last time, she need this that and the other. I check on them, get refills, y'know - do my job.

At the same time, it's a weird day - we're understaffed and the hosts don't know when to go on a wait, so it's not like she couldn't see me running around. Yet, she felt the need to snap her fingers at me every time I ran by. She finally asks me to cash her out. I do.

The note reads:
"Try smiling and being friendly, honey! It's part of good customer service. Have a blessed day!"

Friday, March 3, 2017

I am a horrible person for face-palming at this.

A review of a restaurant:
"I ordered a turkey burger. After eating almost 1/2 of the burger, I knew something was just off. When I had the waitress check to make sure it was a turkey burger, she said, "Yes it is," but took it to the kitchen to check. The manager then came out and confirmed that the burger was actually a BEEF burger. [...] In my 28 years on this earth, I've done my very best to follow my religion and not partake in eating beef. It hurts that your business was the cause of me breaking that oath."

It took almost half the burger to realize it was something you have literally never eaten before, especially assuming that you HAVE had a turkey burger before?
I respect your religious beliefs and I understand that you are upset that you were eating beef against your will - that shit isn't right. But if you feel that strongly about it, you have to alert your server. Make sure it isn't cooked in the wrong pan, or that the grill is cleaned properly, so there's no cross-contamination. Just like an allergy.

I'm sorry this mistake was made. I'm sorry you feel if you have disrespected your religion. I'm sorry if your tummy got upset over it. But seriously, HALF the burger?